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Hugo has been alone for as long as he can remember. His parents— whether they’re currently dead or alive— evidently decided that caring for a werewolf wasn’t worth their time, as did every orphanage he was kicked out of due to being a “liability” to the other children.
Troubled was the word most adults used to describe him, but he could always tell there was a different meaning lurking beneath it. Dangerous, feral, out of control. A stray wolf with no family is a disaster waiting to happen and a chance nobody wanted to take.
It wasn’t just the adults who were cruel, either. The children would catch sight of his ears and tail, a constant reminder of the monster they thought he was. It’s not like he could make them go away. Oh, how easy his earlier years would’ve been if he knew how to control his shifting. But a pup can’t learn without a teacher, and it’s not like people were exactly lining up to help him.
So Hugo had to learn to depend on himself. He took to the streets, learned the art of thievery and how to provide for himself without having to rely on the rare kindness of a stranger. It didn’t matter that he was a child who deep down just wanted a place to belong. Nobody was going to save him, and this is a lesson he very quickly learned.
He’s eight years old when his life is forever changed. The moon is bright and full, always a bad sign for a wolf who has no control over their magic.
Magic is strange. It’s a complex skill that takes even the most talented of people to learn, but there are a few basics that everyone knows. Example: the full moon heightens— well, everything in werewolves. Emotions, aggression, but especially the magic weaved throughout their bodies that allows them to shift. It’s helpful to someone who knows how to harness that magic but Hugo, as previously mentioned, does not.
He’s in the middle of a heist the night of a full moon. The man he’s stealing from— a noble of sorts— isn’t exactly known to be forgiving of thieves. But Hugo, blinded by naivety and the pain of not eating for five days, decided he could pull it off. If he can just get his hands on some jewels he’ll be able to buy himself passage somewhere safe, possibly even a place where people like him aren’t pushed away. He just needs to get the jewels in his satchel.
He’s in the master bedroom when he gets caught. He’ll never forget how he was paralyzed by the sight of the large man taking up nearly all the space in the doorway, glaring at him with a downright murderous expression. Hugo tries to dash past him only to be swatted back with such force that he gets sent flying into the nightstand, the corner slashing the skin above his eyebrow. He presses a palm to the gash and blanches when he feels the warm trickle of blood.
“You stealin’ from me, stray?” The man growls. Goosebumps break out across Hugo’s flesh.
“Please,” he whimpers, ears flat against his head as the man advances. “Please, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I—“ Hugo is interrupted by broad hand lifting him by his shoulders and throwing him into the hard wooden floor. He hears the crunch of one of his lenses cracking, hands shaking as he tries to keep his glasses from falling.
Hugo yelps as he’s roughly grabbed by the scruff of his neck, kicking and squirming as much as he can in an attempt to get away from the bruising grip.
“No one steals from me!” The man sneers. “Those who try pay with their lives, boy.”
He’s gonna kill me, is Hugo’s last thought before panic overtakes him.
Panic quickly becomes pain, only this time it isn’t coming from the brute trying to kill him. Hugo hisses, writhing in pain as his bones crackle and pop, rearranging themselves in a way that can’t mean anything other than him shifting. His vision grows sharper, his hearing more astute, and when he looks down he’s shocked to see a set of paws hanging in the air rather than hands.
The realization that he’s shifted for the first time isn’t one he has time to dwell on, interrupted by the hand shaking him roughly. On reflex, Hugo violently twists and bites down, sinking his fangs into the flesh of the man’s hand. The reaction is immediate; he’s dropped to the ground as the man lets out a cry of pain, and Hugo wastes no time in scurrying through the door.
He rushes down the ornate staircase, tumbling head over paws and crashing into the wall multiple times. Portraits hung delicately on the wall rattle as he makes his escape and one nearly falls on him, drawing the attention of several servants and maids.
