The day had broken a good quarter of an hour earlier.
A pale, cold light filtered through the grimy curtains of the cabin, tracing long golden streaks across the warped floorboards. Outside, the forest was breathing: the murmur of damp pine needles, the heavy scent of wet earth and dew. A raven croaked in the distance, hoarse, like a warning.
I stood by the window, motionless.
The pump-action shotgun rested on the table. I ran a cloth slowly, almost ritually, through the barrel. The black metal gleamed in the morning light.
Clack.
One shell.
Clack.
Another.
Silver slugs.
The sharp sound cracked through the silence like a bone snapping.
Rickie jolted upright on the mattress, breath short, eyes still clouded with sleep.
"Fuck…"
I didn't even turn my head.
"Sleeping Beauty finally decides to grace us with his presence."
"Shut up," he growled, voice rough.
The room reeked of rotten wood, cold gunpowder, and the stale smoke of the night before.
I pulled out a chair, laid the shotgun across my knees, and sat facing him. Riven still lay on the floor mattress, motionless. His skin had turned a waxy gray; violet marbling crept along his ribs like poisoned veins.
Rickie stared at the body for a few seconds.
Then, in a whisper:
"You think he's dead?"
I finally looked up. My gaze was calm. Too calm.
"Maybe. And maybe not."
"What the hell does that mean?"
I turned my eyes back to the window. The forest sparkled with dew.
"It means there's a good chance he's dead…"
I paused, letting the words hang, savoring them.
"…and still alive."
Rickie shot to his feet.
"Seriously? All this shit started when you showed up at school. Before that, we had a normal life. Perfect."
He snatched the shotgun off the table in a jerky motion. The metal was ice-cold against his shaking palms. He leveled it straight at me.
The silence turned into a blade.
I didn't move. Not a flicker.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Rickie gave a nervous smirk.
"Oh yeah? Wanna bet?"
I tilted my head slightly, almost amused.
"I can break your jaw before your finger even brushes the trigger."
The threat hung heavy.
Rickie hesitated. One second. Two.
Then I rose in one fluid motion, snatched the weapon back with a sharp, precise gesture.
"Your friend isn't dead."
Rickie blinked.
"How can you be so sure?"
My gaze slid to the floor. To Riven.
Rickie followed my eyes. And froze.
Riven's chest was rising. Slowly.
The fur was retracting in irregular patches. Claws slid back into flesh with a wet, almost organic sound. The skin returned to a sickly but human tone.
Rickie stood with his mouth open.
"Jesus fucking Christ…"
I stood up.
"Help me lift him. We're taking him back to the house."
Rickie let out an incredulous laugh.
"You serious? We're miles away. No way."
I shrugged.
"Then leave him here to freeze to death."
Rickie stood frozen for a second. Then sighed, defeated.
"And how the hell do we carry him?"
"Find something instead of whining."
Rickie went outside. The door creaked on its rusted hinges. The forest breathed around the cabin, indifferent.
I stayed alone for a moment. I lit a cigarette. The smoke rose in lazy spirals in the cold air. I stared at Riven.
"I'd really like to know who did this to you…"
The door flew open. Rickie came back in, dragging an old rusty wheelbarrow.
"Found this."
I crushed my cigarette under my boot.
"Perfect. Bring it over."
We hauled the body outside. The wheelbarrow squealed over every bump. Rickie grimaced.
"You're not seriously gonna dump him in there?"
I grabbed him under the armpits.
Thud.
I dropped him in without ceremony.
Rickie rolled his eyes.
"He's alive, you know."
We pushed. The wheelbarrow sank into the mud. Twice it tipped over into the soaked grass. Then the rain came. First a few cold drops. Then a hard downpour. The forest began to smell of soaked moss, turned earth, acid rain. "Great…" Rickie muttered, soaked to the bone.
We sped up, panting, slipping.
When the house finally appeared between the trees, Rickie murmured:
"You sure no one's here?"
"Positive."
We went in. Oppressive silence. Red plastic cups littered the floor, remnants of a dead party. The air stank of flat alcohol, spilled beer, cold smoke.
We laid Riven on the couch near the unlit fireplace.
Rickie ran a hand through his dripping hair.
"So… now what?"
I grabbed a bottle of liquor from the table, poured myself a glass.
"We wait."
Rickie watched Riven. His face tightened.
"Uh… is it normal that he still has… wolf paws?"
I narrowed my eyes.
"First time I've seen that."
A door creaked upstairs.
