The night split open at midnight
Ethan Nicolas jolted awake in his house, WolfSnap's vibrations tearing through his phone like a storm. The screen blazed blood-red, casting jagged shadows across his bedroom walls. Across town, Ava Francis slept deeply in her own house, her burner phone rattling fiercely on her nightstand, its crimson glow bleeding into the dark. She stirred faintly, exhaustion anchoring her to dreams.
Ethan seized his phone, green eyes sharp. WolfSnap's interface pulsed with a raw message: SOS. BLACKWOOD. KING.His pulse spiked. His burner rang— a young wolf's voice, cracked and heavy, sliced through.
"Ethan… the king's dead. Pack's gathering. Now."
No words. He threw on his leather jacket and vanished into the night.
---
Blackwood Forest pulsed under the full moon, its trees slashing at the silver sky. Ethan tore through the underbrush, boots churning mud, until he hit the sacred clearing. The PACK stood in a solemn ring—dozens of werewolves, fur bristling, amber eyes gleaming in torchlight. At the center, on a pyre of gnarled branches, lay the KING—his massive wolf form still, dark fur shimmering, antler crown bound with thorns. Moonlight caught his bared fangs, frozen in death.
Keva stepped forward, gray fur dusted with ash. "Midnight took him," she growled low. "The pearie wound… it never healed."
Ethan's throat burned. The king's coma, the alien's venom—his fault. Torches roared as the pack chanted, primal and deep, the earth trembling. Flames swallowed the pyre, smoke twisting into a howling wolf's shape. Ethan's claws bit his palms, blood pooling on the moss.
As embers fell, Mara—a hulking elder, scars crisscrossing his muzzle—faced the pack. "The crown's empty. We choose tonight."
Ethan," Keva said, voice like steel.
Snarls exploded. A young wolf, eyes like frost, lunged forward. "*Him?* A bitten half-breed? No true-born would stand for it!"
Keley, wiry and fierce, shoved through. "He's stronger than any of you! He chose the wolf, didn't fall into it! Tell them why, Ethan!"
The pack's eyes pinned him. The forest stilled.
Ethan shut his eyes.
Flashback.
Seven Years Earlier
Dawn broke cold over a rural road, the air thick with dust and gasoline.
Ethan, 21, knelt beside a wrecked car, his hands shaking but unharmed. Sophie, his girlfriend, the love of his life, lay crumpled in the passenger seat—her blonde hair matted with blood, her breath shallow. The crash had been sudden, a truck veering into their lane on the way to college. Ethan's voice cracked, pleading, "Hang on, Soph. I've got you."
He dragged her from the wreckage, her pulse faint, and sped to the nearest hospital. The ER was chaos—beeping monitors, rushing nurses. A doctor, face grim, pulled Ethan aside.
"Her heart's failing," the doctor said. "She needs a transplant. Without it, she won't last the day."
Ethan's knees buckled, the world tilting. "A transplant? Where—how?"
"We're checking donors, but it's rare. You can try nearby hospitals."
Ethan ran—hospital to hospital, his phone burning with desperate calls, his voice hoarse begging for a heart. No leads. No hope. On a quiet street, lungs burning, he nearly collapsed when an old man appeared—frail, over 90, his eyes sharp despite his trembling frame.
"You're running to save her," the old man rasped, voice oddly certain. "Your girlfriend."
Ethan froze, confused. "How do you—"
"I can help," the man cut in. "I know where to find a transplant. But first, you owe me a favor."
Ethan's desperation surged. "Anything. Just help her, please."
The man's gaze darkened. "Go to Royar Street. Now."
Ethan sprinted, heart pounding, to Royar Street—a gritty corner of town. There, sprawled on the pavement, was an 18-year-old girl, her body broken from a hit-and-run. Blood pooled beneath her, her breaths ragged, fading. Ethan's instinct kicked in—no time to think. He scooped her up, racing back to the hospital, her weight heavy in his arms.
The doctor met him at the ER, shaking his head. "She's gone. No pulse."
Ethan's chest caved, guilt crashing—I was too late. But the doctor's next words hit harder.
"If her family consents to organ donation within the hour, her heart could save your girlfriend."
Ethan didn't hesitate. He tracked the girl's parents to a nearby waiting room, his voice raw, pleading. "She's gone, but she can save someone—my Sophie. Please."
Tears streaked their faces, but they nodded, signing the forms. The transplant began, hours crawling like years. When the doctor emerged, his words were a lifeline: "Sophie's stable. The heart's strong."
Ethan's relief broke him, tears falling as he sank to the floor.
But the old man's voice echoed—A favor. Ethan found him outside, leaning on a cane, his eyes glinting under the hospital's neon glow.
"What do you want?" Ethan asked, voice steady but dreading.
The man smiled, thin and cold. "Your life. Swear it to me."
Ethan's blood chilled, shock rooting him. "What?"
To be continued....