Historia stayed pressed against the bookshelf for a moment, listening to the fading echo of Jeremiah's footsteps. Her chest rose and fell as she forced herself to breathe evenly, but her heart was still racing.
She reached up and touched the spot where his fingers had brushed her hair back.
Too close… far too close.
Her mind should have been on Jeremiah—his imposing presence, the way he tested her nerves—but another face rose in her thoughts instead.
Nicklaus Drayven.
Cold, unreadable, dangerous.
The memory of his piercing blue eye flashed in her mind, the way he'd looked down on her from his throne like she was an amusing inconvenience. Even now, with Jeremiah gone, her pulse quickened—not with fear, but with something sharper she refused to name.
She shook her head, trying to steady herself.
Taking a slow breath, she turned back to the library shelves. Her fingers trailed over the spines of ancient books, grounding herself in the familiar feel of leather and parchment.
Some titles caught her eye:
The Royal Bloodlines of the Drayven
On the Nature of Cursed Wolves and Moonborn
Pacts Between Fang and Claw
Her curiosity sparked. If she was going to last 80 days in this palace, she needed to understand everything about vampires—their strengths, weaknesses, and, most importantly, Nicklaus himself.
Historia spent hours combing through the endless rows of the Drayven library, her fingers sliding over ancient spines of black, red, and gold leather-bound tomes. The smell of old parchment and polished wood surrounded her as she gathered as many books as she could carry—enough to crush an ordinary human beneath their weight, but for a werewolf, it was hardly a strain.
Back in her room, Kelly was still asleep, her red hair fanned across the pillow. Historia stacked the books beside her bed and settled into the chair, cracking open the largest volume.
The first chapters were all about vampire origins and royal bloodlines, battle after battle, centuries of darkness and ambition. Not a single word about werewolves.
She flipped the pages with mild frustration, until one section caught her attention—two pages had been torn out, leaving only ragged edges. Historia blinked but didn't dwell on it. Whatever was missing, it wasn't her problem.
Then she turned the page and froze.
---
The Prophecy of the United Fang and Claw
"After the lone wolf tames the cursed king,
And love awakens the heart of night,
Darkness shall rise from those they trust,
A shadow born from blood and spite.
Betrayal will strike from hands once near,
And the world shall tremble under fear.
But when fangs and claws stand as one,
The night of ruin shall be undone.
Through battle and fire, their bond shall prove,
That love and unity are the strongest truth."
---
Historia traced the red ink with her fingertip, reading the words twice.
The lone wolf… the cursed king…
She tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her emerald eyes. Who are they talking about? A wolf among vampires… and a cursed king?
A chill ran down her spine, but she shook it off and kept reading. The next chapters returned to vampire history—wars, betrayals, and the rise of the Drayven dynasty. Eventually, her focus drifted, and she leaned back against the headboard, the heavy book resting across her lap.
She didn't notice the shadow outside her window.
A black crow perched silently on the stone balcony, its dark feathers glinting in the afternoon sun. Its unblinking eyes reflected the room within, and far away in the palace, Nicklaus Drayven watched her quietly, a silent guardian in the world of fangs she had entered.
--
Historia sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the stack of books she had broughtfrom the library, but her thoughts were far from the pages.
She thought of her father and mother, standing against Dimitri's forces.
Of Jackson and Jayden, her twin brothers, risking their lives to protect the pack.
Of her people, frightened and bleeding, waiting for help that might never come.
A knot of guilt twisted in her chest. I'm here… reading books… while they're out there fighting for their lives.
She clenched her fists. I need to know if Levi reached them. I need to know if they're still alive.
The room felt suffocating. Without waking Kelly or waiting for a maid, Historia slipped out, her footsteps soft but urgent against the polished floors.
---
Evening draped the palace in long shadows and golden light, streaming through the tall arched windows. The air smelled faintly of wax and cold stone, and the silence was broken only by the distant clang of metal.
Historia followed the faint sounds, guessing Nicklaus might be in the court room, where the king usually held his private evening gatherings. The corridors grew colder the deeper she went, lined with gothic pillars and portraits of past Drayven kings, their painted eyes following her every step.
Finally, she reached the massive double doors of the court room. One was slightly ajar, and dim torchlight flickered through the gap.
She pushed it open—
—and froze.
The first thing she saw was a head flying through the air, landing with a sickening thud on the black marble floor. A body collapsed beside it, lifeless. Blood spread across the tiles like a dark mirror, catching the torchlight.
