Chapter 1

Kaerith

The frost crunches beneath my claws as I move through the pre-dawn grey. Winter is coming. I can taste it in the air—sharp, clean, the forest preparing to sleep. The trees stand skeletal against the lightening sky, their bare branches reaching like the bones of my kind. 

It's beautiful in the way that all dying things are beautiful. Honest. Inevitable.

I check the northern boundary first. The scent markers I left three days ago are still strong—my claim written in blood and essence across the bark of ancient pines. Nothing has crossed here. Nothing has dared.

This is my ritual. Dawn patrol, every morning without fail, tracing the invisible lines that keep us safe. The territory is vast enough that the circuit takes hours, but I know every tree, every stone, every hollow where prey might hide or threats might lurk. The forest is my fortress, and I am its only guard.

My heart-light pulses steady gold against my ribs—contentment threaded with possession. Back at the den, Elira sleeps. Warm. Safe. Mine.

Everything I do, I do for her.

The world divides simply in my mind: Elira, and everything else. She is the center. The rest is just threat assessment—calculating distances, reading signs, measuring danger against my ability to destroy it before it reaches her.

It's not paranoia. It's practical.

I move east, following the ridge that overlooks the valley. The Hunger hums beneath my thoughts—always there, always waiting, a low constant ache that defines what I am. It's manageable now. She fed me two nights ago, her blood warm and willing against my tongue, and the relief was profound enough to last days. But it never disappears completely. Just... quiets. Becomes bearable.

I've learned to function with it the way humans learn to function with heartbeats—background noise that sometimes spikes into urgency.

This morning it's quiet. A dull ember instead of a raging fire.

The sun breaks over the mountains, pale and cold, painting the frost silver-white. I pause on an outcropping, scanning the territory below. Everything is still. 

I freeze.

The scent hits me like a fist.

Waira.

Foreign. Male. Close.

My heart-light flares white at the edges, gold bleeding into alarm. The Hunger surges in immediate response—not for food, but for threat. My body knows before my mind catches up: another predator, another apex creature, in my territory.

No.

Not in my territory. Near it. Five miles, maybe less.

I can cover that distance in ten minutes at a full run. So can he.

Elira is back at the den. Alone. Vulnerable.

The territorial rage that rises is primal, older than thought. This is mine. She is mine. Everything within these boundaries belongs to me, and anything that threatens that balance must be assessed, dominated, or destroyed.

I don't think. I move.

The forest melts around me as I run, taking the direct route rather than the careful patrol path. Trees whip past, frost exploding under my claws, the cold air burning in my lungs. The Hunger sharpens into focus—not for sustenance, but for violence. My body preparing for what might come.

The scent grows stronger. Definite now. Male, full-grown, healthy. Powerful.

And he's hunting.

I slow as I approach, dropping into the silence that comes naturally to my kind. Skeletal frame moving like smoke through the undergrowth, each step placed with predatory precision. The sun is higher now, casting long shadows through the bare branches.

There.

I see him through the trees.

He's smaller than me—most are—but compact, built for speed rather than overwhelming force. His heart-light glows the same spectrum as mine: gold threaded with white, red pulsing at the core where the Hunger lives. His horns curve back like a ram's, elegant and deadly.

He's focused on something ahead of him. Hunting.

I circle wider, keeping downwind, watching.

The human never sees him coming.

A man, middle-aged, checking traps in the forest. Alone. Foolish.

The waira moves like liquid shadow—one moment distant, the next on top of his prey. The kill is efficient. Clinical. A single strike to the spine, then the feeding. Quick, necessary, without cruelty or hesitation.

I watch without judgment. We are what we are. The Hunger demands, and humans are prey. This is the reality we don't speak aloud but live with every day.

When he's finished, he doesn't linger. Doesn't desecrate the body or take trophies. Just feeds and moves on, the red in his heart-light fading back to gold as the Hunger quiets.

Professional. Controlled.

Not a mindless killer. A survivor managing his curse the only way possible.

He turns, and for a moment I think he's sensed me. But no—he's just heading back toward his own territory. I follow at a distance, staying invisible.

A quarter mile away, I see her.

Human woman, young, dark-haired. She's outside a small shelter—crude but functional—tending a fire. When she sees him approaching, her whole body relaxes. Relief. Recognition.

Love.

He goes to her without hesitation, and she doesn't flinch. Reaches up to touch the bone of his face, the gesture intimate and familiar. Speaking quietly—I'm too far to hear words, but I recognize the tone. Soothing. Grounding.

A Keeper.

I  see it in the way his heart-light steadies under her touch, the way his frame loses its hunting tension. She's feeding him something more than blood—she's feeding him peace.

The same way Elira feeds me.

I watch them for longer than I should, calculating. Assessing.

He's dangerous. Fast, efficient, capable of violence. But he's not hunting waira. He's not expanding territory. He's just... existing. Surviving. Same as me.

The woman, she's not a captive. Not afraid. She's chosen this, same as Elira chose me.

They're bonded.

But that doesn't make him safe. It makes him predictable in some ways, unpredictable in others. A bonded male will do anything to protect his Keeper. Anything. Which means if our territories overlap, if resources become scarce, if winter pushes prey into contested ground...

He becomes a threat.

I file the information away, building the threat assessment in my mind. 

Name: Unknown. 

Distance: Five miles or less north-northeast. 

Capabilities: Speed, efficiency, controlled Hunger. 

Weakness: Keeper bond makes him territorial, protective, possibly irrational.

Variables to monitor.

No sanctuary here. Just another predator maintaining his own borders, same as me.

We can coexist as long as those borders stay clear.

I turn away, retracing my path through the forest. The sun is fully risen now, the frost beginning to melt. The world waking up around me, birds calling, small creatures moving through the undergrowth.

My territory. Still mine. Still safe.

But the knowledge sits heavy in my chest: someone else is close now. 

I run the distance back faster than I came, the need to see Elira suddenly urgent. Five miles disappears beneath my stride, the forest opening before me like it knows I'm coming home.

The den appears through the dense trees—our cave system, carefully chosen, defensible, hidden. Smoke rises from the entrance where she's started the morning fire.

And there she is.

Elira steps out into the pale sunlight, wrapped in furs against the cold, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. When she sees me, her face transforms—worry melting into relief, then warmth.

"You were gone longer than usual," she says, coming to meet me.

I reach for her immediately, pulling her close, breathing in her scent. Human. Mine. Safe.

The Hunger quiets further at her proximity, recognizing what it needs. Not blood—not yet—but presence. Assurance.

"Checking the far boundaries," I tell her, which is true. "Winter's coming. Wanted to make sure everything was secure."

Also true.

She leans into me, small and warm against my skeletal frame. Fragile in ways that terrify me, strong in ways that shame me.

"Find anything?" she asks.

I hesitate. Should I tell her? About the other waira, the proximity, the potential threat?

No. No need to worry her when there's nothing to worry about. He's not a danger. Just a variable to monitor.

"Nothing important," I say, and feel her relax.

"Good. Come inside. I made tea."

Tea. Such a human thing. Such an Elira thing.

I follow her into the den, into the warmth and firelight, into the small safe world we've built from blood and bone and desperate hope.

But even as I settle beside her, accepting the cup she offers, I can't shake the awareness.

Five miles north. Ten minutes at a run.

Another predator. Another male. Another Keeper bond that could complicate everything.

I'll watch. I'll monitor. I'll make sure he stays on his side of the invisible line.

And if he doesn't?

I'll do what I always do.

Whatever it takes to keep her safe. 

The winter gods are returning; and they always sell uncertainty.