Panic fuels the adrenaline coursing through his veins as the shouts of guards carry through the air, pushing him through the front door and out into the cold night. Not even the sound of the rain mercilessly pounding down and soaking his fur is enough to drown out the sounds of the people chasing and shouting after him.
Tears spring in his eyes as he runs, the pounding of boots echoing in Hugo’s ears long after he’s outrun them. He keeps moving, trees blurring by as he crushes leaves and twigs and anything else that has the misfortune of lying in his path. The rain doesn’t let up, only falling harder and faster the longer he runs.
After what seems like an eternity, his tiny body finally gives up on him. His knees buckle and when his head hits the ground, he doesn’t get back up.
The forest floor is wet even against Hugo’s already drenched body, seeping into his matted fur and chilling him to his bones. He wraps his tail around himself in a feeble attempt to preserve what little heat he still has, tucking his face in to avoid the rain.
It’s there, shivering on the cold ground while Hugo takes what he believes to be his last breaths, that everything changes.
Through the haze of hunger and fatigue, he dimly registers the wet squelching of boots moving through mud. He whines and curls further into himself, knowing he doesn’t have the strength to run. Hugo’s body tenses when the steps come to a stop in front of him, ready for the worst.
Maybe death will be kind despite the pain he’s ready to feel. Maybe the feeling of freedom will be enough to soften the blow he’s about to receive. He isn’t expecting anything good, why would he? Life has been cruel to him thus far, he has no reason to hope for otherwise.
Hugo is proven wrong.
Instead, the hand that lands on him is gentle, softly patting his head instead of… well, anything he thought would happen. Fingers delicately work their way through the tangles in his fur, and against his better judgment he finds himself slightly leaning into the warm touch. He warily opens one eye to get a glimpse at the last face he’ll ever see.
An angel stares back at him, silhouetted by the light of the moon with the widest blue eyes Hugo has ever seen. Water drips down from his hair into Hugo’s face, but he doesn’t seem to mind the rain. He’s smiling softly, and for some unexplainable reason Hugo wishes he could smile back.
Safe, his body decides.
When Hugo closes his eyes, he doesn’t open them again.
✧
When he wakes up, he does so slowly. He’s finally warm thanks to the numerous heavy blankets he’s under and the fireplace crackling across the room. He squints, trying to make sense of the blurry, shapeless blobs around him. His glasses. He needs his glasses.
Hugo feels around the bed (with his hands, because he’d somehow managed to shift back in his sleep). Blanket, pillow, aha! Nightstand! His fingers wrap around the nosepiece of his glasses and he quickly slides them on.
Huh. His lenses are fixed.
Now that he can see, he’s able to properly take in his surroundings. He’s in a bedroom, obviously. But whose? There’s nothing personal, no pictures, no trinkets, nothing that would give away who this place belongs to. The walls are dark, a smooth and reflective stone that he doesn’t recognize, but it gives the room a cozy sort of glow with how it reflects the firelight.
Hugo cautiously slides out of bed and approaches the window. Hundreds of feet below lies a garden of wildflowers, and beyond that a vast courtyard that stretches for miles before becoming a forest. He’s in the tower of a castle if the architecture of surrounding towers are anything to go by, the moonlight glinting on the spire of one. Tonight the moon is waning rather than full, the only indication that time has passed.
The door behind him creaks open. Hugo whips around as light seeps into the room, fingers digging into the windowsill.
In the doorway stands the same boy who found him in the rain, holding a plate of food and a glass of water. He seems to be around Hugo’s age if not a bit younger, with thousands of freckles on his face and an unusual streak of blue running through the unruly bangs of his otherwise black hair.
“Oh.” The boy’s eyes widen. “You’re awake.”
Hugo keeps his mouth closed, ears practically pinned to his head. The boy frowns when he doesn’t say anything. He steps further into the room, leaving the door open.
“I brought you food,” he says, slowly approaching the bed. Hugo watches him cautiously, muscles poised to run if he needs to. “You haven’t been awake, but I’ve been bringing snacks anyway. Just in case you wake up and get hungry.” He pauses after setting the plate and glass on the nightstand. “Are you? Hungry, I mean.”
