The road to Blackridge was shrouded in fog, the kind that crawled along the pavement like a ghost trying to forget its name. Caleb Thorn leaned forward over the steering wheel, eyes narrowed against the mist, jaw clenched tight. He hadn't seen the forested town in five years, but even in the gloom, every twist of the road, every leaning tree, felt like a memory reaching for him.
His return wasn't meant to be dramatic. No roaring declarations, no battle cries. Just a man — no, a beast — answering the pull of something ancient. Something inevitable.
The leather jacket around his shoulders was worn, torn at the sleeve where claws once burst through. His knuckles were scarred, not from street fights or accidents, but from things no one dared whisper aloud in cities drenched in light and disbelief.
At the edge of town, the sign still stood: Welcome to Blackridge – Home of the Brave.
The irony burned.
As he passed the sign, the weight of the forest seemed to close around him. The trees leaned in like sentinels, whispering things only wolves could hear.
He parked outside the old diner—the only place open past midnight in this sleepy town. "Maggie's." The flickering neon M buzzed weakly, and for a moment, he considered driving on, back into nowhere. But the howl that echoed faintly in the distance stole that option from him. It wasn't random. It wasn't wild.
It was a call.
A warning.
Caleb stepped inside.
The bell over the door jingled. A woman behind the counter froze, coffee pot mid-pour. Her eyes widened, flicking to the scar that curved from Caleb's temple to the base of his neck — a reminder of the night the Alpha died, and the beast was born.
"Caleb?" she said, her voice a breath, disbelieving.
"Maggie," he replied with a nod.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
He sat at the counter anyway. She poured the coffee in silence, her hands trembling slightly.
"They said you were dead," she whispered.
"I was."
And in many ways, he still was.
He hadn't come back to stir trouble. But trouble had a way of finding wolves, especially the ones who tried to run from the pack.
Miles away, deep in the woods, the moon bled crimson.
On a hill overlooking Blackridge, a figure stood cloaked in shadow. Not quite man. Not quite beast. Eyes glowing amber, the creature tilted its head toward the sky and let out a guttural growl.
The Alpha had returned.
But so had something else.