Chapter 7
Despite Siobhan’s warning—or perhaps because of it—I found myself drawn to the hills the following evening. The full moon hung heavy and bright in the sky, illuminating the winding path that led from the edge of town into the forested hills beyond.
I’d spent the day in restless anticipation of Rafferty’s return, alternating between working on my research notes and pacing his apartment like a caged animal.
By sunset, the waiting had become unbearable.
I needed answers, and I was increasingly convinced they lay in the direction everyone kept warning me away from.
The festival preparations provided perfect cover for my expedition.
The town center was bustling with activity—vendors setting up booths, volunteers hanging green streamers and wolf-shaped decorations, tourists already beginning to arrive for the weekend’s events.
No one noticed as I slipped away from the crowds and headed toward the trailhead marked with a weathered sign: GUARDIAN’S PATH - PROCEED WITH RESPECT.
The rational part of my brain knew this was foolish. I was chasing legends in the dark, alone, in unfamiliar terrain. The irrational part—the part that had been steadily growing since meeting Rafferty—whispered that tonight was special. Tonight, under the full moon, I might finally find the truth.
The path was well-maintained, winding gently upward through pine forests that grew denser the further I walked. The air felt different here—charged somehow, as if a storm was brewing despite the clear sky visible through gaps in the canopy.
I’d been walking for perhaps twenty minutes when I heard it—a long, mournful howl that echoed through the trees, raising goosebumps along my arms. A wolf. Not entirely unexpected in this region, though they typically avoided areas so close to human habitation.
Rational explanation: A lone wolf calling to its pack.
Irrational thought: Something more.
I pressed on, moving more cautiously now. The path curved around a large outcropping of rock, then opened into a small clearing bathed in moonlight. I stopped at the edge, breath catching in my throat.
In the center of the clearing stood a stone circle—twelve rough-hewn pillars arranged around a flat altar stone.
It looked ancient, though I knew from my research that no such structure had been documented in this area.
More curiously, the altar stone bore a familiar symbol carved into its surface—the same wolf’s head and Celtic knot I’d seen on the book in Rafferty’s office.
I stepped into the clearing, drawn to the stone circle as if by magnetic force.
This was significant—potentially groundbreaking evidence of organized ritual connected to the Guardian legend.
I reached for my phone to document the discovery, only to freeze at a sound from the trees beyond the circle.
A low growl, followed by the snap of a branch.
I turned slowly, heart hammering against my ribs. At the far edge of the clearing, partially obscured by shadow, stood the largest wolf I had ever seen. Its fur was dark russet in the moonlight, its eyes gleaming gold as they fixed on me with unnerving intelligence.
For a moment, we stared at each other across the clearing—man and beast locked in silent assessment.
Every instinct screamed at me to run, but some deeper knowledge told me that would be a fatal mistake.
So I remained motionless, barely breathing, as the massive wolf took a step forward into the moonlight.
Up close, it was even more impressive—the size of a small pony, with powerful shoulders and legs that spoke of terrible strength. But it was the eyes that held me transfixed. Those weren’t animal eyes. They were too aware, too knowing.
Too familiar.
“Rafferty?” The name escaped my lips before conscious thought could stop it.
The wolf froze, ears pricked forward. Then, impossibly, it nodded—a deliberate, human gesture that sent my carefully constructed worldview crashing down around me.
Oh my god. Oh my GOD. He’s actually—they’re actually—
My racing thoughts were interrupted by another growl—deeper, more threatening—from behind me. I spun to find a second wolf entering the clearing from the opposite side. This one was gray-black, slightly smaller but no less intimidating, with eyes that flashed silver in the moonlight.
The russet wolf—Rafferty, my mind supplied hysterically—moved with blinding speed, placing himself between me and the newcomer. The growl that rumbled from his chest vibrated through the clearing, a clear warning to the other wolf.
For a tense moment, I thought they would fight.
The black wolf’s hackles were raised, its teeth bared in a snarl.
But then, inexplicably, it backed down, ears flattening in what looked like submission.
With a final glance in my direction—one that somehow conveyed profound disapproval—it melted back into the forest shadows.
