William returned home after his outing with Violet Darkwood at a set time.
He wanted to find out why she could look into his eyes, when most of the alpha's and even some of the men could not do the same.
When he returned home, he saw his grandfather Malden sitting with a passel of toddlers around him.
He was telling fairy tales to the children.
"GrandPa Malden! " William called happily.
Malden stood up, to greet william.
The children gave an unwilling huff at that.
Usually, William never meets the eyes of his elders, for it is considered a challenge.
However, today, he is far too curious to test his power.
Instead of keeping his sight just underneath the eyes, William met the eyes of his grandfather straight.
Worse yet, he unleashed his innerwolf, letting his eyes flash golden.
Malden's eyes took on the amber hue, yet, he couldn't keep his eyes meeting William's at all.
On the other side, William's uncle, who was coming down the stairs, saw this entire exchange. It is said that new born calves are not afraid of tigers.
William had no idea whatsoever that he provoked the sleeping dragon, or in this case, a sleeping wolf.
For him, Malden had only ever been an affectionate Grandfather.
He had no idea Malden was once a cruel entity who killed his own son for challenging his power.
Malden did not let his real feelings show on his face, and William really did not think much of this entire episode, his face only flush with the first victory.
Malden turned his attention to his grandson, his face the picture of doting affection. "William, you're growing up so fast. That's a powerful look you've got there. Be careful not to scare the little ones." The words were light, but the undercurrent was a steel wire of warning that William, blinded by his own burgeoning power and the euphoria of his discovery, completely missed.
The children, however, were wide-eyed. They felt the invisible tension, the raw, primal energy that only another supernatural being could truly sense. They scattered, their whispers following William like tiny, frightened shadows.
William, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in his grandfather's heart, merely gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Grandpa. Just getting a little competitive for the upcoming Summer Moon challenge." He clapped Malden on the shoulder—a casual gesture that a younger wolf would never dare—and bounded up the stairs, leaving Malden standing alone, the affectionate mask slipping for a lethal instant.
Ken Castelli's Revelation
In a sleek penthouse suite several miles away, Ken Castelli, dressed in a silk smoking jacket and gazing at the snow-dusted Deadwood cityscape, was coming to a frightening, deeply unsettling conclusion. The incident with the simple dowdy girl, Violet Darkwood, was far more complex than a mere lapse in his concentration.
His glamour, a form of ancient, pervasive vampiric compulsion that bent the weak-willed to his command, had not just been resisted. It had been ignored. It hadn't even been strong enough to warrant a reaction from her. It was like trying to melt a glacier with a match.
Ken, the great-grandson of a powerful European progenitor and an accomplished predator in his own right, had cultivated his aura for centuries. His ability to charm and command was the foundation of his power, a tool he hadn't committed an error with since he was still a fledgling, barely two hundred years ago.
That meant the variable had been introduced in the past few days. And there was only one change in the past few days: Violet Darkwood.
Ken poured a glass of ruby-red liquid—not blood, but a rare South American fortified wine—and swirled it, considering the anomaly. Violet was a simple human, or so she appeared. Yet, she had attracted the attention of William Wolf, an heir to a massive ancient bloodline and a wolf currently displaying powers far exceeding his age and heritage. William's connection to her was so strong that it was literally making him stronger, acting as a strange, catalytic anchor.
Ken meditated on the memories of Violet Darkwood. As he examined every encounter with Violet second by second, he came to a disconcerting conclusion.
First, It's not just Violet who is attracted to William, it's also William who is equally attracted to Violet. It's not a common situation. A girl who could attract William wolf, but not a werewolf, it's just not possible.
Second, his glamour did not even touch Violet. It's not that she got affected, then had enough sense to shake it off, but she is so powerful, his glamour is not even equal to a raindrop against her.
Such beings existed? Then Why hasn't Ken heard about it by now?
He dismissed the surface-level explanation—that she was merely a powerful human witch—as insufficient. Even the strongest mortal witches possessed blood magic that was vulnerable to concentrated vampiric influence. Violet hadn't even blinked.
He reached for his laptop, accessing an encrypted, deep-web archive maintained by the oldest vampire councils. He searched using obscure terms: mate of wolf, uncharmable eyes, golden transformation. The results were frustratingly sparse, mostly folklore and dead ends, until he cross-referenced the results with legends specific to the American Badlands and Black Hills.
He found an obscure reference to a "Shadow Vixen"—a creature of legend whispered among early European colonists and the Dakota tribes. The lore suggested a hybrid being, born of the union between a primal earth spirit (sometimes interpreted as a Succubus or a particularly powerful Fey) and a Winter Moon werewolf.
The description was chillingly specific:
Appearance: Often perceived as plain until their power is unleashed.Abilities: Immune to mental and glamor-based manipulation. Possesses the ability to drain the life-force of their mates (male werewolves) through intimate contact, sometimes unknowingly, accelerating their mate's power while crippling their physical body.The Crux: They possessed a hidden 'shadow' element, allowing them to manipulate sight and sensory input, making them nearly impossible to track or target when transformed.
"A Vixen," Ken murmured, a genuine chill tracing the line of his ancient spine. "Not just a girl, but a primal force tethered to William Wolf."
If this legend was true, Violet was a ticking time bomb—a nexus of incredible, chaotic power. She wasn't just not a werewolf; she was something far, far worse.
