March of the Moving Dolls. The Moon of Change - ebook

Chapter 1.

The room sits heavy with a tension that clings like mist. The interior is dimly lit, the glass chandeliers overhead casting fractured amber light that dances along the black marble walls. Ornate chairs form an uneven crescent around a sleek, obsidian table. Marika sits quietly near the edge, her black nails absently tracing the embroidery of her thin, silk gloves. Her crimson eyes flick over to the others—a mix of pale-faced vampires in their finery and a handful of her own kind, blood mages cloaked in dark velvet and whispers.

The pureblood vampire at the head of the table leans back imperiously, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the shadowy room. His presence alone makes the air seem colder, thinner. Marika doesn’t know his name, but his elegant black coat with gold detailing and the faint family crest embroidered on his cuff mark him as a high-ranking member of the Nest. And one does not speak freely among such figures without consequence.

He places an idle hand on the edge of the table, fingertips drumming against it with languid menace. “I imagine most of you have already heard the rumors,” he begins, his voice smooth but devoid of warmth. “I am here to confirm them.”

The soft rustle of bodies shifts through the room, but no one speaks. Marika grips her folded hands tighter in her lap. Her heart skips, though she keeps her face carefully neutral.

“The youngest son of House Bellerose, Augustin, has passed.”

A sharp intake of breath escapes one of the mages across from her. A vampire in a wine-colored suit mutters an oath in the Old Tongue. Marika feels a jolt rush through her, one she hadn’t prepared for. Dead? How? The question burns, but she bites her tongue.

The pureblood gives a curt smile, as though feeding off the shock. “It is not my task to elaborate on the circumstances. That is for my elders to reveal when the time comes. For now, know this—House Bellerose is in mourning, and you will act accordingly.”

Marika’s mind reels despite her outward calm. Augustin Bellerose, the so-called young prince of Stellis. A name spoken in reverence, even fear, among the blood mages who served his family. She had never met him but knew his reputation: brilliant, ruthless, destined to rule the most powerful vampire house in NovaTerra. And now, suddenly... gone?

* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *** * ** * ** * *** * ** * *

A thick silence blankets the room, stretching like a taut wire. Marika feels it, an electric tension that pulses in her veins. One of the blood mages finally breaks the stillness, a wiry figure with a shock of silver hair. His voice trembles slightly, but the urgency cuts through the atmosphere.

“There’s been a rumor that Augustin was actually… murdered. Is that true?”

His words hang in the air, heavy and foreboding. All eyes dart to the pureblood at the head of the table. The vampire's expression remains impassive, but Marika notices a flicker of something—perhaps concern or curiosity—in his golden gaze.

After a moment that stretches uncomfortably long, he nods slowly. “I do not know the details, but it seems he has been killed by someone.”

Gasps ripple through the gathering like a sudden gust of wind sweeping across a field. Murmurs break out among both vampires and mages alike, uncertainty and fear weaving their way into hushed conversations.

Marika’s heart races as she scans the faces around her. Who could possess such power? Augustin was no ordinary vampire; he carried the weight of House Bellerose on his shoulders. To bring him down required strength beyond mere physical might—a cunning intellect or perhaps dark magic she could only imagine.

The pureblood raises his hand, demanding silence once more. “I have no further information at this time,” he states, his voice smooth yet authoritative. “Once I receive official word from House Bellerose regarding these tragic events, I will share what I learn.”

With those final words, he leans back in his chair, surveying those present as if assessing their reactions. Marika feels exposed under his scrutiny; every breath she takes feels deliberate now. Whispers swirl around her like smoke—fingers pointing to one another in suspicion as paranoia begins to seep into their ranks.

Her mind churns with questions: What kind of enemy could orchestrate such an act? And what does this mean for their precarious balance of power? As tension rises among them all, she senses that this moment marks more than just loss; it signals a shift in their world—a storm brewing just beyond sight.

