The Church
The morning sunlight streamed through the stained glass, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the pews, but the atmosphere was far from serene. The air was heavy with foreboding as a group of vampires, led by the enigmatic Lord Lucian, strode into the church. Their footsteps resonated through the hallowed halls, a stark contrast to the congregation's hushed whispers. Lord Lucian, with piercing eyes and skin as pale as alabaster, approached the altar, his presence commanding attention. The priest, Father Michael, stood trembling, his gaze fixed on the vampire lord.
"Hello, priest," Lucian said, his voice low and velvety, yet laced with an undercurrent of menace. "How about saying hello to God for me?"
Father Michael swallowed hard. "I—I'll pray…"
The congregation's collective breath hung in the heavy silence.
Lucian's smile was a thing of winter—beautiful, cold, and merciless. "That's the thing, Father. I've studied Him for centuries without breath, and I've noticed something." He tilted his head, amusement dancing behind his eyes. "Your God doesn't answer pleas."
A soft laugh slipped from him—low, melodic, and full of cruelty. "I'd die and tell Him myself, but unfortunately, vampires aren't offered that luxury."
Behind him, his followers drifted among the pews, their fingers grazing trembling throats, their eyes gleaming with hunger. The intoxicating scent of fear permeated the air.
Lucian stepped closer. "But if you die," he whispered, his breath cold against the priest's cheek, "and tell Him in person, maybe He'll finally answer mine. Don't you think it's worth a try?"
The vampires stirred—an unholy ripple through the crowd. The church filled with screams as chaos exploded, fangs meeting flesh, sanctity drowned in blood.
Then, softer, darker:
"Tell your Creator I miss my brother—the one I bound in eternal darkness. Centuries of silence drive me to madness. Look what I've become. Look what I've done. All because I need him."
He leaned in, voice curling like smoke. "Tell your God we require a moonblood—a sacrifice to feed the darkness within me. When it comes, I'll have my brother again… and the Blood Father will be mine."
Around him, the vampires froze as if caught in reverence, their eyes glowing with an unholy light. The air thickened with something ancient, something cruel. And Father Michael, clutching his cross, realized even faith could not save him now.
As Lord Lucian's fangs sank deep into Father Michael's neck, the priest's eyes widened—horror and pain merging into one silent scream. All around them, chaos erupted. The vampires descended upon the congregation like an unleashed storm, their fangs rending flesh, their hunger unrestrained.
Screams tore through the church. Mothers clutched their children; prayers turned to cries. But mercy did not dwell in that place. A child's wail rose above the din—thin, desperate—before it was cut short, swallowed by the sound of feeding.
Lucian's eyes glowed with a terrible light as he drank, savoring the ebbing pulse beneath his lips. His followers gorged themselves with manic delight, their faces slick with crimson, grins carved in cruelty.
A little girl, no older than ten, was ripped from her mother's arms. Her small, pleading voice echoed once through the vaulted ceiling before a vampire silenced it with his bite. The mother's scream followed, then ceased.
The air was thick with blood and terror, holy incense drowned in the stench of death.
Lucian lifted his head, drops of scarlet glistening on his lips. His gaze locked with the dying priest's.
"The moonblood," he whispered. "Tell Him... we require it."
Father Michael's eyes fluttered once before his body went still.
When the slaughter ended, the church stood silent—an empty shell of faith and flesh. Only Lord Lucian remained upright among the fallen, eyes burning like dying stars. The echoes of the carnage hung in the air, reverent and cold.
The Journey Home
"Sweetheart, I hope you didn't forget the box I told you to bring from the car," Amanda's voice chimed through the soft hum of the engine, her tone a blend of warmth and gentle scolding.
"If she's sketching, she probably didn't hear you," John replied from behind the wheel. His fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale beneath the afternoon light. The faint scent of his sandalwood-and-citrus aftershave mixed with the lavender air freshener and the ghost of toasted bread from breakfast.
"And he definitely didn't hear you," he added, glancing into the rearview mirror at Kaelen, their eldest, who sat slouched with his earbuds in—eyes half-lidded, lost in the rhythm of music only he could hear. His fingers tapped absently against the leather seat, unaware that the world he knew was about to shatter.