I stood trembling in the sudden silence, adrenaline making my vision swim. The russet wolf—Rafferty—turned back to me, his posture changing from aggressive to concerned in an instant. He approached slowly, as if afraid of frightening me.
Too late for that. I was well beyond frightened and into some new territory of existential crisis.
“This isn’t possible,” I whispered, even as the evidence padded toward me on four legs. “Werewolves don’t exist. You can’t exist.”
The wolf stopped a few feet away, those intelligent eyes—Rafferty’s eyes—regarding me with what looked distressingly like hurt. He whined softly, a sound so incongruous coming from such a fearsome creature that it momentarily short-circuited my panic.
“I don’t… I can’t…” I swallowed hard, forcing my academic brain back online. “This defies all scientific understanding of biology and physics. The mass conversion alone should be—”
The wolf made a sound that, had it been human, would have been an exasperated sigh. Then, before my disbelieving eyes, it began to change.
The transformation was both beautiful and horrifying.
Bones shifted beneath fur, the massive form seeming to fold in on itself while simultaneously expanding in other directions.
Fur receded into skin, paws elongated into hands and feet.
The entire process took perhaps thirty seconds, but it felt like hours as I watched the impossible become reality before my eyes.
And then Rafferty was kneeling in the clearing, gloriously naked and very, very human.
“You,” he said, voice rough as if unused to human speech, “are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. I told you to stay in town.”
I stared at him, mouth working silently for several seconds before words finally emerged. “You were a wolf.”
“Yes.”
“A werewolf.”
“We prefer ‘Guardian,’ but yes, technically.” He stood, seemingly unconcerned by his nudity despite the cool night air. “The legend is true, Eliot. Has been for centuries.”
I should have been terrified. I should have been running for the hills—or rather, away from the hills, back to the safety of town and rational explanation. Instead, I found myself moving toward him, hand outstretched as if to verify his solidity.
My fingers connected with warm, very real skin. His chest rose and fell beneath my palm, heart beating strong and steady. “You’re real,” I breathed.
“Very.” His hand covered mine, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Are you afraid?”
Was I? I took internal inventory. Shocked, yes. Confused, definitely. But afraid? I looked into those green eyes—the same eyes that had flashed gold while he moved inside me, that had crinkled at the corners when he laughed, that had watched me with such tenderness in quiet moments.
“No,” I realized, surprising myself with the truth of it. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Relief washed over his features. “Thank god. I thought—when I saw you here—” He pulled me against him suddenly, arms wrapping around me in a fierce embrace. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? The pack is running tonight. If Kieran had found you first…”
“The black wolf?” I guessed, voice muffled against his bare shoulder.
“My cousin. He’s… traditional. Doesn’t like outsiders knowing about us.” Rafferty pulled back enough to look at me, his expression grave. “Which is why you need to get out of here. Now. I’ll explain everything tomorrow, I promise, but tonight isn’t safe.”
As if to emphasize his point, another howl rose from the forest—closer this time, followed by several answering calls.
“The pack,” I whispered.
Rafferty nodded. “They’re gathering for the ceremony. You need to go, Eliot.”
“What ceremony?”
He shook his head, already turning me toward the path. “Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow. Take the path straight back to town, don’t stop for anything, and for god’s sake stay inside once you get there.”
The urgency in his voice convinced me where rational argument might have failed. I nodded, stepping back toward the trail. “Will you be okay?”
His smile flashed in the moonlight. “I’m a Guardian, Professor. This is what I do.” He leaned forward to press a swift, hard kiss to my lips. “Go. I’ll find you tomorrow.”
With that, he stepped back into the stone circle.
Before my eyes, the transformation reversed—man to wolf in a fluid motion that defied everything I thought I knew about the natural world.
The russet wolf gave me one final look, then threw back its head in a howl that seemed to pierce straight through my chest.
Answering howls echoed through the forest, drawing closer. I took the hint and ran, heart pounding as I raced back down the path toward town. Behind me, the howls multiplied, a chorus of supernatural voices raising to the full moon above.
The Guardians of the Green were gathering, and for the first time in my academic career, I had discovered a legend that was entirely, impossibly true.