Marika’s thoughts drift back to the fight she had with the young blonde vampire. The memory lingers, a shadow she can't shake off. Newly turned, yet his strength had surprised her—an unexpected surge that rattled her confidence. He moved with a grace that belied his inexperience, and when their powers clashed, she felt a tremor ripple through her very being.

“How could I lose ?” she mutters under her breath, irritation bubbling to the surface. The echo of their confrontation plays like a loop in her mind, reminding her of the stakes involved. She had aimed to assert herself but only ended up feeling foolish. Blood mages are mere pawns in this game played by the Purebloods. They wield power but remain shackled to those who truly control it.

She tightens her fists, frustration rising within her chest. Marika knows her place all too well; bound to a Pureblood vampire by blood and obligation. It feels like an iron collar around her neck, restricting her freedom while granting no protection from the dangers that lurk in their world. Her master holds sway over every aspect of her life, and each decision they make sends ripples through the delicate balance of power.

She hopes desperately that her master will choose not to engage in the turmoil following Augustin's death. Yet deep down, Marika recognizes the futility of such hope; as if wishing for rain would somehow summon clouds.

Her chain of thoughts snaps when she feels a familiar presence behind her—a soft yet commanding energy that pulls at her attention.

“Hello, pup,” comes a melodic voice.

Marika turns to face her master, a young-looking Pureblood with an ethereal grace. Silver-white hair cascades down her back like moonlight spilling over dark waters, while golden eyes pierce through the gloom with an unsettling clarity. She wears elegant modern clothes that accentuate her figure—effortlessly chic yet distinctly powerful.

"Hello Master, " Marika replied calmly.

* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *** * ** * ** * *** * ** * *

Sofia Bellerose sits in the grand parlor of their ancestral home, her once regal composure now marred by grief and fury. The room, adorned with antique furnishings and dimly lit by the flickering glow of the fireplace, feels suffocating. Shadows dance across the walls, adding an eerie aura to the already tense atmosphere.

Her daughters, Sylvia and Lydia, stand silently beside her. Sylvia's short bron hair catches the light, while Lydia's platinum locks seem almost ghostly against her pale skin. Both wear expressions of solemn obedience, their loyalty to their mother unwavering even in these turbulent times.

Sofia's eyes, normally a striking silver, are clouded with sorrow as she gazes at the fire. She had so many hopes pinned on Augustin. He was meant to lead House Bellerose into an era of unprecedented power. Now that future has been stolen from them.

"Mother," Lydia begins softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Sofia raises a hand to silence her. "I know what you’re going to say, Lydia," she murmurs, her voice brittle yet firm. "But this is not the time for mourning. We must focus on retribution."

Sylvia shifts uncomfortably but says nothing. Her respect for Sofia runs deep; questioning her decisions is unthinkable.

The air thickens with unspoken words when suddenly a portal materializes in the center of the room. A man steps through—a dark figure cloaked in shadows. His appearance is abrupt yet expected, and he bows deeply upon seeing Sofia.

"My Lady," he announces, his voice echoing slightly in the vast chamber. "I want to report that our experiments are going well."

Sofia turns her gaze towards him, her eyes narrowed into slits of cold calculation. For a moment, there’s a heavy silence as she scrutinizes him, weighing his words and his worth.

Then, a thin smile curves on her lips—more chilling than comforting. "Good," she replies softly but with an edge that cuts through the tension like a blade. "Continue. The full moon is this week".

The man nods and vanishes back through the portal as swiftly as he appeared.

Lydia glances at Sylvia nervously but finds no comfort in her sister’s stoic expression. Both know that their mother’s mind is set on vengeance—an icy determination that promises no mercy.

Sofia’s eyes return to the flames dancing before them, reflecting both the fire and her resolve within their depths.Chapter 2.

Jayden stands in an empty, dark room. The air feels thick and cold, pressing against his skin. He scans the void, searching for a door, a window—any escape. His breath comes shallow, each inhale trembling with the rising tide of fear.