Elara Moon sat curled in the backseat, her pencil gliding across the textured pages of her sketchbook. She drew with the quiet focus of someone chasing a memory—the sleek shape of a modern house they had passed moments ago, its sharp edges and daring angles coming alive beneath her hand. The world beyond the window blurred into color and light, forgotten. She barely noticed the engine's soft hum, the bumps beneath her flip-flops, or the sun's warmth filtering through tinted glass.
At twenty, Elara carried an energy that was both bright and unsettling—like moonlight before a storm. Slender and graceful, she possessed a quiet intensity that seemed older than her years. Her dark brown hair tumbled in waves around a cylindrical face, brushing high cheekbones and hazel-green eyes that caught gold in the sunlight. Her skin, light olive and smooth, seemed to hold the day's warmth. A soft pink silk dress clung to her with easy elegance, and her wrists glittered faintly with silver bangles. Around her neck hung a moonstone pendant, glowing faintly—almost pulsing—with the rhythm of the road.
"How long till we get there?" she asked, lifting her gaze from the page.
"Not long, honey," John said, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as the car rolled over another small dip in the pavement.
She smirked, tracing another line. "Didn't you say that a half hour ago?"
The gentle tease faded as the world outside shifted. The house came into view—modern, beautiful, framed by sculpted hedges and a scatter of flowers whose fragrance drifted through the half-open window: jasmine and fresh earth. Sunlight danced across the smooth stone of the driveway, gilding everything it touched in gold.
But beauty couldn't conceal the strange chill that ran down Elara's spine.
Her pencil stilled.
Someone was standing at the gate.
He wasn't merely watching—he was waiting.
Tall, lean, carved from shadow and moonlight, the man seemed too perfect for the mundane world. Black waves of hair, streaked faintly with silver, brushed his shoulders. His eyes—an unearthly silver-gray—caught the light and held it, glowing as if lit from within. His coat was long and dark, his high-collared shirt hinting at old-world elegance. A thin scar traced the line of his jaw, a quiet reminder that beauty could bleed.
Elara couldn't look away.
Something deep within her stirred, a pulse of recognition—or warning—that made her forget to breathe.
Her chest tightened, confusion and a strange pull winding together in her stomach. Why was he here? And why did he look at them—at her—with such quiet recognition?
Her mother's voice broke the trance.
"If you can't help get the luggage out of the car, you might as well go inside and help me unpack."
Before Elara could respond, Kaelen's teasing voice followed, mild but edged with amusement. "You heard Mom."
Elara sighed, bending to lift a suitcase from the trunk. The handle felt cold against her fingers, the weight shifting as though the air itself had grown heavy.
She could still feel that man's eyes on her. Fenris.
Shadows and Secrets
Far from the warmth of sunlight and home, another darkness stirred.
Lamia's words cut through the silence, her voice rich and dangerous. "You can't conceal it, Lucian. You've been searching for ways to free your brother, haven't you? You can't lie to me."
Her tone was silken—half challenge, half caress—like the purr of a cat before it strikes.
Lord Lucian's eyes narrowed, his gaze cold enough to still the air around them. "You flatter yourself, Lamia," he said, voice low and edged with frost. "Who are you, that I—night's firstborn—should fear or conceal from?"
"You know, a Moon family just arrived. I can feel Fenris," Lamia purred, sticking out her tongue seductively as she catwalked toward him. "Hope has him by his collar. You know very well that if he manages to free himself, things won't look good for you."
"You mean us," Lucian corrected, turning his movements liquid and commanding. He pulled his black shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bed, which was draped in a blue and white comforter. His body was a sculpture—muscles carved and defined, framed by his intense silver eyes.
"I have my ways," Lamia countered, her voice rich with confidence. She tossed him onto the bed and climbed onto his chest. Lucian leaned toward her round face. Lamia was striking, with dark skin and jet-black hair pulled back, her figure fit and overtly seductive. She undressed herself with deliberate slowness, draping her body over his.
