Chapter 66
The Werewolf Realm
Mars' POV
I was furious.
Erin was kissing him now.
Levi's stupid voice echoed in my head, mocking me.
"I was just getting into the kissing phase with Erin."
The rest of whatever nonsense he said didn't matter.
They kissed.
In the middle of a war.
In the middle of chaos.
I scoffed.
Of course I blamed Levi. That snake. He must have charmed her—used his looks, used the fact that he resembled Daniel. Maybe she hesitated for a few seconds, maybe she was confused… but still.
That sentence wouldn't leave my head.
Just getting into the kissing phase.
I heard it again.
And again.
And again.
I groaned, my jaw tightening.
I needed air. Distance. Silence.
I didn't have a car here, but my legs were faster than any machine. When we arrived in the Werewolf Realm, they gave us something called a phone—a device for communication. In the Vampire Realm, we used letters. Ancient, precise, permanent.
The werewolves were more advanced. Probably because of their closeness to humans.
Witches had their own methods—telepathy, animal messengers, visions, dreams. No one really needed cellphones.
Still… I didn't hate it.
Theo once gave me something called pods. Music played directly into your ears. The sensation was strange at first—then addictive. Calming.
Music calmed me.
So I put the pods in my ears and started walking.
I didn't know the artist.
I didn't care.
The melody softened my rage as my feet carried me farther and farther away—from the battlefield, from the pack house, from him.
I walked for hours.
Six, maybe more.
I didn't feel tired. I couldn't.
Eventually, I reached a plain gray house with a black roof. Nothing special. Ordinary.
But the scent hit me.
Roasted meat.
Fresh.
My tongue clicked unconsciously. It had been a long time since I'd tasted anything like that. Here, all they fed us was blood. Just blood.
I was about to leave when the door opened.
A woman—no, a girl—stepped outside. She was sweating slightly, probably the one cooking.
She looked up.
And froze.
I frowned.
It was the same girl from before—the one who stared at me like a lost sheep. And she was still doing it.
I sighed internally.
I knew I was handsome. Women tended to fall easily. It was nothing new.
I turned to leave.
"Hey!"
I stopped.
Why was she calling me?
She walked toward me, hesitating with every step, clearly regretting it.
"Um… hi. My name is cla—Marcy."
I frowned harder.
She couldn't even say her name properly.
My gaze remained cold as I replied,
"And what am I supposed to do with that information? I didn't ask for your name."
She stared at me, stunned—then angry.
"Is it so difficult to introduce yourself too?"
"Yes," I said calmly. "Especially to irrelevant people."
Before she could respond, an older man's voice called out.
"Marcy, why are you still outside?"
He walked toward us. When he saw me, his eyes widened.
"Aren't you the one who works for Queen Erin?"
"I work with her," I corrected coolly.
People always misunderstood. I wasn't her servant. I wasn't her creation. I was her ally. Her friend—at least, I used to be.
The man nodded nervously.
"Why don't you join us? You look like you've been walking for a long time."
I frowned.
I didn't understand why he was inviting me—but what annoyed me more was Marcy.
She shook her head violently.
"No, Dad. He can't. He must not."
Her father looked confused.
"Marcy, don't be rude. This man is an important guest in the Werewolf Realm. It's just a meal—and he hasn't even agreed to stay."
I spoke before I could stop myself.
"Actually, I'd like to stay. I've been craving roasted meat for a long time."
Marcy looked terrified now.
Interesting.
The man led the way inside. He disappeared into the kitchen.
I sat comfortably, crossing my long legs.
Marcy kept staring at me—admiration written all over her face.
I scoffed.
"Stop staring, kid. I know what you're thinking. I don't do underaged girls."
She exploded.
"UNDERAGED?! I'm twenty-nine!"
I smirked.
"Old enough to be my child. I'm not your mate, kid."
She glared.
"Oh yeah? How old are you? You look twenty-five. Maybe thirty."
I chuckled.
"Older than your father."
Her eyes widened.
"Then how do you look so young?"
"I'm a vampire," I replied flatly. "We live far longer than werewolves—who start aging visibly after three hundred years."
She snapped,
"My dad doesn't look old!"
"No," I agreed. "But the gray hairs are starting. That's ancient to me."
She was furious.
Good.
"I've lived long," I continued coldly.
"So long I've watched people be born and die in front of me. I've forgotten more names than you'll ever learn. Whatever you're imagining—delete it. This heart already belongs to someone."
Her expression fell.
Usually, girls begged. Asked who she was. Asked for a chance.
Marcy scoffed and walked away.
I blinked.
My ego… stung.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
She stared at me like I was insane.
"To the kitchen. To help my mom."
Interesting.
Minutes later, her mother joined us. The food was served.
It was fully cooked—something I usually avoided—but it was… excellent.
"I appreciate the meal," I said.
She smiled warmly.
"Are you a friend of Marcy? We didn't even ask your name."
"No," I said flatly. "I'm not her friend. My name is Mars."
Marcy didn't even react.
Strange.
"I thought you were friends," her mother said gently.
Her father cleared his throat.
"They can't be. He works with the Creator—Queen Erin."
Her mother gasped softly.
"Oh! Forgive me."
"It's fine," I said, standing. "Thank you for the meal. I should go."
"So soon?" she asked. "It's late. Why don't you let Marcy drive you?"
I frowned.
Before I could refuse, Marcy shouted,
"NO!"
Her father stared at her.
"It's just a drive, Marcy."
"Please," I added calmly. "I don't know my way around."
She sighed sharply.
"Fine. Let's go."
As we left, I heard her parents whisper.
"Do you think Marcy's gotten ruder?"
"Maybe she's just not in a good mood."
I smirked faintly.
Neither was I.