Jackson appeared in the doorway, eyes puffy, obvious hangover.
"I slept upstairs…"
Then he saw Riven.
"What the fuck is this?"
I raised my hand slowly.
A murmur, almost gentle:
"In somnum elabere."
Jackson collapsed like a cut puppet.
Rickie froze.
"But… what the fuck are you? A demon?"
He looked at Jackson, then at me.
"You killed him! We're screwed!"
I sighed, took a sip.
"I put him to sleep. Not killed him."
Rickie ran both hands over his face, dropped heavily onto a bench. Breathing ragged.
"Werewolves. Magic. A guy dropping dead in the living room…"
He lifted his eyes to me, voice shaky but determined.
"I knew it."
Silence. Rain hammered the windows.
I sipped my glass with infuriating slowness, eyes fixed on Rickie as he paced the living room like a caged animal. The floorboards creaked under his nervous steps, still wet with rain and mud.
"Calm down," I said flatly.
Rickie spun around, hair plastered to his forehead, nerves raw.
"Calm down?! Riven's still sleeping like the dead, Jackson's sprawled on the floor, and you're sipping your drink like it's the afterparty!"
The words came in a burst.
"What if Riven wakes up and rips our faces off? And Jackson—"
"Rickie."
But he was rolling.
"What if it's contagious? What if—"
I rolled my eyes, set my glass down with a sharp clink.
"The wolf paws are gone. Look."
Rickie stopped dead, mouth half-open. He turned toward the couch.
Riven still lay there, naked, skin pale but human. No more fur. No more claws. Just an exhausted guy.
"What…?" Rickie whispered.
I sighed, stood up.
"Can you shut up for two seconds and bring me a bottle of hard liquor?"
I sipped my drink with exasperating slowness, my eyes fixed on Rickie as he paced the living room like a caged animal. The wooden floorboards creaked under his nervous steps, still damp with rain and mud.
— Calm down, I said flatly.
Rickie spun around sharply, hair stuck to his forehead, nerves completely shot.
— Calm down?! Riven is still sleeping like he's dead, Jackson's sprawled on the floor, and you're sipping your drink like this is the afterparty of some damn party!
The words spilled out of him in bursts.
— And what if Riven wakes up and rips our faces off? And Jackson—
— Rickie.
But he was already on a roll.
— And what if it's contagious? What if—
I rolled my eyes and set my glass down with a sharp clack.
— The wolf paws are gone. Look.
Rickie stopped mid-sentence, mouth slightly open. He turned toward the couch.
Riven was still lying there, naked, pale skin but human. No fur. No claws. Just an exhausted guy.
— What…? Rickie murmured.
I sighed and stood up.
— Could you shut up for two seconds and bring me a bottle of strong alcohol?
Rickie froze for a moment, then rushed toward the kitchen. Drawers slammed, glasses clinked. He found a cheap bottle of rum and tossed it toward me with a rough motion.
I caught it with one hand without effort.
Rickie narrowed his eyes.
— What are you planning to do with that?
Without answering, I walked over to the couch. The smell of alcohol rose sharply—sweet, harsh, suffocating in the air already heavy with rain and stale beer.
Rickie crossed his arms, skeptical.
— That's never gonna work…
I shrugged.
— Wanna bet?
I held the bottle under Riven's nose.
One second.
Two.
Then Riven inhaled suddenly—a rough, deep breath, like someone clawing their way up from the bottom of a well. His eyelids fluttered. He coughed and pushed himself halfway up, disoriented.
I stepped back.
— There you go. Your friend's back.
Rickie immediately threw his arms around him.
— Riven!
He hugged him tightly, relief raw and almost violent. Riven blinked, his blurry gaze scanning the room: Rickie, the wrecked living room, Jackson lying motionless, and me standing there, impassive.
— What… happened? he croaked, his voice hoarse.
He looked down at his naked body.
— And why am I naked?
I raised an eyebrow, almost amused.
— I didn't even notice.
An awkward silence settled, thick and sticky.
Riven swallowed and looked at his friends one by one.
— Seriously… what happened to me?
I sat down again and picked up my drink as if nothing had happened.
— Short version: you tried to kill us.
Riven froze.
I stood up without another word and climbed the creaking stairs.
Still riding the adrenaline, Rickie turned to Riven with a strange mix of fear and excited disbelief.
— Dude… you scared the hell out of us.
Riven frowned, confused.
— What are you talking about?
Rickie gestured wildly, mimicking claws.