Lucian stopped himself, his hand resting on her hip. "He'll have to forgive me. He always does."
"Half-brothers are always a disaster, aren't they? Now, quiet," she murmured, and kissed him deeply, a possessive fire in the touch.
With a gasp, she guided him, inserting his manhood into her. Heavy breaths of passion were exchanged, the sound growing louder, primal. Their bodies moved urgently, hitting the four walls with the shuddering rhythm of their pleasure, screaming the house down in their unrestrained intensity.
Lamia laughed softly, the sound a dark melody. Her tongue traced her lower lip in a slow, deliberate motion, a taunt wrapped in desire. The scent of jasmine and danger mingled around her.
Lucian's gaze flickered, desire kindling like a brief flame before he extinguished it with will alone. His expression turned to stone.
"Oh, fine," Lamia said at last, voice dripping with mock sweetness as she turned toward the door. "Thought you might want to hear what I found out."
The soft rustle of her silk gown whispered against the silence as she moved. But before she could take another step, Lucian's hand shot out, fingers closing around her wrist like iron.
He pulled her back. She collided with him, breath mingling—hers quick and teasing, his steady but dark.
The air between them thickened, alive with the pulse of something forbidden. For a moment, neither spoke. Their breathing became the only sound, the rhythm slow, deliberate... almost dangerous.
Afterward, Lamia lay draped across Lord Lucian's chest, her breath hot against his cool skin.
"You'd be surprised to know," she whispered, voice low and lazy, "The arriving Moon family is the ancient strong family: werewolves and witches. And something tells me you might miss this chance if you don't act faster."
Lucian's answer came as a low growl deep in his throat. "You could've said that before making me suffer first." His tone carried irritation, yet a flicker of amusement danced beneath it.
Lamia's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Where's the fun in that?"
A Chilling Revelation
The house was breathtaking—broad and sunlit, with tall windows catching the afternoon light like glass mirrors. A grand front door stood framed by ivy-wrapped columns, the stone beneath Elara's hand warm and smooth. The air carried the scents of polished wood, herbs Amanda had dried earlier, and the faint perfume of fresh flowers.
Inside, sunlight poured through cream-painted halls lined with family portraits and pastoral landscapes. Wooden floors whispered under Elara's steps, while crystal chandeliers scattered light into prismatic fragments that danced across the walls.
"It's beautiful… cozy," Elara murmured, her fingers trailing along the polished banister.
"I have good taste," Amanda said proudly, adjusting a vase on the mantel.
Elara laughed softly. "Looking at Dad, I doubt that."
Amanda tossed a playful glare over her shoulder, and a burst of laughter filled the house—warm, easy, alive.
Yet even in that laughter, Elara's attention was drawn back to the window.
Fenris still stood at the gate.
Unmoving.
Watching.
The air around him shimmered with an energy she couldn't name. Her stomach tightened, her smile faltered. Confusion, curiosity, and a strange familiarity coiled within her like a living thing. Why was he there? What did he want? And why did he look at her as if he'd known her all her life?
The evening sunlight draped the house in molten gold as Elara stepped deeper inside, her flip-flops whispering against the polished floor. The day had begun with joy, but now her thoughts tangled in unease and wonder. A truth she couldn't yet name pulsed just beneath her ribs.
Her life was about to change—and no sketch, no joke, no family warmth would prepare her for what was coming.
Elara sank onto one of the plush couches, the fabric soft beneath her fingertips. She opened her mind to a fiction she couldn't escape—a story she allowed herself to sink into. Sketches and imagined lives carried her away until thirst tugged her back to reality. She rose to fetch a glass of water from the fridge, the cold metal handle sending a shiver through her palm. Yet the water wasn't as cold as she liked, and as she turned, she froze.
There he was.
On the couch across from her, motionless—a shadow among shadows—the same man she had seen at the gate earlier. His presence was so sudden, so sharp, her mind refused to accept it. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head, but when her eyes opened again, he was gone.
Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs, fear and awe twining together, creeping along her spine like a chill wind through an abandoned hall. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to steady her breath. It can't be… not real. The house isn't haunted. I've just moved in, I'm tired, that's all. But deep down, a knot of unease coiled tighter inside her.
