CHAPTER ONE

Once upon a time, a wolf fell in love with a huntress.

It didn't end well.

'The woods are lovely, dark and deep', Robert Frost wrote in an earlier era, before the march of progress and industrialization tamed most of America's wild spaces, burying forest trails beneath concrete highways and clearing ancient oaks to make way for condos and shopping malls. But for all that a town of 30,000 souls rested a scant five miles away, the Preserve felt like a throwback to a more primal age. Shadows were deeper somehow, the intricate weave of branches overhead vaguely more threatening. The whisper of wind through the leaves lent the air a certain intensity, imbuing it with a sense of awareness. Thick with potential, as though watching. Waiting. Hungering.

Maybe it was all just her imagination. Or maybe it was her knowledge that there were monsters in these woods. And Allison, for all her bravado, was still just a seventeen year old girl very much in over her head.

A branch snapped somewhere behind her. Thought gave way to reflex as she spun and dipped into a combat-ready stance, her bow up and arrow nocked and ready to fly. Her father emerged from between two trees, his own crossbow rested casually against his shoulder.

"Careful," was all he said. He didn't seem the least bit bothered by having an arrow aimed right at his chest. And he of all people knew how good her aim was. "If you let your nerves control your body like that you'll end up more of a danger to your hunting party than the things you're hunting."

Always another lecture. Allison bit back the retort that leapt easily to her tongue. Now probably wasn't the best time to engage in pointless teenage rebellion. He was right after all. Not that she had any intention of actually admitting that.

"Sorry. I'm just more rattled than I thought I'd be."

"There's no shame in that," her father said. "Any hunter who's not at least a little afraid to face werewolves in their own home is a dead hunter. The trick is to let your caution help you, not overwhelm you."

"Easier said than done," she pointed out wryly. He chuckled as they ventured further into the woods.

"You'll get the hang of it. This is only your first hunt. And I wouldn't have let you come at all if I didn't think you could handle it."

"I thought you were dead set against me coming, and I'm only here because Mom and Grandpa Gerard overruled you." If there was a certain archness to her tone, Allison felt it was perfectly justified. She hadn't been thrilled at how loudly he'd fought against her coming. He'd trained her himself.

Her father only chuckled again. "Little tip for dealing with hunter hierarchies in the future, kiddo. Fight ferociously against things you're not actually opposed to, and they'll be more inclined to throw you a bone in the battles you choose."

He raised a clenched fist to indicate she should hold her position and advanced ahead, peering cautiously through the darkness. Whatever had grabbed his attention turned out to be no cause for alarm, and she watched the tension visibly drain out of his shoulders.

It still took getting used to, the way her father could switch between mild-mannered parental figure and predatory hunter at the drop of a hat. Allison had only known the truth about her family (and the werewolves they hunted) for a little over a year now. She'd mostly gotten over her hurt and disillusionment at being kept in the dark for so long - she did understand they'd only done it for her protection - but it bothered her how easily her dad could become two totally different people and still look totally the same to her. Which was the real him? How could she ever really be sure what was lurking beneath the surface of any of her family, if she'd been unable to pick up on any of it before they dropped their masks?

"Trust me," he continued. "If I really thought you weren't ready, I'd have thrown you in the car and had us in Mexico before anybody realized what was happening."

Allison nodded and accepted his words for what they were, but failed to recapture the protective warmth a promise like that would have once given her. You'd think after a lifetime of picking up and moving at a moment's notice, change would be something she was used to, but there were times she didn't think she'd ever truly make peace with the changes the last year had brought. Uncomfortably, she changed the subject. They were still on a hunt, and she couldn't afford to be this distracted. Not when she had so much to prove and no idea who she was even proving it to.

"So how many werewolves do you think we're dealing with here anyway?"

Her dad pursed his lips but let the obvious segue slide. "Your grandfather's contact in the coroner's office found claw marks of different sizes in all three of the victims so far. But where there's three werewolves, there could easily be ten more with no way of knowing. These aren't some feral, migrant omegas. This is the work of a pack."

"Like the Hale pack?"

She regretted it even before the flicker of emotion winged across his face, his usual ironclad control unable to keep it in check. Allison just wished she could pin down what that emotion was. Even now, her family still kept too many secrets from her. She knew the fire that had wiped out the Hale pack six years before couldn't have been a simple accident - that much was clear from the way everyone clammed up on the subject the second it appeared she was in ear shot. But if hunters did have something to do with it, if the Hale pack had gone rabid and needed to be put down, why wouldn't anyone just say that?

"Something like that," her father said. "But the better question is why. Why these victims? Why now?"

Allison crinkled her brow. "What do you mean, why? Since when do werewolves need a reason to kill humans?"