Hugo still says nothing, but his eyes dart to the plate where a small bundle of grapes and a roll of bread sit. He goes to shake his head but his stomach grumbles, betraying him.
“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” The boy eagerly sticks out his pinky finger with a gap-toothed smile. “I promise!”
Hugo’s eyes flick warily between the plate of food and the boy who brought it. Finally, he asks, “you’re not afraid of me?”
The boy cocks his head to the side, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Why would I be?”
Hugo frowns. “You… aren’t afraid of werewolves?”
“I’ve never met one before. Is that what you are? I didn’t want to assume.”
Slowly, the blond nods. This stranger is unusually calm around a creature most don’t even want to look at, let alone have a civil conversation with. It eases something in the back of Hugo’s mind as he looks at the plate of food again.
The boy follows his gaze. “Please eat,” he says softly. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, I know you’re hungry.”
Hugo knows the smart decision would be to leave. There’s a big chance that he’s in danger right now, and it’s basic knowledge not to trust strangers.
But this stranger is kind . He saved Hugo, gave him food and a warm bed, and he’s patient and gentle. Something, though he doesn’t know what, is telling him— screaming at him— to stay.
“What’s your name?” Hugo asks.
The boy smiles. “Varian.”
Varian. “I’m Hugo.”
Varian reaches out his hand, palm up in invitation. “Come eat, Hugo.”
Hugo hesitates, then takes it and allows himself to be led over to the large bed. Varian has to jump up to sit on it, which makes Hugo laugh. When was the last time he’d done that? Varian passes him the plate and watches with fascination as Hugo wolfs (ha) down the food.
“I like your ears,” he says as Hugo tears into the bread. “And your tail. They’re so fluffy.”
Hugo struggles to swallow the large bite he’d just taken, washing it down with the water. Fluffy? Did someone brush his fur while he was asleep? He’s not sure how he feels about that, but at least he’s clean. He hasn’t had a proper bath in— well, longer than he’d like to admit.
“I don’t know how to put them away,” Hugo admits. “I don’t know how to shift.”
Varian frowns. “But you were a puppy when I found you.”
“Not on purpose.”
Varian’s eyes flick up to Hugo’s ears. “Hugo?”
“Hm?”
He suddenly looks nervous. “Can I touch them?”
Hugo’s first reaction is to say no, to pull away and curl up until Varian leaves him alone. It’s what he would’ve done if anybody else asked such a question.
But there’s something different about Varian that has Hugo wanting to say yes. Maybe it’s the innocent eagerness he speaks with, or the way his eyes are lit up with curiosity, or maybe it’s because he’s one of the only people to show Hugo kindness despite being fully aware of what he is.
Whatever it is, it has Hugo tentatively bowing his head for Varian, who eagerly reaches up. Hugo’s ear twitches a bit when Varian’s fingers make contact, causing the dark haired boy to giggle. Hugo decides he likes that sound, tail softly wagging behind him as Varian softly cards his fingers through the fur, gushing about the softness and how fascinating it all is. He finds himself melting into the touch, smiling when Varian laughs at the wagging of his tail.
“This is so cool,” Varian murmurs, rubbing a spot just behind Hugo’s ear. “Why would you want to hide this?”
Hugo shrugs, ignoring the warmth blooming in his chest. “Not everyone is so nice about it.”
Varian makes a noise of pity. “They just don’t understand how fascinating you are.”
Heat creeps up his face. “You’d be the first to think that.”
“I’m ahead of my time,” Varian pridefully states. He pulls his hand back and Hugo has to stop himself from chasing it, already missing the gentle touch. “Do you have fangs?”
Hugo nods. “Wanna see?”
“Yes!” Varian exclaims, eyes alight with excitement. As Hugo goes to open his mouth, a sharp voice comes from the doorway.
