Feral (Werewolf boyxboy)

Chapter 1

ECKO

Some people find joy in the dusty pages of a story, sucked into the throes of a fantastical, fairytale world so grand that reality could never hope to offer anything like it. Whereas, others might find it in the warm arms of their loved ones, smothered by kisses and hugs that reduce their hearts and souls to irretrievable mush.

But me? My joy was here.

The wind was a song of freedom as it whistled past my ears, and as I reached up, fingers tingling in the late fall breeze, my cream-colored, billowing shirt whipped around my body. Pressing down on top of my head with one hand, I hoped to keep my wide-brimmed hat from being carried away with the tide of such a drafty afternoon as I made my way along the inlaid stone pathway that led from my overflowing garden to my family home.

With the majority of my crops reaching the apex of their bounty as the cold front of winter prepared to make its chilly entrance, today's yield was a hearty one. My knit tote – weaved of my own hands in the exact manner in which my Papa had taught me many years ago – bounced heavily against my fleshy hip as I hopped my way along the lengthy footpath, unable to keep the smile from my lips as I thought of the absolutely mouthwatering dinner that I was going to be able to provide for my family tonight.

As I steadied my mental fortitude, preparing it for the onslaught of debauchery that I was sure to find once I returned home, it wasn't long before the quaint, stone structure of my childhood home emerged from over the hill, the smoke that curled from the chimney and into the orangey-blue sky proof that my family was getting started with the evening festivities already.

... Well, that is if you could really call the onslaught of outlandish activity that my Dad, brothers, and sister always managed to get into when the sun sank behind the horizon anything close to festive.

My family couldn't be described as anything other than a rambunctious bunch, a plentiful mix of powerful personalities that never ceased to put on such a show that some might even consider it borderline overwhelming. But regardless, even though I, too, needed ample time away from home in order to quiet my mind, I always loved my family with my entire heart.

Golden light poured from the large windows that surrounded my home, and already, my keen ears picked up on the rampant commotion unfolding within. My shoes clacked against the stone pathway as it converged with the one that led to the larger Pack House up the way, and soon I was ascending the few steps that led up to my expansive front porch and reaching out a hand for the knob of my front door, the flowy sleeve of my shirt riding up my left forearm as I did so.

No matter how many times I saw it, the sight of my own butchered flesh would always send a shiver of ice and blood down my spine. Although the attack was over eleven years ago now, the painful memory of every millisecond of raw terror still remained fresh and brutal in not only my own mind but also that of my fathers'. And for good reason, at that.

I'd nearly died that day, and likely would have if it weren't for Uncle Benji swooping in at the last minute and transfusing countless units of blood into my system right there in the middle of my bloodied backyard. But as I'd learned much later, the blood hadn't only been mine, as while Dad held me tight, soothing me with words so loving that I'd sobbed endlessly into his arms, Papa had unleashed a demon of fury onto the wolf who'd hurt me, reliving him of every limb before silencing him forever.

To this day, killing my attacker in a flurry of uncompromising rage was my Papa's greatest regret. At least, killing him before learning who and where the wolf had come from.

While we suspected that he was one of the many, emboldened patrol wolves belonging to the feral Cave Sands pack that had stalked my family since a time before I could even remember, there was no true way to verify that suspicion when we were left with nothing but a dead wolf unable to phase back into human form.