"They don't," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean they never have reasons. There's a few suspicious deaths over the course of the past six years that we haven't had time to look into fully, but nothing particularly attention-grabbing. Its possible another pack moved in and seized control in the power vacuum left after the Hale fire. But if they've been living relatively under the radar all this time, why all of a sudden three loud, splashy murders that every hunter west of the Mississippi can't help but hear about?"

"Maybe they have a new alpha?" Allison suggested, not liking the feel of the answer even as she spoke it. It did sound strange after hearing her father phrase it that way. To a hunter, raised and trained in all manner of tracking and catching prey, it seemed eerily reminiscent of bait. But why would a wolf pack want to lure in hunters in the numbers they'd arrived in Beacon Hills with? They couldn't possibly think they could win a confrontation of such magnitude. Unless maybe they'd underestimated how many hunters the murders would bring…

"Maybe," her father offered reluctantly. It was clear that possibility had him as unconvinced as her. A good hunter always trusted their instincts. If something felt off, its because it probably was.

"What does Grandpa Gerard think - " she started to ask, but her father's walkie squawked in mid-query. Panicked shouts and gunfire came through the channel, and distantly she could hear the echo of the shots in some faraway corner of the Preserve.

"Man down," the hunter on the other end - Bannon, she thought maybe - shouted. "We've been ambushed, at least three of the things! We need backup!"

Allison turned to her father in alarm, but he was already in motion, double checking his crossbow and the gun belted to his hip while shouting orders to the dozen or so other hunters spread throughout the Preserve.

"Allison, back to the cars," he snapped. She tried to protest, but he wasn't having any of it. "Now!"

"But…"

"Allison, this wasn't the plan, something has gone wrong and I can't figure out what and get everyone out of here alive if I'm busy worrying about you. I need you to get back to the cars, lock yourself in, and wait for me. Can you do that?"

It was the plea that undid her, the frantic plea and naked desperation in his eyes that he was unable - or unwilling - to hide. Despite all the faces she'd now seen her father adopt at one point or another, this was a new one to her. Fear. For her. Something tightened in her chest and she nodded, steadying her nerves through sheer force of will.

"Okay. I'll go. But Dad, be careful."

He cupped the side of her face in his palm and smiled. "Always, sweetheart. Now go."

Allison went.

The bow that was her pride and joy was a weight dragging her down in her flight through the woods. It tangled in shrubs and low branches as she crashed through the undergrowth, prioritizing speed over grace. The staccato pops of gunfire reverberated in the distance, punctuated by howls and bestial roars that came from no natural creatures. A branch dragged along her face, sketching a small ribbon of blood down one cheek when she raced by it. She hiccuped and swallowed a sob but didn't slow her steps. Another roar echoed through the trees. Far closer than the previous ones.

Her father had been wrong. She wasn't ready for this. She'd never be ready and she was a fool to think otherwise. This wasn't normal, this wasn't supposed to be what her life was like, and all of a sudden she'd give anything to go back to the way things were a year before, even with the lies and deceit.

Her foot caught a tree root.

She tripped.

Fell.

Rolled down a slight embankment and came to a stop along the ridge of a cliff overlooking the canyons carved deep in the Preserve.

Allison shuddered and lay still against the cold, rocky ground beneath her. Everything ached, her whole body stinging from a thousand tiny scrapes and bruises. Mustering the strength to raise even just her head, let alone her entire torso seemed a Herculean feat.

That was when she heard the growl.

It came from somewhere above her, a low, ominous rumble that sank into her bones and chilled her to her core. Slowly, she lifted her gaze up the embankment she'd just rolled down, laying it to rest on the monster crouched at the top.

He was younger than she'd expected. The deformed visage of the werewolf's transformed face made it hard to pick out details, but at a guess, she'd say he was no older than she was. He had curly blond hair not thick enough to hide the tips of his swept back ears, but it was his eyes that held her. Like twin golden lanterns, searchlights even, piercing through the dark of the late hour and pinning her to the ground where she lay.

She hadn't been prepared for teenage monsters.

But then, she hadn't prepared to die either.

Allison carefully reached back along her side, her fingers questing for the knife strapped to her outer thigh. She didn't dare look backwards to locate it, all her concentration going into seeming as helpless and innocent as she could. Look, her mind screamed at the creature. Nothing but prey here.

The werewolf rose from his crouch, looming large, monstrous, megalithic above her. He made as if to make his way slowly down the embankment, his eyes drifting down to watch the placement of his feet. And that was when she struck.

Her hand closed around the handle of her knife, yanking it from its sheath and whipping it forward in one smooth motion, even as her other arm pushed against the rocky ground, propping her up to gain her leverage. The knife cleaved cleanly through the air separating them, whistling as it flew and struck home in the werewolf's right shoulder.

