Now, with the crisp New York City breeze coaxing a soft blush to Maria's cheeks and ruffling through her raven hair, with the gentle chatter of passersby and the crunching of foot traffic through snow gracing her ears, she finally feels like she can breathe—and it's as strange a feeling as it is relieving.
At Natasha's amused side-eye, Maria chuckles and, with a curious tilt of her head, asks, "What?"
"Nothing."
[In Our Bones, Chapter 1]
Thank you to @drawsmaddy for the incredible artwork!
Warnings: explicit scenes, rape and non-con elements, animalistic behaviors, blood, murder, etc. If you're not comfortable with these themes, do not read.
Notes: I'm still sick and also mentally drained. Tomorrow is Monday, and it makes me sad! So I said, "Why not post the 1st chapter of this work before you all start your week?". I need a good book cover for this work but I'm no artist. I would appreciate it if anyone has any idea.
I absolutely request your comments! I don’t have many followers here, and without your support, this work would be put on hold. Please reblog and like if you enjoy it🤍I appreciate your time and attention!
The scent of blood clung to my skin as I shifted back to my human form.
Bones cracked, muscles realigned, and my claws shortened into fingers. From walking on four limbs to standing upright again, the earth beneath my bare feet felt strange. My body was slick with sweat and the blood of my enemies glistening under the morning light.
Behind me, my warriors followed suit. The forest filled with the sound of breaking bones and low, animal groans as they shed their wolves and returned to men. For us, it was a familiar symphony: the wild’s way of reminding us who we truly were.
When the gates of my territory came into view, the guards in front of it instantly bowed. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and the smell of smoke and meat drifted toward us.
A young boy ran forward, carrying furs to cover our bodies if we wanted. One of the young warriors still not mature enough to enter the fights with me stepped forward and wrapped a thick strip of pelt around my waist, tying it with trembling fingers.
“Alpha Aleric,” he murmured, voice shaking with awe.
I only gave a short nod.
The people lined both sides of the path as we entered; men, women, and children, all howling in victory. My warriors joined them, raising their voices until the forest itself seemed to roar. I should have felt the thrill of triumph. Once, I would have. But now…
Victory meant nothing.
Maybe twenty years ago, I would have felt pride. But now... when forty winters had passed me by and the scent I was destined to find had never come... no.
Children waved at me, faces glowing with joy, their tiny hands lifted to me as if I were something holy. I forced my gaze forward.
How could an Alpha smile when his wolf was dying?
My warriors’ laughter echoed behind me, full of pride and exhaustion. They were proud, and they deserved to be. They had followed me into blood and fire, and they came back alive because I had been there. That was how it always was.
Or used to be.
Now… things were different.
As we reached the center of the village, the females stepped forward, carrying trays piled high with raw meat and dripping with fat. The scent was heavy, rich, meant to celebrate.
“Alpha,” one of them called softly, bowing low, “the feast awaits.”
The crowd went still. Every gaze found me, waiting — for my approval, my smile, my first bite. Because the pack’s joy was bound to mine.
If the Alpha did not rejoice, no one could.
I looked over them, faces I had known since they were pups, and I saw the same thing mirrored in their eyes that haunted my own reflection: fear. Not of me… but for me. They knew.
Our kind were bound by more than command. Our souls were tethered through instinct. They could feel my unrest, the hollow ache that never eased. And I feared, one day, that my so-called curse the emptiness of being unmated would poison them too.
Because what was an Alpha without his mate?
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to reach for the tray nearest me. The meat was still warm, blood running down my wrist as I lifted it. The taste of iron filled my mouth. I bit into it only for them, for my people, so that they could begin their feast.
The moment my teeth tore through flesh, a roar of celebration erupted around me. My pack howled and laughed. I waited until their voices grew steady again before tossing the half-eaten meat back onto the tray.
The females stepped back instantly at a flick of my hand, bowing their heads in silence.