“Varian!”
They both jump nearly a foot in the air at the raised voice. A woman with a long silver braid and a scar running down her cheek raised an eyebrow at Varian. Her arms are crossed and Hugo feels Varian tense up next to him.
“Leya!” He exclaims, fidgeting with his hands. “I was just—“
“Varian, what did I tell you?” She crosses the room in just a few strides to lift Varian from the bed. He whines when his feet hit the floor, but she pays him no mind. “What did I say?”
Varian crosses his arms and glares at the ground. “I was just bringing him a snack.”
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I told you to wait until someone could escort you.”
“I’m not a baby!” Varian thrusts out his hands, holding up seven fingers. “I’m seven years old, I don’t need an escort!”
“You know why that isn’t true.”
Varian’s eyes widen for a second before he pouts again and stares at a tiny fissure in the floor.
“Nothing happened,” Varian murmurs. “I’m in control.”
The woman sighs. “I know.” She reaches out her hand for Varian to take. “Come, you should be in bed.”
Varian hesitantly looks at Hugo. “Will he be here when I wake up?”
For the first time since entering, she turns to Hugo, who shrinks under her gaze. She isn’t glaring or doing anything that should come off as intimidating, just… evaluating him, which is somehow scarier.
“Yes,” she answers. “He will still be here.”
Hugo watches as the woman takes Varian’s hand and tries to lead him out, only to be stopped when Varian tugs on her hand. He stands on the tips of his toes to whisper something in her ear and she sighs, releasing her hold on him.
Varian turns and runs back over to the bed, nearly slipping when he tries to climb onto the mattress. Hugo immediately reaches out to pull him up and yelps when Varian responds by throwing his arms around the blond’s neck.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers. “Goodnight, Hugh.”
Hugo has never been one for nicknames, but as Varian slips away, door swinging shut behind him, he finds he doesn’t mind it so much.
Shadows cast by the firelight dance across the walls as Hugo removes his glasses. For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels safe. Like he can truly rest and not have to keep one eye open.
As he drifts off to sleep again, Varian lingers in Hugo’s mind. His kind eyes, his eager smile, the way he saw Hugo— all of Hugo— as something special instead of something to fear.
It’s odd, going your whole life being treated one way only for someone to show up and do something completely different. Hugo’s not entirely sure why or how Varian managed to find him, but he’s grateful. Even though this is only temporary (because everything is), he decides that he’ll be thankful for the brief respite. He’ll savor being able to feel normal before he’s inevitably cast back into the world that treats him like a freak.
Drowsiness finally overcomes him, and Hugo’s last thoughts as he’s pulled into a soothing darkness are an echo of Varian’s name.
✧
“Can I visit Hugo now?”
Donella sets her book back on her desk and sighs. “Let the boy rest.”
“But I like him!” Varian exclaims from where he’s perched the windowsill. “And I want to talk to him.”
“Why don’t you go play with Prince Horace?”
Varian’s face scrunches up. “I tried, but Auntie Adira said he’s busy with his duties.”
“What about that raccoon you’ve grown so attached to?”
“Leya!” Varian whines, kicking his feet like a toddler. “Why can’t I see Hugo?”
Donella’s mouth forms a thin line. Caring for Varian has never been easy on account of the fact that he constantly seems drawn to putting himself in dangerous situations, but it’s gotten much more difficult in the past few years. The more he grows, the more he reminds Donella of his late mother— for better or worse.
They’d been traveling through the forest by carriage when it had started to rain, having come back from a science exposition in a nearby village. Varian had been babbling on about the various machines and chemicals he’d seen, gesturing wildly with his hands and smiling like he’d seen the wonders of the world. Donella listened with a patient smile, tired from the trip but glad to see Varian happy.
Varian pauses, tilting his head to one side like he’s listening to something.
Donella raises an eyebrow. “Varian?”
“Stop the carriage,” he mumurs, sounding distracted. “She’s telling me to get out.”
