Night had returned to Silverfang Keep.
The fortress, carved into the heart of the mountain, was a monument of cold stone and silver iron — built to keep vampires out and werewolves in. Torches burned along the hallways, casting restless shadows on the walls.
Luca sat alone in the war room, his father's maps spread across the heavy oak table before him. Borders marked in blood-red ink, symbols for ambushes and raids… reminders of a hatred that had lasted longer than memory itself.
He stared at them, unblinking, as if the lines could explain something he didn't understand.
His hand brushed against the edge of the map — and suddenly, he wasn't seeing the parchment anymore.
He saw her.
A flash of crimson eyes. The echo of soft breathing. The scent of rain-soaked stone. For a heartbeat, he could almost feel her presence beside him — close enough to touch.
Then her voice came, faint as mist:
"Why can't I get you out of my mind?"
Luca's breath caught. He looked around, but the room was empty. The fire flickered, and his heartbeat stumbled. "Selena?" he whispered under his breath, the name foreign yet familiar on his tongue.
But the whisper was gone. Only silence remained.
The next morning, the council gathered in the great hall. The elders stood in a semicircle before the Alpha's throne, their voices heavy with talk of borders and blood.
"The vampires are regrouping," one said. "They've begun hunting closer to the riverlands."
"They test our strength," another growled. "We must strike before they do."
Luca stood beside his father, silent. His thoughts were elsewhere — still tangled in the phantom voice that had reached him in the dark.
"Luca," Darius barked suddenly. "You led the last hunt. Speak. What do you say?"
Luca looked up, startled. Dozens of silver eyes were on him.
He hesitated, then said, "I say… maybe we should wait. We don't know what drives their movements. Striking first could break the truce entirely."
The hall went still. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Wait?" Darius repeated, his tone sharp. "You sound like one of them, boy."
Luca clenched his fists. "I sound like someone who's tired of endless blood."
A heavy silence followed. His father's expression darkened — a storm behind his eyes. "You are heir to the throne of the Silverfangs. You do not question the Hunt."
"I'm not questioning the Hunt," Luca said carefully. "I'm questioning the purpose."
Gasps filled the hall. Darius rose from his seat, towering above him. "You forget yourself, son."
Luca bowed his head slightly, jaw tight. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm remembering who I am."
He turned and walked out before his father could answer, his cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow.
That night, unable to sleep, Luca went to the training grounds beneath the cliffs. The moon was high, the air thick with mist. He shifted into his wolf form — dark silver fur glinting under moonlight — and ran.
He ran until his lungs burned, until the world became nothing but sound and wind and heartbeats. But no matter how far he went, he couldn't escape her.
A whisper followed him through the trees.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
He stumbled mid-stride, his paws striking the wet earth. "Stop it!" he growled into the darkness. "Get out of my head!"
But the bond only pulsed stronger — a thread of crimson light connecting them through the night. He saw flashes of her again: her hands trembling, her eyes full of pain, her blood glowing faintly under her skin.
Then, through the shared vision, she whispered again.
"It hurts."
And for the first time, Luca felt the pain she spoke of — a sharp, burning ache in his own chest, where her wound would have been. He shifted back to human form, gasping. The connection was real. Alive.
"What are you?" he whispered to the wind, his voice trembling. "What are we becoming?"
Far away, in the chapel ruins, Selena woke with a scream.
Her body was drenched in sweat, her heart pounding like a war drum. The dream — no, the vision — still lingered in her mind. She had seen him running under the moon, seen his rage, his fear… and she had spoken to him, though she hadn't meant to.
She rose and stumbled to the doorway, her hands shaking. "No, no, no," she whispered. "This isn't possible. Blood magic can't cross the bond of enemies."
But deep inside, she knew the truth.
This wasn't ordinary blood magic. This was older — primal, divine, cursed.
The Blood Moon had chosen them.
As dawn approached, Selena stood beneath the twisted trees, staring toward the mountains where the werewolves slept.
"I don't know why I feel you," she murmured, "but if this bond means war… then maybe the fates made us to end it."
And somewhere, miles away, Luca — sleepless, restless, haunted — whispered into the same dawn:
"Then let it begin."