The forest was quiet this night, too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against the ears until every breath sounded like thunder.

Selene walked the narrow path toward her old hunting shed, boots sinking into the damp earth. Her coat hung heavy with rain, her breath misting in the cold air. Behind her, the trees stood like sentinels, their black shapes watching.

It had been years since she’d stayed this close to a village, but the signs of slaughter in the valley left her little choice. The scent of blood still lingered on the wind, not hers this time, but enough to stir the beast inside her.

Halfway to the shed, she stopped. The clouds shifted, and moonlight poured through the branches, white and merciless.

Selene’s hand shot to her chest as the first tremor hit, bones tightening, breath catching. The moon hung full above, bright as a blade.

Her knees buckled. A growl tore from her throat, low and guttural, rising to a snarl as her body twisted. Fabric ripped. Fingers lengthened into claws.

When the transformation passed, the woman was gone.

In her place stood the wolf, tall, sinewed, eyes burning gold in the moonlight. The woods no longer seemed empty and the werewolf went on the hunt for that scent she had picked up.