It was the shrieking again that woke her from a full and luscious, dreamless sleep. The horrible, shrill sound that pierced the still night, followed by the inevitable howling of the wolves, echoing with their terror. It had been the same every night for nearly the past week, and Soleil was tired of it. She felt even more irritated by being woken because of the sharp streak of fear that ripped through her chest every time she heard the noise and bolted upright in her bed. That feeling—that helpless feeling of dread—was worse than losing some sleep. She hated feeling out of control.

She turned to light the lamp beside her and pulled on her white, fur-lined robe as she paced to the window, which took up almost the whole eastern wall of her bedroom. The fire had died down to crackling embers, and the chill crept into her skin as she felt the glass window pane and looked out into the blackness. It seemed the winter weather had set in early this year, and once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see a blanket of frost had sealed the ground outside.

“Stupid things, making such noise in the middle of the night,” she yawned, talking to herself to calm her galloping heartbeat. She peered closer out at the yard. “They want to make sure I don’t get a decent night’s sleep. Isn’t that right, you devils?” She felt reassured at the casually brave sound of her voice and pressed her palm to the glass again to assess the coolness against her skin.

“It’s so cold tonight,” she murmured as her gaze swept over the front steps of the château and out over the gravel drive with the finely frosted topiary lining it on either side, all the way to the black iron gates, locked tight. She was about to turn away and crawl back into her bed when she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. She had seen something tall, skinny, and pale beyond the gates. It was running toward the woods. Her father had told her they lived in the woods, although they only came out at night. She gasped and fell back against the curtain, which she yanked closed as though the thing could see her. She ran back to her bed, jumped in, and pulled up the covers.

“I’m turning eighteen soon. I’m not afraid. I couldn’t possibly be afraid,” Soleil stated, blowing out her lamp to prove it. As the howling continued for what seemed like forever, she stared mindlessly at the ceiling until sleep came again, but not before she had already decided something. Tomorrow, she would go to the woods.