She. “The moonstone?” Donella asks, having experienced this before. It was frightening the first time Varian mentioned a “she” with no context, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t make her uneasy still.
Varian nods, already reaching for the door. “Something is wrong.”
“Varian!” Donella exclaims. She just barely has enough time to signal to the driver to stop before Varian throws open the carriage door and starts racing through the rain. “Varian, get back here this instant!”
Honestly, it’s ridiculous how often she has to go chasing after him like this. He’s lucky he’s Ulla’s son.
“Varian!” She calls again, scrambling out. Shielding her face from the rain, she follows the footsteps he left on the muddy path. Varian might not get sick— the magic of the moonstone protects his health, lucky brat— but Donella knows that she will if she has to stay out here much longer.
She finally finds him, kneeling on the ground and hunched over something. She breathes a sigh of relief, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what she told you, but we need to get back in the—“
Varian shifts slightly to the side, revealing what he’d been shielding from the rain. A wolf pup, fur dirty and unkept, curled up and asleep. He’s trembling, close to death.
Donella would know, she’s seen death before.
“He’s cold,” Varian whispers.
Let it be known that Donella isn’t a woman who goes out of her way to be a charitable person. But while morals may not exactly align with what others may consider “good,” she isn’t evil.
She reaches for the pup, cradling him in her arms and tucking him under her coat. “Back to the carriage,” she tells Varian, leaving no room for argument in her voice.
The ride back to the castle is silent, save for the soft whining the wolf makes in his sleep. The carriage is infinitely warmer than outside, but Donella still takes off her coat and wraps it around him to keep him as warm as she can. Varian’s eyes don’t stray from him once, his fingers flexing like he wants to reach out and hold him.
“Is he gonna be okay?” He asks in that quiet, timid voice he only uses when he’s truly concerned.
Donella looks at the pup. “We’ll have to see.”
The answer doesn’t seem to comfort Varian fully, but he does take a deep breath and nods. There’s no point in sugarcoating the situation or flat out lying to him. Varian may be a child, but he isn’t stupid. She isn’t going to patronize him by lying.
The moment they return to the castle, Donella heads straight a bathroom. Varian follows without her asking him to, but she doesn’t try to make him leave. She knows he wouldn’t listen.
Instead she allows him to help. He makes sure the water is warm enough to regulate the pup’s body temperature, but not too hot that it’ll burn him. Donella gently works through the tangles in his fur and cleans out the dirt, allowing Varian to comb it before Donella wraps the wolf in a towel. He stays asleep for the entire process, and Donella wonders for a moment if he’s beyond saving.
“Do you think he’s hungry?” Varian asks.
Donella opens her mouth, but before she can speak, the wolf starts to glow. Yes, glow . Not his entire body of course, but bright blue lines that swirl around his body, the most prominent of which being a circle that lies in the center of his forehead. Varian’s eyes reflect the glow and for a moment it almost looks like they’ve lit up as well, before the swirls dim and a boy is lying where the wolf was.
“Wow,” Varian whispers, eyes wide with fascination. Donella’s are wide too, but for a different reason.
Those etchings….
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
There must be a reason the moonstone told Varian to get out of the carriage. There must be a reason he found a werewolf of all things, on the brink of death. There’s always a reason.
Only this time, Donella fears what it may be.
Lost in thought, Donella traces her desk, imagining she’s drawing the etchings on the wolf’s fur. She knows what it could mean, what it could symbolize, but how? If her theories are correct, which they very often are, then the boy in the rain is much more important than he seems.
“Leya?” Varian asks.
She blinks, coming back to herself. Varian is standing next to her, one hand gently on her sleeve. With a tired smile, she sighs. “Let’s go see if he is awake.”
Varian brightens up in an instant, pumping one fist into the air and skipping out the door. Donella’s stands to follow after him, fingers brushing against the book she’d been reading while searching for an answer.
She’ll have to keep a close eye on this wolf.