By the time the clock whispered past eight, Amanda's gentle voice broke through the hush of the room.
"Elara, there's something we ought to tell you."
Elara set her iPad aside, switching it off. Her hazel-green eyes met her mother's—curiosity laced with the echo of her earlier fear. "What is it?"
Amanda's lips pressed together for a moment before she began. Her voice was calm but heavy, as if each word carried the weight of generations.
"This family, like any other, has a past—though ours stretches farther than most dare to imagine. Long ago, there lived a couple, bound by love and glory, whose story has been whispered through the ages. Among them was a woman—a witch in her prime. Her words were sweet as honey, her beauty beyond compare. Black hair that fell like a midnight waterfall, eyes that drew every gaze. A presence that commanded hearts. But even her charm could not shield her from tragedy."
Elara leaned forward, her pulse quickening, the air thick with anticipation. Shadows seemed to stretch across the walls, as though even they leaned closer to listen.
"One day, this witch relocated to our town and fell in love with a married man. Her desire for him was as potent as the magic she carried. Though he tried to resist, fate wove its own cruel threads. Soon, he strayed from his vows, caught in her enchantments. His wife—sharp-eyed and intuitive—began to sense his betrayal. Then, on a midnight drenched in silver light, she knocked on their door… and found the impossible. The witch, heavy with child, and the man she had once called husband—caught in a moment that would forever alter their destinies."
Elara's fingers curled around the edge of the couch, her knuckles turning white. The story's tension thickened the air, and the warm glow of the lamp above cast eerie shadows across her mother's face.
"Her husband tried to shove her away, warning her to stay clear, but she would not," Amanda continued softly, her words measured and deliberate. "Instead, she helped the witch give birth—holding the infant in her arms, the very child she had longed for, yearned for, and prayed for in vain. Yet her longing turned to vengeance. The witch had lived too long in shadows, mocked and diminished by those who saw her as less than whole. So she crafted a poison from a rare midnight flower, grinding it until it dissolved into water. She gave it to the mother, intending death… but fate had other plans."
Amanda's voice dropped to a whisper. "Instead, she cast a spell that bound them to the moon, turning them into creatures of shadow and night—the first werewolves—each full moon bringing a dangerous transformation."
Elara's breath caught. The air grew colder, almost metallic, as though the story itself had condensed into the space between them.
"Months passed," Amanda went on. "The families came seeking answers, finding only denial and silence. Yet when the full moon rose, the man, his wife, and the child fled into the woods, seeking to transform safely, away from innocent eyes. But the woman's family discovered them, demanding justice for the transgressions of magic and desire. In that moment, punishment and fate intertwined. The woman was married to a man of power, destined to rule as an Alpha, and the first law of their kind was born—survival, loyalty, and the sanctity of life. And so it has remained, hidden in plain sight, for generations."
Elara's head spun. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirping of crickets, even the faint scent of jasmine drifting through the open window—all of it blurred into silence. The story anchored her, threading her heartbeat to a legacy she had never known she carried.
A shiver ran down Elara's spine, the chill of anticipation mixing with fear and a strange, unspoken thrill. Outside, the night deepened, the wind whispering through the trees as if echoing the secrets Amanda had revealed. Somewhere beyond the walls, she felt it—the faint pull of destiny, the shimmer of something not entirely human… waiting, watching.
"So the child transforms as well?" Elara asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt foreign on her tongue, heavy with disbelief, yet curiosity made them escape anyway.
"I'm afraid so—a curse from birth," her mother said softly, placing a warm hand on Elara's lap. The touch was grounding, yet it made her pulse flutter with unease. "The cursed family only transforms at the age of twenty."
Elara blinked, searching for humor in her parents' faces, hoping for a smile, a wink, something that would make this a joke. But there was none—only solemnity. Cold, unflinching, terrifying. The color drained from her cheeks.
"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered, as if saying the words aloud might make them disappear.
"You turned twenty last week," her mother said, eyes steady, voice measured. "And tonight… there is a full moon."