The vampire world had been complacent for too long, believing they understood the natural order. This Violet Darkwood was an aberration. He needed external validation, and he knew exactly where to get it.
"Mica! I will be going to New York tomorrow. Book the flight tickets," he informed his valet, his voice suddenly sharp with renewed purpose.
He would attend the annual Grand Coven Ball in New York, an event thrown by Professor Aldous Thorne, a renowned vampire historian who had collected centuries of forgotten supernatural lore. He could surely get some information about the situation in Deadwood from the powerful vampires gathered there.
For now though, attending school like any other highschool kid might be the best way to keep tabs on his prey.
The Grand Coven Ball
The following evening, Ken stepped out of a black town car onto a snowless, cobblestone street in Manhattan. The air here smelled of old money, ozone, and the faint, coppery scent of the hundreds of powerful vampires gathered within the Professor's massive, Gothic brownstone.
He was dressed in a tailored midnight-blue suit, his usual amber eyes gleaming with calculated focus. The ball was a masquerade, a tradition meant to encourage loose lips and clandestine deals, but Ken always chose a minimalist black mask—enough to obscure his identity to the lower ranks, but clear enough for the true powers to recognize him.
He quickly scanned the ballroom, a lavish space dominated by a massive chandelier that pulsed with a light intentionally designed to mimic moonlight without the associated lunar energy that could agitate the wolves that occasionally attended. He exchanged polite, yet cold, pleasantries with several East Coast vampire leaders, securing commitments for future territorial disputes, all while subtly angling for information.
It took him nearly an hour to find the man he sought: Lord Julian Valerius, an eccentric but terrifyingly knowledgeable ancient vampire from the Romanian line. Julian was the ultimate curator of dangerous secrets.
"Julian," Ken greeted, his voice low, as he approached the man nursing a blood-infused cocktail.
Julian, a thin man whose skin seemed perpetually too pale and taut, turned his head slowly. "Ah, young Castelli. Back from your self-imposed exile in the American sticks? I heard you were having fun with a teenage werewolf." Julian's voice was dry, laced with centuries of boredom.
Ken ignored the jab. "I came for counsel. I encountered a creature in Deadwood... a companion to the Wolf heir. Immune to glamour, disproportionately powerful, seemingly dormant, but connected to the wolf's strength."
Julian paused, taking a slow sip of his drink. He looked Ken up and down, a predatory amusement in his ancient eyes. "A Shadow Vixen, perhaps? I haven't heard that name uttered outside of dusty tomes since the Black Plague."
"The legend is real?" Ken pressed, his tone urgent.
Julian chuckled, a sound like dry leaves skittering across concrete. "Legend is merely history we've forgotten, Castelli. The Shadow Vixen bloodline was nearly wiped out millennia ago. They were too chaotic, too unstable. They were known for two things: accelerating their mate's power to tyrannical levels, and possessing the blood of a Succubus."
Ken felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. Succubi were immune to virtually all vampiric charm, and their sexual magic was volatile. William wasn't just getting stronger; he was being fed a strange, corrupting energy.
"The mate-bond is a terrible thing," Julian continued, suddenly grave. "The wolf believes he is gaining strength, but the Vixen is merely using his power as a shield until her own hybrid nature fully awakens. She absorbs the light side of his power, and in return, grants him the shadow side—unnatural speed, rapid healing, and a terrifying ability to command his own pack without challenge."
"How do I break the bond? Or eliminate her?" Ken demanded.
Julian leaned closer, his whisper a chilling hiss. "You don't. The bond is primal. Any direct assault on the Vixen will be reflected and amplified back onto the wolf. If you kill her, the shock will either kill him, or turn him into something entirely uncontrolled, a raging beast that neither side can tame."
He pulled away, his expression settling back into bored indifference. "You have two options, Castelli. You either wait for the Vixen to awaken, at which point she will become a force too great for you to handle, or you must capture her before she fully recognizes her own power, and use her as a puppet to control the Winter Moon Alpha."
Julian finished his drink, placing the glass on a passing silver tray. "Be warned, boy. Professor Thorne himself has a long, personal history with the original Vixen bloodline. If he learns you are hunting one, he may intervene. This is no longer a petty border feud; this is the resurrection of ancient history. Play carefully, or Deadwood will be the least of your concerns."
Ken thanked Julian curtly and retreated to the terrace, the cool New York air doing nothing to soothe his agitation. The 'dowdy gray blob' was a hybrid succubus-werewolf—a Shadow Vixen. Julian's words confirmed his research. The stakes had been raised from seizing a territory to managing a massive, existential threat.
He couldn't wait for her to awaken. The timeline was too short. William was already showing signs of unnatural growth, evident in his dominance over Malden. Ken needed to act now.
He retrieved his phone and sent a series of encrypted commands to his inner circle. His planned capture needed to be accelerated, moved up to the next suitable timeframe: the coming weekend.
He would follow William and Violet on their 'snowbell hunting' trip. He would capture the Vixen in the wilderness, away from any witnesses, before she could fully realize the dangerous power simmering beneath her timid facade. The New York trip had solidified his intent: destroy the obstacle, secure the prize. Ken smiled, a flash of predatory teeth in the pale moonlight. Violet Darkwood was his.