The village of Black Hollow had one rule: Never go into the woods after dusk.
And yet, Arwen Duskwood did exactly that.
The air was heavy, the mist curling around her ankles like claws. Somewhere in the dark, something ancient stirred. Her breath hitched as a distant howl echoed through the trees—not just any howl, but one laced with power that pulled at her veins.
She shouldn't be out here. Not on the eve of her eighteenth birthday. Not when the curse ran thick in her bloodline.
But Arwen wasn't like the others in the village. While the rest feared the night, she was drawn to it… haunted by dreams she couldn't explain—of blood, fire, and glowing eyes.
She clutched the pendant around her neck, her mother's last gift before she vanished. A black stone set in silver, warm against her chest, like a second heartbeat.
Then she heard it—footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Not animal. Not human.
"Who's there?" Her voice cracked.
A figure stepped out from the shadows. Pale as snow, dressed in a midnight cloak, eyes burning crimson. A vampire.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice smooth like smoke. "The forest belongs to the beasts tonight."
Arwen took a step back, pulse racing. "I'm not afraid of monsters."
The vampire tilted his head. "You should be. Especially of the one inside you."
"What are you talking about?"
He moved closer. "You're the Heir of Fenris. The blood of the last Alpha runs in your veins. And something… older."
Before she could speak, the wind screamed. A piercing howl shattered the silence. From the treetops, birds scattered. The ground trembled.
Then… pain.
White-hot agony exploded in Arwen's chest. Her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, clutching her ribs. Her bones shifted. Her skin burned. Her vision blurred.
"What's… happening… to me?!"
The vampire crouched beside her. "Your awakening. The curse is surfacing."
Arwen screamed as her fingers turned to claws, her teeth elongated, eyes glowing gold. Fur rippled under her skin but didn't fully form. Her transformation was violent — incomplete.
Then, black smoke burst from her mouth, slithering into the trees like a serpent.
The vampire's eyes widened. "No… that's not just werewolf magic… that's possession."
Suddenly, another voice spoke — inside her head. Cold. Female. Ancient.
I've waited centuries, child. You opened the gate. Now we are one.
Arwen gasped, struggling against the presence inside her mind. "GET OUT!"
Too late. Your soul belongs to me now. Together, we will reclaim the Drag of Power.
The vampire backed away. "You're not just cursed… you're the vessel."
Before Arwen could ask what that meant, the trees erupted. Five werewolves in battle form circled her, teeth bared. Their leader stepped forward — a towering male with silver fur and violet eyes.
"I am Alaric, Alpha of the Moonfang Clan," he growled. "We've come for the heir. Surrender her."
The vampire stood in front of her. "She's not yours."
"She carries the mark," Alaric snapped. "The Drag belongs to our kind, not bloodsuckers."
Arwen rose shakily to her feet, golden eyes flashing. "I'm not a pawn. Not for the wolves. Not for the vampires."
Alaric's eyes locked onto hers. "Then choose, girl. Who will you be — monster, queen, or weapon?"
She didn't answer. Not with words.
Instead, Arwen howled — a chilling sound that cracked the sky itself. A shockwave exploded from her body, knocking everyone back. Her skin shimmered with runes. Her pendant pulsed with red light.
In that moment, she wasn't just part-wolf or part-human.
She was something far more dangerous.