The Anatomy of an Eternal Howl

At the Aethelgard Institute, the air seemed to die rather than move. It was a mixture of recycled, pressured oxygen that had been thoroughly cleaned of dust, pollen, and all traces of the natural world. It smelled safe to Dr Elara Vance. It had a progressive scent. She checked the digital readout on her iPad while adjusting her white coat, the fabric crisp and heavy with starch.

Subject 731.

She was only allowed to use that name. His bone density was three times that of a high-impact athlete; his heart rate was 40 beats per minute at rest but could reach 300 in a matter of seconds. His genetic sequence contradicted every known Darwinian law, all of which were recorded in the archives.

"Dr Vance," rang the security gate's computerized voice. "The biological scan is finished. Level Alpha clearance was verified. The Lupus Wing is open to you.

With a hiss of hydraulics, the hefty titanium doors slid open. The temperature of the lupus wing was maintained at 18°C. The notion was that it was cold enough to keep the specimens lethargic and the workers vigilant. Elara passed the lower-level participants' observation windows. She continued despite seeing the golden glints of eyes and the flickers of grey fur behind reinforced glass. The reason she was here was for the "Primal."

She arrived at the centre containment room, a huge translucent poly-glass cylinder. A man stood on the opposite side of the glass. Or the outline of one, anyway. He was tall, with a slanting body of corded muscle that appeared to have been carved from obsidian. Elara felt the force emanating from him like a physical weight against her chest, even though the moon was only a crescent tonight. With his back to the door, he wore the Institute's grey linen trousers without a shirt. His skin was a map of tales Elara was not yet permitted to read: white against the bronze of his flesh, long, jagged scars stretched from his shoulders to his waist. Compared to the silence. "I am Dr. Elara Vance. I’ve been assigned to oversee your genomic stabilization for the next lunar cycle."

The man didn't move an inch. "A new voice," he remarked. It wasn't a growl, but there was a vibration behind it, a low-frequency hum that Elara felt deep in her marrow. "The last one smelled like cheap cigarettes and old fear. But you... You smell of chemicals and a reticent kind of loneliness."

Elara’s breath hitched. She gripped her tablet until her knuckles turned white. "My personal life isn't a variable in this study. Now, please turn around. I need to calibrate the sensors."

Slowly, with a grace that was far too fluid, far too predatory to be human, he turned.

Caspian. That was the name he’d whispered to the guards when they first dragged him in, though her files strictly forbade its use. His eyes were molten gold, trapped behind a layer of ice. They weren't the eyes of an