Elara's stomach dropped. Her chest tightened, breath catching in shallow gasps. Outside, the wind pressed against the windows, low and rhythmic—like the pulse of the moon itself, heavy and silver, pressing down on the house.
"The Alpha just died," her father's voice cut in, calm but carrying a weight that made her shiver. "The new Alpha needs a queen—and our family has been chosen to provide her. For generations, it has always been like that. A bride for the Alpha must come from the cursed werewolf family."
Elara shook her head, fingers clutching the edge of the couch. "No… no, I can't marry. I'm only twenty. I have college, a life—I need time."
"Do not make me repeat myself," John's voice was low, smooth, yet thunderous—rolling through the room with an authority that brooked no argument. His words left a tremor in the air, as if even the shadows paused to listen.
"Mom—" Elara began, but her words were cut short. Her mother rose sharply, chasing after her husband as he disappeared down the hall.
"Welcome to the family curse. Happy twentieth," Kaelen said dryly, stepping into the kitchen. The room smelled faintly of cooked food, herbs, and the lingering sweetness of vanilla candles. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, the cool condensation slick against his fingers.
"Don't worry, sweet head," he added, flashing a teasing grin. "You'll be fine soon. Think of it as… marrying a king."
Elara's tears burned as she turned away, storming down the hall. But Kaelen's voice stopped her mid-step—sharp, commanding.
"There's no time to play princess! Let's go!"
Before she could react, his hand gripped hers, firm and unyielding, pulling her toward the waiting car. The leather was cold beneath her palms, and the low rumble of the engine vibrated through her chest as the door slammed shut behind her.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, panic tightening her voice.
"College," he mocked, his tone laced with amusement.
"I'm taking you to the woods, princess," he corrected, glancing at his watch—the silver glint catching the dim light. "You can't control your first few times. And it's almost time."
"Time for what?" she asked, disbelief heavy in every word, her heartbeat thrumming like a trapped bird.
"College," he repeated dryly, irritation edging his tone. The pull of the full moon sharpened his temper like a blade.
"Are Mom and Dad coming?" she asked, peering out the window at the darkening stretch of road.
"They're right behind us," Kaelen replied, slipping in his AirPods with practiced ease. Elara turned, squinting through the glass. A line of cars followed behind them, headlights flickering like watchful eyes. Though she couldn't see clearly, instinct told her—they weren't alone.
Wolves could see twenty times farther than humans.
And tonight, she could feel their gaze on her skin.
Before she could form another question, the first stirrings began inside her. Her insides twisted painfully, muscles tensing, her face contorting as if her very bones were reshaping. A scream tore from her throat—raw, primal, and unrelenting. But the scream didn't stay human; it deepened, reverberating into a roar that rattled the car and made Kaelen spin the wheel instinctively.
"Try to slow the process!" Kaelen shouted, gripping the wheel tighter, driving faster than the law—or any sane person—would allow.
Elara tried to speak, to explain, but all that emerged was a guttural roar, vibrating through her chest like a drum of ancient power. It was her first turn, yet somehow… she felt a strange, burgeoning control weaving through the chaos.
Kaelen's eyes widened in astonishment. In the next heartbeat, she was fully human again, trembling, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.
"What the… how did you do that?" he asked, disbelief etched into every line of his sharp features.
"You said I should slow the process," she panted, gripping the edge of the seat. "Turns out… it isn't that hard after all."
"Impossible," Kaelen muttered, shaking his head. "No one can control their first turn within the first few months."
Her effort to mask panic was clear. Hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.
Amanda's eyes softened, though her voice remained steady. "It's not just about where you transform… it's about being together with your kind."
Before Elara could ask more, the forest seemed to shiver. A deep, resonant growl rippled through the trees. Shadows thickened. Wind whispered through the branches. And in a single heartbeat, it began: fur sprouted, muscles elongated, eyes sharpened, teeth lengthened, claws unfurled. The curse had awakened.
It was time.
The forest filled with the chorus of howls—the primal symphony of unleashed wolves echoing beneath the full moon. Every note vibrated through the ground, through their bones, and into their very hearts. A crow called from a gnarled branch, its eyes glinting in the silver light, observing as though measuring every shift, every motion.