— You were transformed. Like… full werewolf mode. Fangs, fur, yellow eyes—Scott McCall times ten. Freaky as hell.
Riven shook his head, disbelief written all over his face.
— You're messing with me.
The stairs creaked again.
I came back down wearing a dark hoodie, my hair still damp. I tossed a pile of clothes toward Riven—worn jeans, a black T-shirt.
— Rickie's right, I said calmly but sharply. You almost slaughtered us.
Riven caught the clothes and held them against himself, lost.
— But… I don't remember anything.
I crossed my arms and stared at him intensely.
— Normal. A wolf doesn't transform like that. Not without a full moon, not without rage, not without… a trigger.
I paused, my gaze darkening.
— What you did? I've never seen that. Not even among the worst.
Riven ran a trembling hand through his hair.
— Wait… wait…
He lifted his head, his voice firmer now.
— We have to go way back. Very far back. To Ancient Greece.
Rickie threw his hands in the air.
— Oh no, not a history lesson right now!
I slowly turned my head toward him.
— You.
A freezing silence fell.
— Shut up.
Outside, the rain kept hammering the roof relentlessly. It filled the silence that settled after I shut Rickie down. His heart was beating too fast; I could feel it from here, that vital energy pulsing, calling to me despite myself. The beast inside me stirred, a low internal growl I forced down with a controlled breath.
Riven was dressed now, the oversized hoodie hanging loosely from his still-shivering shoulders. He stared at me, waiting for answers as if I had them all.
Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't.
But I knew the origins better than anyone.
I set my empty glass on the coffee table. The sharp sound echoed through the room.
— Lycaon, I said calmly.
Rickie lifted his head instantly.
— Huh?
Riven stayed motionless, his eyes locked on me.
I continued, my voice low and detached, like I was reciting an old litany.
— In Greek mythology, Lycaon was the king of Arcadia. An arrogant man who wanted to test Zeus. He killed his own son, Nyctimus, cut him into pieces, cooked him, and served him to the god to see if Zeus would notice. Zeus wasn't fooled. He brought the boy back to life… and turned Lycaon into a wolf. Not a temporary curse. A real one. Irreversible. The first werewolf, according to the ancient stories.
A heavy silence fell.
Rickie swallowed hard.
— Wait… are you saying Riven turned into some cannibal psycho from three thousand years ago?
I slowly turned my head toward him.
— Not exactly. But that's where it begins. Lycaon wasn't just punished. He tasted human flesh mixed with a sacred sacrifice.
The fire in the fireplace crackled faintly, throwing dancing shadows across the stained walls. The smell of burning wood mixed with stale alcohol and old smoke—a bitter scent that clung to the throat.
The rain hammered against the windows like impatient fingernails. I sat down in the old armchair, a glass in my hand, but my mind kept spinning.
How could all of this have happened?
The question gnawed at me more than I wanted to admit. My gaze slid toward Riven, slumped on the couch, still pale, his eyes haunted.
"Tell me… when did it start?" I asked quietly.
Riven stayed silent. His fingers nervously played with a damp lock of hair.
I repeated, my tone firmer.
"In the forest. What exactly happened?"
He took a long breath.
"I was in the woods… late. Too late."
Rickie lifted his head.
"And?"
Riven frowned, staring into the distance.
"Something was following me."
The fire cracked, sending a small burst of sparks into the air.
"Something?" I insisted.
"Yeah… I didn't see it. Just… heard it."
He clenched his jaw.
"Footsteps behind me. Fast. Too fast for a normal animal. Then… nothing. Darkness. I woke up in my bed like nothing ever happened."
Rickie blinked in disbelief.
"Wait… what? You don't remember anything after the footsteps?"
"Nothing. Total blackout."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The rain intensified against the windows.
Rickie suddenly stood up, the floorboards creaking.
"Alright, that's it. We call the cops. They'll know what to do."
My chair scraped the floor as I stood abruptly. Rickie instinctively stepped back.
"You really think the police can help?" I asked calmly, though there was steel in my voice.
He clenched his fists, his voice shaking.
"At least they'll do something! Unlike us just sitting here waiting for it to happen again!"
My gaze hardened.
"No."
Pause.
"They would kill him. Your friend. And me."
Rickie froze, mouth slightly open.
The rain struck harder.
I lifted my hand slightly.
The door handle turned on its own with a metallic click.
The door slowly creaked open. A cold gust of wind rushed inside, carrying the scent of wet earth and pine.
"The exit's right there," I said simply.