“Are you afraid?” The voice slithers from the shadows, wrapping around him like a serpent. Jayden spins around, but the darkness remains impenetrable.

“ Be afraid ,” the voice echoes from another direction, its tone dripping with malice. Panic surges through him. He stumbles forward, reaching out with desperate hands.

Then, out of the void, shapes begin to materialize. Jayden’s breath catches in his throat as he recognizes the forms lying lifeless on the ground—his family. His mother’s kind eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling; his father’s strong hands are cold and still. His sister, her golden hair spread out like a halo, lies motionless beside them.

“No, no, no!” Jayden’s voice cracks as he shouts, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs. He steps backward, away from the horrifying scene, but his feet feel like lead.

“It was your doing,” the male voice whispers now close to his ear. Jayden jerks away from the unseen speaker, but strong hands grab him from behind, immobilizing him.

“ It was your doing ,” the voice repeats with more intensity. As Jayden struggles to break free, he realizes that the voice is beginning to sound like his own.

“Get away from me!” Jayden yells, finally wrenching himself free and jumping back from the dark figure looming over him. His eyes widen in terror as red eyes glow menacingly in the darkness. A mocking laugh fills the room.

“You are a monster, Jayden.”

The accusation reverberates through him like a physical blow. His knees buckle as he crumples to the floor, his body shaking with uncontrollable fear and guilt.

With a start, Jayden wakes up. Sweat drenches his sheets; his heart races as if trying to escape his chest. He hugs himself tightly with trembling arms.

“It was just a dream,” he whispers into the stillness of his bedroom. “Just a dream.”

But even as he repeats the words like a mantra, tears well up in his eyes. His thoughts return to his family—their faces haunted by lifeless stares in his nightmare.

“ I’m sorry, ” he whispers again, feeling a lump form in his throat as he thinks of them.

* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *** * ** * ** * *** * ** * *

The morning light filters through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow over the countertops. Jayden stands at the stove, his blonde hair tousled and golden eyes focused intently on the sizzling pan. He flips a pancake with an exaggerated flourish, a grin spreading across his face as it lands perfectly on the plate.

“Breakfast is almost ready!” he calls out, his voice bright and cheery. Preparing food was a great distraction from the nightmare he had.

Irys leans against the wall, arms crossed, pink eyes narrowed in boredom. “You do realize that making breakfast doesn’t qualify you as a chef, right?”

Jayden turns to him, mock indignation lighting up his features. “What? Are you suggesting I’m not qualified to flip pancakes?”

“ Please ,” Irys scoffs. “If that’s your idea of culinary genius, we’re all doomed.”

Just then, Clare shuffles into the kitchen, her hair a tangled mess and eyes still heavy with sleep. She blinks at the bright light as if it’s a personal affront.

“What time is it?” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

“It’s breakfast time,” Jayden replies cheerfully, holding up a plate of steaming pancakes like an offering.

“More like nap time,” Clare mutters before plopping down into a chair at the table. She notices the shadows under his eyes. He wasn't sleeping well. Again .

Irys snickers under his breath. “You’re so lazy. What happened to that fierce hunter I know?”

Clare glares at him but can’t help a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re one to talk, Flower Boy .”

“Don’t call me that!” Irys protests dramatically, tossing his hands up in exasperation.

Jayden places pancakes in front of Clare with a flourish before sliding another plate over to Irys. “Eat up and enjoy”

Clare finally sits up straight and reaches for her fork just as she notices something tucked under her arm—two new IDs. She pulls them out with a sly grin and tosses one across the table to Irys.

“Speaking of lazy,” she teases, “here’s your new ID—welcome to the Gray District: Irys Indygo!”

Irys catches it and scowls at the name printed on the card. “ Indygo? Seriously? Did someone make a joke out of this?”

“Sounds like you’re destined to be an artist or a florist,” Clare smirks.