He let out a startled howl of pain and fell back against a tree trunk. His eyes snapped back to hers, and for a moment the golden glow in them dimmed, becoming more human, but she was already on autopilot, muscle memory taking over where her panicked thoughts left off. Never let an opportunity go wasted, her father's voice echoed in her head. Never assume your opponent is down until you're well outside the ring. Her bow came up, an arrow slid out of her quiver almost as if of its own accord, and she let it fly. The shaft buried itself into the werewolf's arm, pinning him against the tree.

The second werewolf came out of nowhere and crashed into her, knocking the breath straight out of her lungs. Her bow skidded across the dirt and gravel; she scrambled frantically after it the second she caught her breath. Even as she did she knew it wasn't quick enough, the monster had to be right behind her, claws ready to rake her in two.

The killing blow never came though, and she rolled onto her back as best her quiver would allow her. The second werewolf was atop the embankment beside the first, busy prying her arrow out of his arm and she thanked god for small favors. Her mind compartmentalized, taking in small details as she crabwalked back along the ridge, fingers still scurrying through the dirt in search of her bow.

This werewolf was slightly smaller than the first, but no older, skin a shade darker than the other's where shafts of moonlight stabbed at him through the treetops. Dark hair, a double-banded tattoo around one bare arm, a slight crook to his jawline when he turned to regard her. Same gold-lit eyes as the first, but there was something different about them, something slightly less feral about the way they bored into hers. She stretched her hand further behind her, her bow had to be here somewhere….the werewolf's eyes widened, he made as though to leap off the embankment at her…

And her hand found nothing but empty air. Overbalanced, she tipped over the side of the ridge, desperately seeking a handhold where none existed. A scream buried itself in her throat, unable to fight its way free as all the breath fled her lungs. She fell, plunging from the cliff, but only three feet into her fall she found it arrested, an iron grip around her right wrist as she dangled helplessly in mid air.

The werewolf lay flat against the ridge above her, holding her easily with one arm. Shocked, wanting to scream, needing to scream but unable to do anything but stare at the claws encircling her wrist without so much as scratching the skin, she offered no resistance as he hauled her up and back on solid ground.

Allison dropped limply into the dirt where he deposited her, heart thudding painfully in her chest in a terrified rhythm made all the worse by her awareness he had to be able to hear it, had to know exactly how brave she wasn't. But the boy didn't react in any of the ways a predator should when presented with helpless prey, and all she could do was stare after him when he backed slowly away from her back towards his companion. She had to call him a boy now, monster or even werewolf no longer seemed to fit with his face transformed back into its natural state. A normal Latino teenager no older than she stared back at her, his eyes a calm brown that never left her face even as she searched his for answers. Found none.

"Why?" She asked at last. She hated how weak and needy it made her sound, none of her usual confidence to be found in it, but tremulous or not, it needed to be asked. She needed to know. Needed to understand. Why would a werewolf save her? Didn't he know what she was? Of course he knew, he'd just pulled her arrow out of his friend.

She was slightly gratified that the first werewolf at least looked as confused as she felt, but it seemed the other had no answers for either of them. He nodded at the larger werewolf, eyes still locked on Allison, and without a word, they both melted back into the shadows.

Leaving her alone. Unharmed. And for some reason, that terrified her more than the sight of their claws had.

She couldn't say how long it took her to compose herself and make her way back to the cars, but she'd barely been there five minutes when the other hunters started trickling in. Some had to lean on others for support, a number sported nasty gashes that made her wince to look at, especially after her own close look at a werewolf's claws, and her heart didn't settle until her father finally arrived at the rear. She ran to him, heedless of the eyes of over a dozen professional killers on her. Let them judge her weak. She was past caring tonight.

Her father caught her in a hug and pressed her tight against his chest, the steady beat of his heart leaking through his chest to calm her own. He stroked her hair gently, like he used to when she was little.

"Allison? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled into his chest. If she didn't look at him, he couldn't see the lie. Right? He chuckled and she could hear the smile in his voice as he said:

"Well then how about we get you home. I think you've had enough excitement for one night, and you start your new school tomorrow."

Allison nodded numbly and let him guide her back to the car. She'd forgotten all about having to start a new school with all her focus on the hunt, and as much as she'd normally bitch and complain about the necessity of spending eight hours a day learning what they could easily teach her in four if only they'd consent to home school her….now all she could think about was the youth of the werewolf who'd…what…saved her? She still couldn't wrap her head around the concept.

But Beacon Hills was a small town, and though she'd never stopped to consider it before, she supposed a teenage werewolf was as likely to be found at school as a human teenager.

Would she see him at school?

Would she learn his name?

And if she did, would she tell her father?

Her sleep was restless that night. She dreamed it was winter, and she sat in a forest clearing, frozen over. The boy sat across from her, his eyes a burning gold and her hands resting in his claws. The snow around them was stained red with blood.

She just didn't know whose.