I turned and walked through the crowd toward the center of the village, where my den stood tall among the trees. “Den” was hardly the right word. It was three stories of stone, timber, and wood, built by hand and claw over decades. It rose high enough that from my balcony, I could see nearly the entire territory, miles of green breathing wilderness that belonged to me.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepped inside. The noise of the feast dulled to a distant echo.
The silence within my home was deafening.
As I climbed the stairs, I passed by the corridor lined with doors, empty rooms that were supposed to be filled with laughter, with the scent of pups, with the heartbeat of a family.
Rooms that would have belonged to my children.
One… two… ten, perhaps — however many my mate would have given me.
But they were empty. Always had been.
I reached the last door at the end of the hall, my chamber. Or what should have been ours. The circular room opened wide to the forest beyond, its great archways letting the wind spill through. The furs on the bed were untouched from my nights being spent on the floor instead.
The room was built for warmth, but no warmth ever came.
I stepped out onto the balcony, the cold air brushing over my skin. From up here, I could see everything: the dancing, the laughter. My warriors were surrounded by villagers, offered food and touch, and praised for the blood they spilled.
But when my eyes drifted to the children — small feet stomping in the dirt, their laughter rising like birds — a familiar ache clenched inside my chest.
Because I had none.
And I would never have one.
A soft knock came from behind. I didn’t turn.
My brother’s scent reached me before he did. Lucas.
The door creaked open.
“You should rest.”
He was twenty-two now — young, strong, untouched by bitterness.
He stepped closer. “Eat something. Or join them, at least. People want to see you.”
I exhaled slowly, eyes still on the firelit celebration below. “I’m going to the river,” I said. “Don’t follow me. Don’t send anyone.”
When I turned to leave, Lucas moved into my path, placing a hand against my chest. His eyes — bright blue, full of light I once had — searched mine.
“They still believe in you,” he said. “They believe the Moon will send her. You can’t lose hope, brother.”
I looked down at his hand, then back at his face. He was everything I was before time stripped it away. His skin unscarred, his spirit unbroken. My reflection in a purer form.
“I don’t need your hollow words,” I said, voice low.
He didn’t move. “They’re praying for you, Aleric. Every full moon, every night before the hunt—”
“I don’t need their prayers,” I snapped, shoving his hand aside. “And I don’t need the Moon Goddess either. If she wanted to give me a mate—”
I stopped at the doorway, turning my head just enough to look back at him.
“She should have given her to me twenty years ago.”
Lucas said nothing. His throat worked as if to speak, but no words came.
“My wolf grows weaker every day,” I murmured, almost to myself. “One night, he’ll break. And when that happens, I’ll tear myself apart before I let him hurt any of my people.”
A bitter laugh escaped me — harsh, humorless.
“You’d better be ready to be the next Alpha, brother.”
Lucas growled in response to my words, irritated that I would even say such a thing. I was already halfway down the corridor when his voice thundered after me.
“You are the Alpha, and you will always be the Alpha till the end!”
Their loyalty humbled me. Even though my brother could claim the position if he wanted, my people never even considered it. They still looked to me, even when I had no faith left in myself.
I left the house through the back door, unwilling to meet anyone’s eyes or spoil their joy. My steps carried me past the gates that guarded our homes and toward the river: the river that gave us life. One branch for drinking, one for washing, one for bathing.
And then there was the sacred stream: the one reserved for the Alpha and his mate.
I never touched it. I could not. It was meant for her… and she had never come.
I washed the blood from my skin in the cold water, though I no longer felt its bite. I dipped my head beneath the surface, closing my eyes for a moment, wishing that when I opened them again, I might find myself in another world. A world where I was not empty.
But wishes never come true.
I rose from the river and drifted into the forest. I could never be lost here; every tree, every scent, every breath of the wind belonged to me. My wolf knew every path by heart.
Still, I walked without aim.
Because what aim could I have left?
My will had weakened with the years. An Alpha should grow stronger... but I hadn’t. Even in battle, I felt slower, duller. It was humiliating. My warriors knew, but they never said a word. They only stood close, guarding me when my strength faltered.