"It was your doing" he glares. She only smiled with a triump back at him.

Jayden interrupts their banter with an innocent smile that lights up his face. “How about we go on a mission together? Something easy”

Irys raises an eyebrow skeptically while Clare stifles a laugh behind her hand.

Clare pushes back her chair, the scrape of wood against the floor punctuating the moment. She glances at Jayden and Irys, determination shining in her brown eyes.

“Alright, boys, you’re heading out,” she says, crossing her arms. “Remember, it’s just a simple retrieval mission. Grab that enchanted scroll from the old bookstore and come back in one piece.”

Jayden nods, his excitement palpable. “How hard can it be?”

Irys rolls his eyes but hides a smirk. “Famous last words.”

Clare chuckles, ruffling Jayden's hair as she stands. “Good luck! Don’t get into too much trouble.”

As they step outside, the sun bathes them in warmth. Jayden adjusts his jacket and looks over at Irys. “Ready for this?”

“Sure,” Irys replies with a sarcastic lilt. “What could possibly go wrong retrieving an ancient scroll from a creepy bookstore?”

Jayden grins wider as they make their way through the streets of Gray District. The bustle of morning life surrounds them—vendors hawking goods and children darting around with laughter.

They arrive at the bookstore, its creaky door protesting as they push it open. Dust dances in the beams of light filtering through grimy windows, casting an eerie glow on the labyrinthine rows of books that tower above them like sentinels. The musty scent of old parchment fills their nostrils as they step inside, a testament to the countless stories that lie within these weathered pages.

"I'll check the left side; you take the right?" Jayden suggests, his golden eyes scanning the dimly lit interior with determination. He runs his fingers through his fair blonde hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear as he prepares to delve into the sea of literature.

"Sure," Irys responds, already moving to scan the titles with exaggerated flair, his pink eyes scanning each spine with feigned nonchalance. The prism mage's fluffy pink hair sways gently as he weaves through the narrow aisles, his modern kimono whispering against the ancient tomes.

Minutes pass as they sift through tomes and trinkets, the weight of their task hanging heavy in the air. The silence is broken only by the occasional rustle of pages and hushed murmurs as they compare findings. Suddenly, Irys stops mid-motion, his eyes widening dramatically. His delicate fingers hover over a particularly ancient-looking book with ominous lettering on its spine.

"What?" Jayden asks, concern creeping into his voice as he notices Irys' sudden stillness. He cautiously approaches, his gaze following the other's line of sight to the mysterious tome.

"Uh… Jayden?" Irys points to the foreboding book, his voice barely above a whisper. "This one seems… cursed."

Jayden leans closer, squinting at the title written in an archaic script. A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he deciphers the words. "You mean it has ' don't read me' written all over it?"

"I'm serious!" Irys insists inching away from the book as if it's about to explode, his cheeks flushed with a mix of fear and embarrassment. The prism mage's porcelain skin seems to glow in the dim light, accentuating his Zenorienta features.

With a laugh bubbling up inside him, Jayden shakes his head, unable to resist teasing the young mage. "Come on…Don't tell me you are afraid? A little curse never hurt anyone."

Irys glares playfully but can’t help letting out a nervous chuckle. “Right until it turns us into frogs or something.”

“Just don’t kiss me if that happens,” Jayden teases.

"Hells no" he hissed.

Suddenly, Irys yelps as he trips over a stack of books behind him and tumbles to the floor with an exaggerated thud.

Jayden couldn't help but laught a little as he watches Irys scramble to regain composure while attempting to look dignified on the floor amidst scattered paperbacks.

"I hate places like this" he grimmaced.

Vampire adds with a smile on his face "This mission seems more difficult than they said". Irys sighed loudly as they continued.

* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *** * ** * ** * *** * ** * *

The Pearl buzzes with energy, the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations blending into a symphony of life. Felix’s fingers dance across the piano keys, filling the room with soulful melodies that draw patrons closer, like moths to a flame. His presence at the piano brings a sense of elegance and refinement to the tavern’s rustic charm.

