Midnight hit, the full moon glowing huge and white overhead. Ethan Nicolas slipped out, grabbing his car keys from the table. His dark hair hung messy over sharp green eyes, his trouble-making grin gone, face tense. He wore his white shirt untucked, black jeans scuffed, and threw on his leather jacket. Keys jingled as he jumped into his sleek black car and peeled out.
He drove fast, windows down, cool air slapping his face. The city blurred—roads got thin, trees closed in. He floored it, racing far, till a jagged mountain rose ahead, its peak lost in moonlit shadows. He stopped near its base, tires crunching gravel, and parked. Stepping out, he slammed the door, the sound bouncing off the rocks.
Ethan started walking, boots hitting dirt, then sped up—jogging, chest heaving. His heart thumped—full moon's pull burned in his blood. He ran wilder, legs flying, wind ripping at his jacket. Flashes hit—an old man's voice, raspy, "You owe me your life—change to a werewolf!"—yellow eyes glaring, teeth sinking into his arm—pain exploding, bones snapping, him screaming as fur tore through skin, first howl ripping free. Halfway up, his body changed—bones snapped, muscles grew, dark fur sprouted thick. His green eyes glowed fierce, claws flashed, teeth sharpened. At the top, he stood—a handsome, magnetic werewolf, tall and strong, his howl tearing through the night, deep and raw.
Other wolves answered—shadows darted fast, gathering at the peak. Dozens of them, eyes shining yellow, fur bristling—big ones, lean ones, all wild. They howled back, loud and long, voices smashing together like a storm. The mountain rattled with it—intense, primal. After a bit, they split, scattering into the dark to hunt. Ethan charged down the slope, three wolves with him—two gray, one black—running crazy, no control, snapping at the air, crashing through bushes.
Halfway down, they stopped cold. A figure stood there—human-shaped, dark skin gleaming under the moon, red eyes burning like fire. He held a rope, thick and twisted, coiled in his hand. His face was hard, scary—sharp cheekbones, a grim stare. The air got heavy, cold. This was Yama, god of death, gripping the Kalapasha, his noose of fate. It hung loose, dark as night, a tool to snag souls and drag them off—mortality's chain.
The wolves snarled, fur spiked, howling louder—fear, rage, chaos swirling. Ethan's growl shook his chest, his packmates pacing, eyes wild. Yama's red gaze locked on Ethan, cutting deep. He raised the Kalapasha, pointing slow. "Ethan," he said, voice low like a grave, "death is behind you. If things line up wrong, I'll come for you soon. I don't want that yet—watch every step."
Ethan's howl spiked—sharp, violent—his pack joining, voices cracking the air. Yama stepped back, fading into the dark, his rope swinging once before he vanished. The wolves kept howling, loud and messy, till his shadow left their sight. The night dragged on—they hunted hard, tearing through the woods, wild and free, blood on their claws.
Moonlight faded, sun crept up—Ethan stumbled back to his car at 6 a.m., human again. His shirt was torn, jeans filthy, dark circles under his green eyes. He looked weak, drained—werewolf night sucked him dry. He drove home slow, crashed on his bed, and slept hard till 10.
At Lone Wolf Tech, the office buzzed—phones rang, papers flew, voices shouted. Ava, Jake, Claire, everyone rushed around, prepping for a big evening conference. Ethan dragged in late, jacket off, shirt wrinkled, eyes heavy. Ava glanced over, her dark hair loose, freckles sharp—busy typing. Jake, in his hoodie, hauled boxes nearby, sharp eyes darting. Claire shuffled files, blonde hair bouncing, sneaking looks at Ethan.
He slumped into his cabin, weak—full moon hangover hit hard. "Nap time," he muttered, head on his desk, out cold. Afternoon rolled in—office chaos grew, people running, yelling about slides and deadlines. Ava slipped away, curious, and peeked into Ethan's cabin at 2 p.m. He was still asleep, breathing slow, dark circles worse. She frowned—what's with him?—and left quiet.
Time hit 3—Ethan jolted awake, sweating. A dream flashed—Yama's red eyes, that noose, "death is behind you." He sat there, confused, rubbing his face. Death near? How? His head spun—wolves, hunting, Yama's words all jumbled. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, lost in it.
His phone buzzed on the desk—WolfSnap hummed, a low, growly sound cutting through, sensing something close. Ethan didn't hear, too deep in thought, eyes fixed ahead, missing the warning hum. It faded, unnoticed.
A knock snapped him out—sharp, quick. "Yes, come in," he said, voice rough.
Tara poked in, flirty smile on, blonde hair swaying. She slid close, rubbing his hand, voice soft. "Hey, Ethan—don't you remember your promise?" She leaned in, brushing his arm.
"What promise?" he said, blinking, still foggy.
"You told me after the conference tonight, you'd give me something wild—don't you remember?" she purred, fingers trailing his wrist.
Ethan grinned, slow and flirty, waking up. "Oh yeah—wild, huh? Stick around, babe—I'll show you a howl you won't forget." His green eyes glinted, playboy charm kicking in, shoving Yama's warning aside. Tara giggled, squeezing his hand. "Can't wait, boss." She winked, sauntering out. Ethan's grin faded, a bitter mutter slipping out—"Sophie, you made me an animal."
To be continued...