Historia's breath caught in her throat. Four vampires knelt before the throne, trembling at Nicklaus Drayven foot, his single cold blue eye fixed on them.
Another screech of steel, and a second head fell.
For a moment, Historia could only stare, her heart pounding. This was the world she had stepped into—a world of predators, where mercy did not exist.
---
Historia's stomach twisted the moment her eyes registered the carnage. Blood slicked the black marble floor, a dark mirror that caught the trembling torchlight.
Her gaze drifted—unwilling yet unable to look away—until she recognized some of the faces of the condemned.
They… they were the same nobles who mocked me yesterday.
The memory of their laughter at her humiliation flashed cruelly in her mind, and nausea rose in her throat.
The nobles were on their knees, their fine robes drenched in sweat and streaked with blood.
"Please, Your Majesty… mercy!" one cried, his voice breaking.
"We swear loyalty! We beg you!" another pleaded, their forehead pressed to the cold floor.
Nicklaus Drayven stood before them, his tall frame radiating silent, predatory dominance. His black coat trailed lightly across the bloodstained marble as he moved with lethal precision, a dark blade in his hand.
He gave no reply, no sign of hesitation.
With a single, fluid motion, the third head flew. The wet, heavy thud of it hitting the floor echoed through the vast hall. Screams followed—cut short by the second, then the then the last, ending his life in a swift, merciless stroke.
Historia's whole body trembled. Her fingers went cold, and she realized she had stumbled back a step, her spine pressing against the cold wall of the hall. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths.
She had seen blood before—she was a werewolf, raised in a world of battles—but this was different.
Nicklaus didn't just kill. He ended lives like he was cutting threads, as if death itself bowed to him. There was no anger, no hesitation—only cold authority, the kind that made her heart pound and her stomach churn.
The last noble gave a sobbing scream, but Nicklaus's blade sang one final time, and silence claimed the hall.
Blood ran in small rivulets toward the grooves of the black marble, pooling around the bodies. The smell of iron filled the air, sharp and metallic.
Historia couldn't stop trembling. Her legs felt weak, her pulse thundered in her ears, and her wolf instincts screamed at her to run—yet she stayed frozen, caught between terror and a strange, undeniable pull toward the predator before her.
Slowly, Nicklaus turned his head toward her. His cold blue eye locked onto her trembling figure… and a faint, dangerous smirk curved his lips.
Her horror—her fear of him—brought him pure, quiet joy.
---
Nicklaus's boots clicked softly against the blood-slicked marble as he began to walk toward her, unhurried, the weight of his presence pressing against her chest like an invisible hand.
Historia's breath hitched, and she instinctively pressed herself against the wall, her trembling hands curling into fists to keep from showing more weakness. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her wolf instincts clawing at her to shift and flee—but she refused to move.
When he stopped a few feet away, the scent of iron and death clung to him, sharp and suffocating. His cold blue eye glimmered under the torchlight as he tilted his head, studying her like prey caught between fear and defiance.
"You tremble," he said finally, his deep voice smooth but laced with amusement. "Is it fear… or awe?"
Historia swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the chill crawling down her spine.
"I… I just wanted to know about my people. About Levi. Has he reached them?"
Nicklaus's smirk deepened slightly. "You walked into my hall, uninvited, while I was cleaning my court… just to ask about wolves?"
He took another step closer, and Historia instinctively stiffened, her claws threatening to slip out of her fingertips in warning. His gaze dipped briefly to her hands and then returned to her face with that same cold amusement.
"Levi is doing… what he does best," Nicklaus said finally, his tone calm but sharp enough to cut. "If your people survive the night, it will be because of him."
Relief flickered in her chest for a moment, but it was fleeting. She noticed the trail of blood Nicklaus had left behind him and realized this was a man who decided life and death without hesitation—and now he was standing close enough to hear her every breath.
Her slight tremor did not escape him. His
smirk turned into a quiet, mocking laugh.
"This?" He gestured casually to the headless corpses around them. "This is nothing in my world. Stop shaking like a scared puppy, or the real monsters in this palace will eat you alive before I ever lift a finger."
The words cut deep, stinging her pride, but the mocking glint in his eye made it clear: he enjoyed watching her fight her instincts.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dark murmur that slid down her spine like ice.
"You're in my world now, little wolf. Remember that"