Rickie stared at the open door, then at me, then at Riven. His breathing was uneven.
"You guys are completely insane."
But he didn't move.
After a long moment, he sighed in defeat and sat back down heavily.
In the silence that followed, Riven ran his hands over his face, exhausted.
"Why does this kind of shit always happen to me…?"
His voice cracked slightly.
I watched him for a moment, weighing my words.
"Because someone chose you."
Riven looked up sharply.
"What?"
I shrugged, my gaze drifting toward the window where rain traced dirty rivers down the glass.
"Whatever tracked you in the forest… it wasn't a normal animal."
Rickie frowned.
"Then what? A guy? A… monster?"
I stared into the night outside, the raindrops distorting the world.
"Something that knew exactly where you were. Something that was waiting for you."
The fire crackled louder, almost like a muffled laugh.
Riven felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine—I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed.
"Why me?" he whispered.
I didn't answer immediately.
Then, almost inaudibly:
"That's the question I've been trying to understand since the beginning."
Outside, the wind howled, carrying with it the echo of a distant howl—or maybe just my imagination.
But I knew it wasn't.
The rain had stopped.
Outside, the forest glistened in the damp morning light. Drops slid from the pine branches and fell onto the dark soil with a faint, delicate sound.
Inside, the fire crackled softly, but the warmth seemed to reach no one anymore.
Rickie sat on a chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Riven remained silent on the couch, staring at his hands and slowly turning them over, palm against palm.
I finished my drink in one gulp and set the glass down calmly. The sharp sound echoed louder than the fire.
Silence. A few seconds too long.
Rickie sighed.
"I feel like my life just turned into some weird movie."
No one answered.
He looked up at Riven.
"Man… how do you feel?"
Riven shrugged slightly.
"Tired. And lost."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"All I know is something chased me in the forest… and after that, my memory just stops."
Rickie leaned forward.
"Do you remember the shape? The size? Any sound?"
Riven shook his head.
"Just footsteps."
I watched the scene without moving. Then I spoke calmly.
"Whatever chased you knew what it was doing."
Rickie frowned.
"What do you mean?"
I crossed my arms.
"Someone—or something—that attacks in a forest at night doesn't let someone go by accident."
The fire crackled again.
Riven slowly lifted his head.
"So you think it was intentional?"
I shrugged.
"I think you're still alive for a reason."
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
Outside, the sky was starting to brighten, though the light remained pale and hesitant.
Rickie sighed again and walked to the window, staring at the wet forest.
"So if I summarize… my friend was chased by something unknown, wakes up with no memory… and you're saying it was probably intentional."
He turned toward us.
"Great."
I picked up the bottle from the table and slowly spun it between my fingers.
"Yes," I said calmly.
"Welcome to the problem."
The morning light now filled the house completely, white and merciless, revealing every particle of dust in the air.
The rain had stopped, but the smell of the water-soaked forest still clung to the walls.
Rickie stood in front of the dirty window.
"The rain erased everything."
Riven lifted his eyes.
"What?"
Rickie gestured toward the trees.
"The tracks. If there were any. Footprints, broken branches… anything."
I stepped beside him and looked at the ground between the pines: a wide stretch of black mud, smooth and empty.
"Yes," I said quietly.
"Everything's gone."
Riven clenched his fists slightly.
"So we'll never know."
I slowly turned my head toward him.
"Not like this."
Rickie exhaled.
"Great. So we've got nothing."
The fire cracked softly.
Riven stared at the forest.
"I know one thing."
Rickie raised an eyebrow.
"Oh yeah?"
Riven took a measured breath.
"That thing didn't just want to kill me."
Silence fell again.
Rickie turned halfway.
"Why do you say that?"
Riven answered slowly.
"Because I'm still alive."
I watched him for several seconds.
Then I said softly:
"Exactly."
Rickie rubbed the back of his neck.
"You two are seriously creepy when you talk like that."
Neither of us answered.
Outside, the forest stood perfectly still.
But another question had crept into the room:
If whatever chased Riven didn't want to kill him… then what did it want?
Rickie stepped away from the window.
"Alright. Let's say it spared you. What's the logic?"
Riven stayed silent.
"What do you want me to say?"
Rickie stared at him.
"What's the logic?"
I stood up.
"Maybe you were its prey… but it didn't finish the hunt."
Rickie shook his head.
"That makes no sense."
Riven looked at me.
"What kind of animal are you talking about?"
I turned toward him.
"A wolf."
Rickie almost laughed.