Elara's senses stretched and sharpened instinctively. The scent of wet earth was intoxicating, the metallic tang of blood pricked at her nostrils, and the subtle rustle of hidden creatures whispered secrets she could barely comprehend. Her ears caught the distant crack of twigs, the shift of undergrowth, and the soft scuttle of small animals scurrying in fear. Every sense was alive, vibrating with the pulse of the night.
Together, the pack moved as one. Howls spiraled into the sky, growls vibrated in response, and their movements were fluid and primal, limbs extending in ways human bodies had never permitted. It was terrifying, exhilarating, and beautiful in a way that made Elara's chest pound and her breath catch. She was a creature of shadow and muscle, of fur and claws, of instincts she had never known she possessed. And yet, she understood herself fully in ways her human mind could not name.
Elara felt profoundly alien, a creature abruptly awakened and utterly misplaced. Yet, amidst her confusion, the presence of her family was a sharp, grounding truth. She didn't just see her mother, brother, and father; she perceived them, her awareness of their bodies and beings more intense than any human sense allowed.
As Kaelen leaned into her space, she felt the sudden, invasive clarity of his thoughts. It wasn't a conversation, but a silent download—a torrent of raw, urgent messages that clung to her mind, conveyed solely through the fierce connection in their shared gaze. He was communicating, relaying vital, wordless information: the vision of a pack she was meant to command, a pack whose allegiance was already palpable. Was this powerful expectation tied to the fate of her coming marriage?
The howls that rose from miles beyond the tree line no longer sounded distant or wild; to Elara's newly-tuned ears, they were strong, loud, and terribly sensible, a symphony of allegiance resonating with the primal power that now pulsed beneath her own skin.
The hours passed like minutes. Midnight stretched into the early hours, the moon tracing its slow arc across the sky. By five, exhaustion and enchantment tugged at their bodies, and one by one, they returned to human form. Clothing was replaced, carefully laid out, though Elara had been spared the thoughtfulness of preparation. Her hands shook slightly as she tugged on her dress, hair damp and clinging to her skin, her body humming with residual power.
It was not only her. She realized, with awe and a creeping apprehension, that this transformation had touched them all. They were a family bound by ancient magic, by lineage, by curse—and by duty. As the pack tried to explain, their voices were gentle yet tinged with reverence. Every word was weighted with the knowledge that she had awakened something extraordinary.
They called her Mrs. Voy.
The sound of it wrapped around her like a cloak of expectation she did not ask for, did not want. Her chest tightened with indignation, with discomfort. She wasn't ready to bear the weight of centuries, of history, of supernatural destiny. Pretending to go check the car, she moved slowly, deliberately, letting the crisp night air brush her bare arms. She had been reshaped, stripped and remade by her wolf form, and while part of her wanted to hide, another part surged with pride, and an edge of defiance.
A man appeared a few feet ahead, perfectly still, silhouetted by the rising moon. His presence radiated awareness, as if he could see everything—past, present, and the threads of potential futures twisting through the night.
"Are you lost?" Elara asked cautiously, stepping closer.
The man removed his jacket, extending it toward her. The fabric was heavy, warm, and smelled faintly of sandalwood and earth, grounding and oddly comforting. She accepted it, the weight settling around her shoulders, the fibers brushing her damp skin. She lifted her hand to thank him, but the moment vanished—he simply disappeared, leaving no trace, no shadow, nothing to prove he had been there at all.
Her head spun. Eyes darting in every direction, she searched, but the forest seemed empty, indifferent. Not even her supernatural vision could locate him.
"Elara, are you fine?" Amanda's voice, soft and concerned, broke through the haze, tethering her back to reality.
"Yeah…" she whispered.
"Where did you get that coat?" Amanda asked, turning her head in all directions.
"This other man, I don't know where he disappeared to." Her fragile voice shook. She turned toward the car, the night air now sharp and tangy with pine and dew. Her body still hummed with energy, a living echo of the wolf within her, reminding her of the power she had survived, the danger she had faced, and the heritage she had inherited.