Terry moves deftly behind the bar, orchestrating his staff with practiced ease. Drinks are poured, meals served, and laughter echoes from every corner. Despite the hustle, he always finds a moment to flash a warm smile at his regulars or exchange a few words with newcomers. His keen eyes never miss a detail, ensuring everything runs smoothly.

Clare sits alone at a small table near the back, nursing a drink. She scrolls through posts on the Cave, her expression unreadable. The glow from her phone casts shadows on her face, highlighting her sharp features and intense gaze.

Ha’Rin slips into the seat across from her, setting down a delicate cup of tea with practiced grace. Her lilac eyes meet Clare’s, and she offers a slight nod in greeting.

“Where are your two companions?” Ha’Rin’s voice is calm but carries an undertone of curiosity.

Clare takes a sip from her glass before answering, “Irys and Jayden went on their first mission together.”

Ha’Rin’s lips curve into a rare smile as she stifles a laugh. “How comes a lone wolf like you is now living with two teenagers?”

Clare hisses softly in response, irritation flashing in her brown eyes. “It sounds very wrong when you put it like that.”

The amusement doesn’t fade from Ha’Rin’s face. Instead, she leans forward slightly, warmth evident in her tone. “Still, I’m happy for you.”

Clare grunts but doesn't reply immediately. She looks away, eyes drifting over the lively crowd in The Pearl. Felix’s music shifts to something more upbeat, and for a moment, she lets herself get lost in the notes.

The noise around them seems to fade as Clare contemplates Ha’Rin’s words. Living with Irys and Jayden has been an adjustment—a challenge she hadn’t expected but one that has brought unexpected moments of camaraderie and even joy.

Finally, she meets Ha’Rin’s gaze again. “Thanks,” she says gruffly but sincerely.

Ha’Rin nods once more before taking a delicate sip of her tea. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment longer as Felix's music continues to weave through the evening air.

Ha'Rin sips her tea and then places the cup back on its saucer with a soft clink. “Speaking of which, I asked around as you requested.”

Clare looks up from her drink, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah?”

Ha'Rin reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a small, ornate box. She slides it across the table to Clare. “Those contact lenses should be able to change Jayden’s eye color.”

Clare takes the box, inspecting it with a mix of relief and skepticism. The golden hue of Jayden's eyes has been a constant source of worry. Normal lenses had failed miserably, the brilliant gold always seeping through like sunlight through a thin curtain.

“Thanks,” Clare says, her voice rough but genuine.

Ha'Rin nods. “Be careful,” she warns, her voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. “There’s some commotion happening in the Nest.”

Clare snorts softly, leaning back in her chair. “The king is dead, long live the king, I suppose.”

Ha'Rin’s eyes sharpen as she studies Clare’s face. “So you heard.”

“Yeah,” Clare confirms, her gaze steady and unflinching. “Johnny told me.”

For a moment, the air between them grows heavy with unspoken thoughts. Clare thinks of Johnny’s cryptic warnings and Ha'Rin’s veiled caution. The death of Augustin Bellerose has sent ripples through their world, each wave carrying new threats and uncertainties.

Ha'Rin breaks the silence first. “You know what this means for us?”

“More headaches,” Clare mutters.

“More than that,” Ha'Rin counters gently but firmly. “It means we need to be more vigilant than ever."

Clare nods slowly, fingers drumming against the table in a rhythmic pattern. She can feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders but refuses to buckle under it.

Felix’s music shifts to a melancholic tune, mirroring the somber mood at their table. Patrons continue to laugh and chat around them, blissfully unaware of the dark currents swirling beneath the surface.

Clare slips the box into her jacket pocket and stands up, casting one last look at Ha'Rin. “I’ll keep an eye on things,” she promises.

“I know you will,” Ha'Rin replies, her voice soft but filled with conviction.

* * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * ** * *** * ** * ** * *** * ** * *

Jayden pushes open the door to their apartment, Irys trailing behind him. The familiar scents of home wrap around them—baked goods and faint notes of incense.

“Clare?” Jayden calls out, glancing around the cozy space.

Silence greets him, an unsettling absence that gnaws at his stomach. He glances back at Irys, who leans against the wall, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“Did you see her downstairs in The Pearl?” Jayden asks, frowning. “She didn’t mention anything about having plans.”

Irys shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll get wrinkles.”

“I’m not worried,” Jayden retorts quickly, a flush creeping into his cheeks. “And I won’t get wrinkles. I mean, I don’t think that’s a thing I should be worried about.”

“Immortality has its perks after all.” Irys grins, mischief sparkling in his pink eyes. “No need to spend tons on plastic surgeries and beauty cosmetics…if you’re lucky like I am with my genes.” He strikes a pose, fluffing his pink hair dramatically.

Jayden rolls his eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “You know, some of us don’t have those ‘lucky’ genes.”

“True,” Irys concedes, dropping the act but still smirking.

With a huff, Jayden pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Clare: Hey! Where are you? Is everything okay?

Moments stretch as he stares at the screen, waiting for a reply. He taps his foot against the wooden floor nervously.

Finally, his phone buzzes. Clare’s response is short but reassuring: I’ll be back soon.

“See?” Irys nudges him with an elbow. “Nothing to worry about.”

Jayden forces a nod but can’t shake the unease lingering in the pit of his stomach. An hour passes slowly—filled with chatter between him and Irys about trivial things that barely distract him from thoughts of Clare.

The door swings open suddenly, and Clare steps inside, her presence instantly filling the room with energy.

“Sorry,” she says breathlessly, brushing off her jacket as she closes the door behind her. “Something unexpected came up.”

Before Jayden can probe further, Clare pulls something from her pocket—a small ornate box—and hands it to him.

“Here,” she says briskly. “You have to try these contact lenses out.”

Jayden looks down at the box in confusion, curiosity mixing with concern for what had kept her away so long.

Clare looks at Jayden, her expression softening. "Those lenses will camouflage your golden eyes into silver ones. So if anything, anyone will think you're just a normal vampire."

Jayden turns the box over in his hands, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes.

Irys leans forward, eyebrow arched. "Why silver? Should have made those into his natural color instead."

Clare shoots him a sharp glare. "Believe me, if that was possible, I'd have the blue lenses."

Jayden feels a pang of gratitude mixed with the familiar twist of frustration. He heads to the bathroom, eager yet skeptical. The mirror reflects his pale face as he carefully opens the box and retrieves the delicate lenses. Holding his breath, he places them over his golden irises.

For a moment, nothing seems different. But then he blinks and leans closer to the mirror. His eyes are silver—glimmering like polished coins under the bathroom light. It’s surreal, seeing himself without the telltale golden hue that marked him as a pureblood.

He recalls all the previous trials with normal colored lenses that had failed miserably, each attempt leaving him feeling more like an outsider. This time, it worked.

Stepping back into the room, Jayden’s smile stretches wide as he meets Clare’s gaze. "Silver!"

Clare’s lips curve into a soft smile. "Now, you must have them on all the time when you're leaving home." She's happy that it worked. Especially now with the commotion happening in The Nest. It was getting too dangerous. Not to mention more and more werewolves and vampires are being killed.

Jayden nods, still grinning. "Got it."Chapter 3.

The dawn's first light barely penetrates the grime-coated windows of the derelict building in Stellis' suburbs. A small group of werewolves, led by Garrick, moves cautiously through the silent hallways. Their senses are on high alert, noses twitching at the faint scent of blood.

"Stay sharp," Garrick mutters, his voice a low growl.

As they enter a large room littered with debris, the sickening sight of their missing friends’ lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor greets them. The werewolves' hackles rise, a mix of grief and anger swirling within them.

