Death, a silent predator, moved through the shadows of the world, uncaring of its prey. Tonight, it followed Crystal and her family. Two hours after crossing into Wisconsin from Minnesota, darkness fell swiftly, catching them off guard.

Their car shuddered on the highway, forcing them to the side of the road. While her mother and sister, Brooke, assessed the broken-down vehicle, Crystal, an eighteen-year-old werewolf with no wolf, put on her headphones, trying to drown out the rising anxiety with classical music.

She pulled out her sketchbook, letting her subconscious guide her pencil. She drew a wolf’s head, as she often did, but never her own. Because she had no wolf. The thought was a familiar ache, a constant reminder of her perceived failure.

Minutes later, strangers approached. Beta Will of the Matheson Pack offered them shelter for the night. Crystal overheard her mother's hushed explanation: “Oh, no, she can’t shift.” The words, though quiet, pierced her.

Soon, she and Brooke were in a car with a Matheson wolf, driving through the encroaching darkness. Brooke’s sudden stiffening beside her, her nails digging into the seat, signaled danger. Vampires. A snarl, a howl, and then a crash on the roof of the car. Crystal screamed as pain erupted, her body seizing uncontrollably.

Amidst the chaos, a cold hand gripped her, pulling her from the car. Unfamiliar voices laughed, muffled, as she was flung into the night.