But the rogues… they knew. They could smell weakness. They tested our borders every week now, hungry for what was mine. And each time, I wondered how much longer my wolf could hold on without her.
At first, he was furious, aching to find her. I searched across lands, months away from my people, hoping to scent her somewhere. But I never did. Every she-wolf I met — even rogues — smelled wrong. Not her.
By the time I reached thirty, my wolf had grown quiet. Not angry. Not sad. Just… quiet. As if he had given up, yet still waited, deep down, for a miracle.
I tried to keep fighting for my people to strengthen what remained of us. But lately, I feel as though both of us — man and wolf — are dying slowly.
I had imagined her so many times.
Sometimes strong and fierce: a warrior with short hair and coal tattoos across her chest and back, fighting beside me.
Other times, gentle: one who would teach the children our ways and nurture the next generation.
Either way, I always imagined her here.
And that was the cruelest dream of all.
I didn’t even realize how much time had passed. Only when I looked up and saw the moon climbing the sky did I notice how far I had walked.
When I looked around, I realized I was far from my village. If I wanted to return before the nightly routines began, I would have to run in my wolf form. But my wolf wasn’t in the mood. He didn’t care for our traditions anymore.
It had become difficult to shift unless I was in battle. As if my wolf no longer wanted to answer me.
I sighed loudly and tilted my head toward the moon — our goddess, our source of strength. Her light poured between the branches, pale and cold. I had cursed her a thousand times before, but even that rage had burned out long ago.
Now, I only stared and whispered in my mind, "Let her find me… or let me die, so I no longer have to wait."
My eyes closed. I breathed deeply, ready to turn back. But then—
A scent.
Faint. Unexpected.
My eyes snapped open. My body froze.
Could it be a rogue? An intruder? I inhaled again, searching for it, but it was gone.
No—there. Just a trace. So strange. So… right.
My wolf stirred suddenly. The first reaction I had seen from him in years.
I shifted, bones cracking, skin tearing, and fur spreading across my body until I stood in my wolf form. My claws dug into the earth as I sniffed the air. And there it was again, stronger this time.
A scent of vanilla… roses… and something sweeter.
Soft. Dreamlike. The kind of scent that did not belong in this world.
And my wolf howled with a sound that broke through the still night because he knew.
It was her.
His joy exploded through me, pure and violent. I ran. Branches snapped beneath my paws as I followed the trail, faint but intoxicating. The wind carried it like a whisper. My body burned for more of it. I needed it. I wanted to drown in it.
Every breath that entered my lungs had to be hers now.
The scent grew stronger in one direction. I slowed, muscles tense, shifting upright onto two legs. My wolf form was large, towering, black fur blending with the night. Unlike ordinary wolves, we could walk on two feet as easily as four, though running was faster when low to the ground.
I moved carefully, silently. And then I saw her.
At first, I thought my mind was tricking me. But no... there she was.
A small figure wandering through my lands, completely unaware that she had stepped into her fate.
I narrowed my eyes and stepped closer. She was… different. Too small for our kind. Her shoulders narrow, her waist delicate, her figure curved.
Curved.
She-wolves never had curves, not unless they carried life or were nursing currently.
A surge of anger and panic flashed through me. Could she be pregnant?
The thought was unbearable. My hands clenched, claws digging into my palms as a deep growl rolled from my chest.
The sound startled her. She froze, eyes wide, scanning the darkness.
And then she turned, fully toward me.
I saw her face.
Soft, round, terrified. Eyes wide and shining under the moonlight. Her hair tied in a messy bun, strands falling loose. Her skin smooth, untouched by our coal markings or tattoos.
She was beautiful. Fragile.
And unmistakably different.
As the wind shifted and her scent surrounded me, the truth struck like lightning.
She wasn’t one of us.
She wasn’t a wolf.
My mate — the one I had waited for all these years — was human.
— Lars Lih, Lenin Rediscovered: What Is to Be Done? In Context
He’s so passive aggressive and the cosmonaut mag audiobook reader delivers this passage so well (at 50:50 in the introduction video)