"Ambush!" One of them snarls, but it’s too late.

Vampires descend from the shadows with preternatural speed, their eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. The werewolves shift instantly, bones cracking and muscles bulging as they transform into their more formidable forms.

Claws meet fangs in a brutal clash. Garrick lunges at a vampire, sinking his teeth into its neck. To his horror, the vampire doesn’t flinch. Instead, it grabs Garrick by the throat and slams him into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.

"These aren’t normal vampires!" Garrick shouts as he struggles against his attacker’s iron grip.

Nearby, Jax grapples with another foe. His claws rake across the vampire's chest, but the wounds close almost immediately. Panic flashes in Jax’s eyes as he realizes these enemies are different—stronger, more resilient.

"They're immune to our bites!" Jax yells just before a vampire tears into his shoulder with ferocious strength.

The room fills with snarls and screams. The vampires move with a deadly grace, their strikes precise and devastating. One werewolf goes down after another, their regeneration abilities no match for these relentless assailants.

Blood sprays as claws and fangs rip through flesh. The floor becomes slick with it, adding to the chaos. Garrick watches in horror as his pack is decimated around him. His mind races—what kind of creatures are these?

Finally, it’s down to Garrick and one last packmate, Mikael. They stand back-to-back, panting heavily, eyes darting for any opening.

“Fight to the last breath,” Garrick grits out between clenched teeth.

A vampire barrels into Mikael, sending him sprawling to the ground. It pins him down effortlessly and leans in close. Mikael struggles weakly against its overwhelming strength.

“Are they…a werewolf hybrid…?” Mikael gasps out before his throat is torn open.

Garrick’s heart pounds as he faces the remaining vampires alone. The truth settles like lead in his gut—these monsters are unlike anything they’ve faced before.

* * *

Tim wipes grease from his hands, humming along to the radio as it crackles out a classic rock tune. The sun barely peeks over the horizon, casting long shadows across the mechanic shop. He glances around, watching his team work on various cars, each movement precise and efficient. They are more than just employees—they are his clan, his pack.

Laura bursts through the office door, her curly black hair bouncing with each step. Her face is tight with urgency. “Tim, we need to talk.”

Tim's smile fades. He knows that look. He switches off the radio, the sudden silence oppressive. “What’s wrong?”

“Morning patrol,” she begins, voice strained. “They were ambushed. Only one survived—barely.”

Tim’s heart pounds in his chest. Anger surges like wildfire through his veins, but he keeps his face impassive. He learned long ago that showing fury only makes things worse. Instead, he locks eyes with Laura, seeking every detail in her expression.

“They’re taking care of him at HQ,” Laura continues, her own temper flaring as she paces the small office.

Tim clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. His wolves—the ones he swore to protect—slaughtered like animals. The room feels smaller, walls closing in as he struggles to contain the boiling rage inside him.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking. “Who did this?”

Laura shakes her head, frustration etched into every line of her face. “We don’t know yet…but" she shows the necklace. It was the very same necklace he already saw.

“I will find them,” Tim says through gritted teeth, voice low and deadly calm. “And I will take them down.”

Laura’s eyes flicker with a mix of fear and admiration at his resolve. She knows Tim’s word is ironclad.

“I'm going to the Druids” Tim adds, his mind already racing.

Laura nods sharply. “I’ll inform the others.”

As she leaves, Tim stares at the empty doorway for a moment longer. His thoughts whirl around vengeance and protection; he can't let this go unanswered. Every fiber of his being screams for retribution.

The door clicks shut behind Laura, and Tim exhales slowly. He allows himself one brief moment of vulnerability, eyes burning with unshed tears for those he lost today.

Then he straightens up, shoulders back and jaw set in determination.

His wolves need him strong now more than ever. He was the alpha of this pack after all. He took out his phone and wrote a quick text to his wife telling her he'll be back later.

* * *