They are me.
My body dissolves, the weight of my Løkkda peeling away until all that remains is sleek power, heightened instincts, and a hunger I don’t have to restrain.
The night is mine.
It always has been.
Thick, dark fur pierces through my skin. There’s no sting. No clumsy adjustment. It’s just … right.
My senses sharpen, breath dragging into lungs that aren’t human anymore.
I taste the air. I feel the bitter, biting wind as it tears through my fur.
The shadows don’t just conceal me. They fuel me, shape me—until I’m the wild thing whispered about in nightmares.
Seconds later, I stand on four massive, jet-black paws. I stretch, and my body answers, muscles rippling beneath thick fur as I surge forward, faster than I’ve been in years. As if my body remembers what my mind can’t quite name.
The world blurs, shadows streaking past, while that jarring scent cuts through the noise. It carves through my blood, brands itself into bone, and calls to me with the certainty of something that’s always been mine.
I have no bloody clue what I’m doing.
Typically, I reserve the Tesem for hunting. But here I am, breaking every rule that’s kept me safe for thousands of years … all because of those dark green eyes.
My chest tightens as I fly through the forest, trees vanishing into a blur.
I know where I’m going. I know where she is.
Of course I do.
I’ve known since I caught her scent.
But I don’t know if the thing inside me knows the difference between devotion and destruction.
Snorting in frustration, my paws sink into damp earth as I race forward. When I reach the edge of town, my fur is soaked from running in between dew-covered vegetation, and my wet, black nose twitches as it reads the air.
If I stick to the shadows, I should be able to wander through the darkened streets. Although it wouldn’t be the first time someone caught a glimpse of the Tesem and added another ghost story to the town’s collection.
Since I left my house naked, I need to make a quick stop first.
I shake the dew from my fur, then pad through town, moving silently on four long legs, heading for my shop.
The streets are empty, the town tucked away as if it isn’t perched on something ancient, something the old souls here have learned not to speak of.
Above, the dark strings of lights hanging over Main Street sway in the breeze, their bulbs clinking softly in the wind. The only other sounds are the wind rushing up the hill and the muffled thud of music from the shitty bar a few blocks away.
I cut behind a row of shops and weave my way to the back of mine, where I’ve stashed clothes for occasions like this.
Well, maybe not exactly like this.
Because whatever the hell is happening to me is new and very fucking strange.
The shift rips through me, breath ragged, rage blooming hot from the pit of my stomach.
I’ve stayed hidden for eons. And now I’m unraveling for one small, radiant—fuck … no—ridiculoushuman.
“She’s not even that beautiful,” I mutter, fumbling the buttons because my hands won’t fucking stop shaking.
She’s probably one of those humans who waste their lives chasing small joys like cake-scented candles or blankets that feel like soft, whispered lies. The kind of woman who doesn’t carry the weight of a billion years behind her eyes.
