The dawn crept slowly over the mountains, painting the sky in muted shades of ash and gold. The forest was silent now — as if holding its breath after the storm of the Hunt. Luca Varyn stood at the edge of the valley, the cold wind tugging at his dark hair, carrying with it the faintest scent of blood, Her blood.
He had tracked her for hours after letting her go, unable to explain why. Every instinct in him screamed that he had made a mistake — that sparing the vampire girl had been a betrayal to his kind. Yet something inside him, something primal but not cruel, refused to regret it.
He could still see her face in the moonlight — eyes glowing red like embers, fierce and frightened, but unyielding. She hadn't begged. She hadn't run like prey. She had looked at him as if she knew him — as if she understood something he didn't.
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the last traces of night bled into day. The Blood Moon had faded, but its power lingered, thick in the air.
"Luca!"
A voice cut through the quiet. His second-in-command, Kael, emerged from the treeline, his armor splattered with mud and blood. "We found nothing but ashes and bones. The vampires fled the borders before the Hunt began. Did you find anything?"
Luca hesitated. His jaw tightened. "No," he lied. "Nothing worth chasing."Kael frowned. "Strange. The scent of vampire was heavy in that valley.""Then it was old," Luca said sharply. "Drop it."
Kael studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing. "As you command, my prince." He bowed his head and disappeared into the shadows, though doubt lingered in his scent.
When he was gone, Luca exhaled slowly. His heartbeat was steady, but the memory of her pulse beneath the forest moon haunted him. Something had happened when their eyes met — a strange surge, as though the blood in his veins had recognized hers. He'd felt her fear, her defiance… and something deeper.
That night, the pack gathered in the stone hall of the Silver fang Keep. The air smelled of smoke and iron; torches flickered against the carved walls lined with the trophies of a hundred hunts. Luca sat beside his father, Alpha Darius Varyn, a man whose presence silenced even the wildest beast.
"The vampires grow bold," Darius said, his voice deep as thunder. "Another border attack, another scout found drained near the cliffs. The truce holds in words only. It's time we remind them why they fear the howl of the wolf."
The pack cheered — a low, rumbling sound that shook the floor.
Luca kept his gaze forward, his expression unreadable. His father's eyes, sharp and silver, turned to him. "You led the hunt last night, boy. What did you find?"
Luca's throat tightened. For a heartbeat, he saw her again — the half-breed girl, her crimson eyes shining through the fog. He blinked it away.
"Only the scent of old blood," he said finally. "Nothing alive."
His father studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. The true war will come soon. You must be ready." "I am," Luca replied. But deep inside, he wasn't sure. Because part of him — the part that had hesitated, that had spared her — didn't want the war at all.
Far away, hidden in the ruins of an ancient chapel at the forest's edge, Selena Draven stirred from restless sleep. Her body ached, her side burned where the wolf's claw had grazed her skin, but she was alive. Barely.
She sat up, clutching her side, the memory of his voice echoing in her mind: "Run… because I might forget which side I'm supposed to be on." Why had he let her go? No werewolf ever spared a vampire — especially not the heir of the Alpha King.
Her hand brushed against the gash across her ribs. The wound should have healed, but it hadn't. The edges glowed faintly silver — wolf's blood. Somehow, when he'd cut her, something of him had entered her. She could feel it, a strange energy thrumming in her veins, a heartbeat that wasn't her own.
She looked toward the distant mountains, where the howls still echoed faintly. "Who are you, Luca Varyn?" she whispered.
And as the sun vanished behind the horizon once more, she felt something stir deep inside her — a bond unseen, unchosen, yet impossible to break.