Prologue:

There were wolves in the night. Their steps fell silent in the snow. They prowled, noses to the ground.

The scent drew them. Blood and sweat. They could taste it. The tongues in their mouths salivated and rolled forward through their teeth. The pack moved as one. Together they hunted and together they would feast.

But the tender flesh, the most delicate bite, was for the creature.

Tempting though it was, none of the young wolves would dare challenge the enormous black beast that led them. It would be tougher hide for them, aged flesh in leather wrapping. The meat was not quite as sweet, but it would do to fill a cold belly.

The smell grew stronger and the young wolves became delirious in anticipation. They moved more quickly, bounding through the snow with abandon, prancing in excitement. They fell into each other, pushing to be first, to have the first kill.

The dark beast paused. The young wolves fell behind, heads hung low, as the alpha emitted a dark guttural rumble. The pack silenced in quiet submission as they arrived at their destination.

There, alone in a patch of snow and surrounded by the looming forest, sat a red coach. It was mangled and leaning slightly to the left. A broken wheel slanted beneath it and the door hung from the hinges. A delicious scent escaped from within.

Blood, sweat, tender flesh, and fear. The fear smelled the sweetest. So close now.

The black beast crept forward. His heavy body hung low to the ground. The only sound in the dark forest was his hot exhale of eager breath.

As his body tensed and prepared to leap, a sound pierced the silence of the trees. It was a single man. It stood in lumbering arrogance and attempted to deter him.

A challenge, though not much of one, presented itself in the form of meat-meal bound in borrowed fur and grasping a metal stick. The tall man stunk of rotten fruit and vines. It wavered on its hind legs, quivering like an injured pup. Not much of a challenge at all. The dark beast snorted and left the pathetic creature for his pack. Turning his head, he gave consent for the attack and moved his eyes back to his prize within the red wooden coach.

He barely heard the cries and crunches behind him as his pack enjoyed their reward. Let them eat first. His was not a meal to gorge on. He would savor it. Sample it. Play with it. In the end, he would be satiated, momentarily, until the hunger returned.

A muffled cry from inside the coach drew him on. He moaned and pushed aside the wooden door with a swing of his head. His growl was menacing and low. It rang just loud enough for those within to hear. The spicy musk of fear spiked and caressed his nostrils. The dark beast inhaled deeply.

A soft voice from within mumbled something that he could not understand. He did, however, recognize the panic in the sound. How long had it been since he had felt those feelings? Distant, distant, gone. They no longer existed for him. Like other emotions, they were gone for eternity.

He was ready now. With a mighty thrust, he slammed into the tiny space. His eyes did not need to adjust. They were perfect for the hunt. He instantly saw his prey. The bundle in the corner lay silent. The dark one licked a drop of saliva from his muzzle. His eagerness rose and he forgot the soft voice from before.

A stinging pain at his shoulder brought him to a halt. A sharp stick, knife, he thought, protruded from his shaggy black fur. He felt the blood run down his side. The dark one turned and stared at the weapon and the hand that still held it.

A female. She shook and the sticky red liquid slide into her fingers and ran down her arm. She stared at him with wide eyes.

She was obviously weak. The dark one's blood was not the only blood on her. Her legs were caked in it and a puddle formed at her feet as she stood crouched over in the limited space.

She had just birthed. The black beast could sense it on her, as he could with the she-wolves in their den. The air was rich with her fragrance. She smelled of fluids and flowers.

He wondered at her flavor. His teeth bared as he lunged for her.

She tasted warm.

With his tongue still tingling from the mother, the dark beast came back to the child.

Finally.

The babe was silent and for a moment the creature feared it had died. Cold flesh would not do. He pushed his face into its side, rocking it violently. It did not move. The black beast snarled and sniffed the tiny thing. It smelled so innocent. He breathed out. This time the air from his lung misted heavily on the tiny baby's face.

It moved. The child, newly birthed in its mother's grave, let out a piercing cry.

Its arms swung wildly. Its fists beat as if in retaliation. The dark one let out a surprised and amused grunt as little fingers clamped into his fur, pulling with surprising strength.

He should have bitten then. He should have tasted the tiny creature who was so like himself, fighting from birth. He should have swallowed him down and let him rest balmy in his belly. But he allowed himself a second to wonder. Just a second to feel his ill-tempered feast's fingers gripping his fur.

It was a second too long.

Men had come. They clambered down upon the forest in great numbers. He could hear.

Foul men, arrogant men.

A moment later the creature saw them. They aimed pointy things at him. Not teeth but just as sharp. Held at long lengths. They jabbed at him. He scrambled away.

Reluctantly he glanced at the child. It still cried. It still fisted the air. He wanted it.

He made a dive in its direction but sharp pricks stabbed through his fur and made contact with his flesh. He growled and bit at it. His razor-teeth chomped on man meat. He tasted one, two, and ripped skin from bone. He licked his triumph from his scarlet stained muzzle. His claws slammed at another, shredding its bindings and flesh.

Weak men, stupid men.

They came one after another, rocking the coach onto its side. The beast had his feast. Not on the flesh of the babe but on the weathered meat of man. When no more came to stop him, he turned from the carnage. His evil eyes gazed back to the resting place of the child. But he was there no more. Enraged, the beast reared on its hindquarters and howled. Tearing through the pile of viscera and bone, he searched.

The child was gone.

When he emerged from the massacre of the coach, the beast landed in one of a different sort. His pack lay upon the red snow. Each one was dead. The air was putrid and already gave the odor of decay. The young wolves, though powerful even in their dead sleep, were all defeated by man.

The dark beast took one last glance at the scene, snorted, and then kicked the snow with his back paws.

Feeble pack, conceited men.

He would wipe them from his mind just as the snow would wipe the crimson stains from his fur. No more thought was given to either as he made his trek back home. His mind was busy elsewhere. His thoughts became consumed with madness.

The forest saw the birth of an obsession that night. During his long run through the branches, the dark one labored in his mind. It was an idea. A plan. Instead of life, he would bring forth death. He would bring dominance. He would never be denied again. His thoughts raced back to his prize.

The child, he thought. His tiny fist rising. His cries in the night. The child. His flesh untasted. The child.

Mine.