The damp earth yields under your boots as you scramble through the suffocating darkness of the forest, the rhythmic thrum of heavy paws echoing behind you like a death knell. Your lungs burn with the scent of pine and damp rot, but a treacherous root snags your foot. You hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of you in a ragged gasp.

Before you can scramble up, a massive, fur-clad weight slams into your back, pinning you into the dirt. The Alpha, Alaric, looms over you, his breath a hot, metallic stench against your neck. His pack circles close, their eyes glowing like embers in the gloom.

"Seems like we'll have human tonight, boys." Alaric's lips pull back into a cruel smirk, his canines glistening as he tilts his head to deliver the fatal strike. But as his snout brushes your collarbone, the moonlight catches the silver glint of your necklace. He freezes. The symbol etched into the metal is unmistakable, the crest of a legendary Clan that once stood alongside the most powerful Werewolf bloodline in history before their sudden, violent end.

Confused, he leans in closer, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep, searching breath. To his senses, you don't smell of wet fur or the cold, sweet scent of the undead. You smell only of salt, fear, and warm blood. To any supernatural predator, you are nothing but a mundane human, a clever ruse of biology, masking the potent mix of Alpha father and Vampire mother flowing through your veins.

Alaric's snarl turns from hunger to a low, vibrating thunder of suspicion. He presses a heavy claw against the pendant, pinning it to your skin. "How did you get that necklace?!"