His Unmarked Territory

The nightmare was the same. Running through the dark forest in your wolf form, the cold air whipping against your fur, the desperate race towards your parents’ cries, and the inevitable, horrifying sight of them being attacked. You jolted awake, eyes flashing open to see your Gran’s sad, familiar smile.

“We’re nearly here,” she said softly.

Through the car window, the North Dakota landscape had dissolved into a matte black blur as night had fallen. You yawned, the dream lingering, the raw grief a familiar ache. The car pulled up to a house surrounded by miles of dark, welcoming forest. Perfect. All a werewolf needs.

Gran showed you inside, her uncertainty palpable as she led you to a faded pink door. “This used to be your mother’s room,” she explained. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door, relieved to find a newly furnished, lilac room, a perfect blend of new beginnings and familiar echoes. It felt like your room. For the first time in a long time, you smiled.

Later that night, tucked in bed, sleep wouldn’t come. The forest called. Against your better judgment, you transformed, a familiar shudder running through your body, and leaped out the window. The freedom of your wolf form was intoxicating, but a nagging feeling of being watched soon set in. You stopped, senses on high alert, and then you saw them – four wolves, their stance curious, not aggressive. The largest, the Alpha, stepped forward. Fear, sharp and cold, seized you. You bolted, racing back to the house, the memory of your parents’ attack a chilling reminder of the danger. As you reached the lawn, the first light of dawn was breaking, and the wolves were gone. You’d been out all night. Great.