The world, at first glance, looked ordinary. Cities pulsed with light, humans bustled about their meaningless errands, and the same rituals of love, greed, and violence repeated day after day. But beneath the surface of that fragile normalcy lived others — not quite human, though they wore human skin with practiced ease.

Werewolves.

Once, they roamed in packs under the open sky, ruled by instinct, tethered to the moon and to one another. They lived by tooth and claw, bound in blood and loyalty. But centuries passed, and the old ways eroded. The wolves had learned to fold themselves into human lives. They took jobs, paid taxes, drank in bars, and kissed human lovers under city lights. Yet no disguise could mask what they truly were.

Born of human flesh but forged in something far older, werewolves carried in their bones a body that was more than flesh. Their muscles were denser, their senses sharper, their instincts keener. Sight that carved through shadow, hearing that caught the whisper of danger, strength that could shatter bone with ease. Even among humans, they did not have to try — they were faster, stronger, deadlier.

And still, not all wolves were equal.

Some were born marked by dominance, by an authority that couldn't be taught or earned. Alphas. They stood taller in presence, their very pheromones demanding submission. Packs bent to them instinctively, though no two alphas were the same. For even at the pinnacle of their kind, nature was cruel.

Some alphas were gifted with monstrous muscle, bodies that could tear through steel doors, fists like hammers made of living flesh. Others were not so fortunate. Some carried "gifts" that straddled the line between power and torment — senses so sharpened they bordered on unbearable, every sound a blade to the ear, every scent an assault. Blessing and curse tangled together in a single breath. These were the alphas who lived half-blinded by their own bodies, their dominance laced with suffering.

And though humans seemed blind to the truth, wolves were never blind to one another. Each wolf carried a scent — their pheromones, invisible to human noses but potent to their own kind. Unique as fingerprints, those scents marked them, revealed them. A wolf could lure a mate with it, entice with sweetness, intoxicate with raw need. But the same pheromones could choke an enemy, overwhelm weaker lungs, suffocate rivals into submission. It was both weapon and seduction, both signature and snare.

Once, fated mates were the stuff of reverence, whispered of in old stories — the bond so absolute that a wolf's pheromones would answer only to one. But in the modern age, such bonds had become nearly mythical. The wolves, despite their integration into human society, continued to dwindle. Their numbers fell with each generation, bloodlines thinning, packs scattering. Fated mates became not destiny, but fantasy. A cruel reminder of something lost.

The humans lived unaware. They saw only the handsome teacher with the sharp jawline, the quiet businessman with pale eyes, the alluring stranger with the predatory smile. They didn't see the beast beneath the skin, or the invisible hierarchy thrumming between wolves who passed each other in the street.

But wolves were wrong to believe they were truly hidden.

Decades ago, whispers of their existence slipped into the wrong ears. Sightings, unexplained killings, fragments of DNA too foreign to belong to man — all buried in classified reports. The military did not scoff at these anomalies. They studied. They documented. And in time, they prepared.

Hospitals were quietly established under the guise of research institutes, their sterile halls built not for humans, but for creatures whose biology demanded something more. Wolves who fell into human hands were treated, tested, dissected if necessary. Their blood was catalogued, their healing charted, their weaknesses painstakingly recorded.

And where there is knowledge, there are always weapons.

Silver-lined munitions. Sound that could rupture lupine eardrums. Gas that could choke even the strongest alpha. In hidden laboratories and training grounds, humans forged the tools to level the playing field against predators that could never be tamed.

On the surface, the world carried on as if nothing lurked beneath its skin. But in the shadows, armies kept their secrets polished and ready. For every wolf who prowled the streets unseen, there was a human ready to claim they had always known.

The wolves thought themselves hidden. The truth was far crueler.