"They disappeared ages ago. Cross them off the list."
Riven calmly replied.
"You're wrong."
Rickie frowned.
"What do you mean?"
I continued.
"He means some populations become migratory or semi-migratory when their main prey runs out."
Rickie suddenly understood.
"You mean it moves when there's no food left?"
Riven nodded.
"Exactly."
Rickie narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"And what proves you're not the one behind all this?"
I shrugged.
"Nothing proves it."
Rickie pointed at Riven.
"Exactly. During your fight…"
Riven interrupted him.
"What fight?"
Rickie continued anyway.
"You had blue eyes. You're not an alpha."
I answered calmly.
"No. I'm not."
Riven looked at me curiously.
"Then what are you?"
I replied simply:
"I'm a delta."
Rickie whistled.
"Cool name."
Riven and I stared at him.
He raised his hands.
"Sorry. Go on."
I continued.
"In the werewolf hierarchy, there are:
Alpha — the absolute leader, the strongest, the one who commands everything.
Gamma — often the leader of the warriors, strategist, third in strength, responsible for battles and defense.
Delta — third or fourth in command, trainer, messenger, loyal protector. Highly respected, but not at the top.
Normal wolves / warriors / hunters — the majority of the pack.
Omega — the lowest rank, the one who absorbs tension and keeps peace." Riven crossed his arms.
"Where do I fit in all this?"
I stared at him for a moment, assessing his posture, his icy calm, the way he had stood his ground without ever flinching.
"In my opinion… you're a beta. And the one who bit you… an alpha."
A heavy silence fell. Rickie opened his mouth, closed it, then nearly exploded.
"Wait, what? You're saying Riven's a werewolf? And someone… bit him?"
Riven didn't move, but his eyes darkened slightly.
"That's why I'm still alive. He let me go. Not out of pity. Because he wanted me to survive… for now."
Rickie took a step back.
"And you? You said you're a delta. So… what? Weaker than them?"
I smiled for the first time—a joyless smile.
"Weaker than an alpha, yes. But strong enough to track what's prowling here. Strong enough to understand the marks on your neck, Riven."
Riven instinctively touched the scar on his throat.
"You know what it is?"
I nodded.
"An alpha bite. Not just any bite. One that transforms without killing… or one that marks to control later. He tested you. You held your ground. Now, he's going to come back. To finish the job… or to force you into submission."
Rickie swallowed hard.
"And us? Where do we fit in this story? Annoying witnesses?"
I placed a hand on Riven's shoulder, which didn't flinch.
"No. You're loners who survived an encounter with an alpha. That makes you targets… but also potential allies. If we stay together, we have a chance."
Rickie dropped the rock he'd been holding; it rolled across the floor with a dull thud. He leaned against the wall, arms hanging.
"So… we're stuck with this. A ghost alpha that bites people to turn them, a beta who just found out, a delta who knows stuff he doesn't say… and me. What am I? The idiot who's seen too much?"
I stayed silent for a moment, then answered softly.
"You're the one asking the right questions. Without you, we'd still be lying to ourselves."
Riven lifted his eyes to me. His gaze wasn't just curious anymore—there was something harder, more calculating.
"You say the bite marks for domination. What does that mean, exactly? Am I going to… become like him? Lose control?"
I shook my head.
"Not necessarily. Not right away. The transformation takes time. Sometimes weeks, sometimes months. But yes, there's a link. Some kind of… invisible thread. The closer he gets, the more you'll feel his presence. Dreams. Impulses. Moments where you'll want to submit without knowing why."
Rickie snickered, but it was a hollow sound.
"Great. So Riven's gonna be Mister Alpha's little pet. And us? We just… wait for him to pick us off one by one?"
Riven clenched his jaw.
"No."
He straightened fully, shoulders broad, chin lifted. As if the word "beta" had already started to root itself in him.
"If it's true, if I'm supposed to be a second… then I refuse to be someone else's second who I didn't choose."
I nodded slowly.
"That's exactly why I stayed. Deltas don't follow blindly. We observe. We protect what's worth it. And we break the chains when they get too heavy."
Rickie looked between us, then at the floor.
"Okay. Let's say we want… to resist. How do we do that? Because me, I don't know how to fight werewolves. I don't even have fangs."
I studied him for a long moment. Then I said, calmly:
"For now, we do nothing. We'll go back to living normal student lives."
Rickie blinked.
"Seriously?"
I nodded.
"School continues. Classes continue. We pretend. We observe. And when he comes back… we'll be ready."