Just as William touched Violet's shoulder to turn her around, the wolf in her surged.
In that moment, a light bulb went off 'Ting' in Violet's head.
She immediately transformed into a wolf, and William lost his balance a little, but righted himself immediately.
Violet consoled herself. It doesn't matter if he has seen her leftover clothes, nor does it matter if he has seen her reflection in the water, all the same, she will not change back unless he clearly asks.
TvShows had taught her this is indeed the right way to deal with clandestine affairs.
William turned into a wolf following herself.
Violet was surprised to find William could turn himself into a wolf with all his clothes.
She had thought she could not become a wolf along with the clothes on her back.
The moment William turned into a wolf, he frowned.
There's a strange smell in the wind, full of blood and bats.
Violet, looking at William's expression, turned in the direction he was looking at, and sniffed the air.
It's a bloody scent!
Worse than that, the bloody scent has a feel to it.
It seems to be saying, tonight, it's you or I !!!
Let the blood flow like rivers !!
Slay! Destroy! Devour!
The sentiment in the wind seems to read.
Violet's tail fell down between her legs! She shook in fear.
William rubbed her in his wolf form, comforting her.
The thing is, she is indeed comforted.
William smelled her smell deeply, making himself remember every last tenor of the smell.
Then, he took off, running with an explosive burst of speed.
William had never felt this electric.
The wolf that had risen in the woods months ago—the wolf that had left him spent and half-dead at the lakeside—was running beside him. She was smaller than him, a sleek shadow of dark, ash-grey fur, moving with the nervous, explosive energy of a coiled spring. His wolf, which was usually calm, even arrogant, was vibrating with a complex mix of protective fervor and primal confusion.
Mate. Mine. The instincts screamed, but they were immediately countered by a deep, psychic whisper that came not from Violet's mind, but from the aura she trailed: Succubus. Shadow-Walker. Hybrid.
He had never encountered a hybrid like her. The wolfblood was strong—strong enough to command respect and fear, even from him. But beneath the fur, beneath the frantic terror, there was a heat, a siren song that spoke of ancient, dark power. The air around her didn't just smell of wolf and damp earth; it hummed with the thick, cloying sweetness of bloodlust and sex, a scent that was currently masked by sheer, overwhelming panic.
Is she a bitch? Or a bastard of some forgotten line? William's inner wolf growled the old pack words of judgment, but his human mind, filled with the memory of her hesitant kiss, whispered, She is mine.
He had to get her out.
The smell of blood and bats—vampires—was now clearly defined. It was the heavy, musky scent of old power mixed with the metallic tang of organized military discipline. They weren't rogues; this was an operation.
William sped up, relying on his Winter Moon bloodline—the raw power he had unknowingly stolen from his kin at the lake. His muscles bunched and released, eating up the distance, his four paws thudding silently on the forest floor. He was running toward the densest cluster of vampire scent, a foolish move by pack standards, but he knew the rules: draw the Alpha-level threat to himself, and the vulnerable mate gets away.
Violet, running slightly behind him, was a blur. Her speed was unnatural, almost illusory. She didn't seem to be bound by the same physical laws of momentum and mass. She simply was elsewhere.
Ken Castelli's Calculus
Ten minutes later, on a nearby ridge overlooking the Blackwoods trail, Ken Castelli received the preliminary report via a discreet satellite phone, as his walkie-talkies were now uselessly far from his subordinates. He was dressed in tailored black leather, appearing less like a high school student and more like a wealthy lord out for a hunt.
"Report." His voice was low, smooth, and lacked inflection.
"We have visual confirmation, Master. One large male wolf, Winter Moon. We engaged the perimeter guards. They are down. The large wolf... his strength is unprecedented. Our combat specialists, Vampire-1 and Vampire-2, both suffered broken limbs upon initial contact, Master. They reported a golden flash of the eyes, full transformation, full command of the beast. He is not the crippled teen the Owen network described."
Ken's eyes narrowed, reflecting the faint moonlight like two chips of polished amber. The report was deeply unsettling. The core intelligence, paid for and confirmed, was that William Wolf was a half-blood with residual strength—a prize to be won, but not a threat.
"And the female? The girl?" Ken asked, a thread of genuine curiosity entering his voice.
"She is with the male. Smaller. Grey fur. She moves… strangely, Master. Her scent is confusing. It's a mix of raw power and deep, paralyzing fear. Most of the pursuing parties have split, half still following the large male, the other half pursuing the smaller wolf, as her trail diverged sharply into a rocky crag."
Ken closed his eyes, analyzing the data.
Henry Owen, you treacherous bastard. William's uncle had clearly underreported the heir's power, perhaps hoping Ken would eliminate William and open the path for Neil, his own son, to inherit. If William was this strong, his blood was a treasure, a literal evolutionary leap for Ken.
And the girl... Violet Darkwood. The one who had resisted his glamour. The one whose fear now tasted like intoxicating sweetness on the wind.
"The small wolf is a problem," Ken mused aloud. "Her fear is attracting them. It's too potent. That scent... it's not just wolf. That is a bitch, a vixen playing a dangerous game. She possesses an aura that warps perception. It's what allowed her to be immune to my glamour. It is an ill-omened sign. The power level is higher than anticipated."
He took a slow, deep breath, the cold air filling his unmoving lungs. He adjusted his plan instantly.
"Ignore the male for now. The male is bait. He is predictable. He will fight. The girl is the key. She is the variable. The power emanating from her is not werewolf—it is something else. Focus all available units on the small wolf. She must be captured intact."
"What about the mother, Master? The human female?"
"The human female is irrelevant. A low-grade witch or a blood retainer. If the girl is captured, the mother will fall. I want the girl. Pursue to capture only. Use the silver whips if necessary, but do not kill the prize. The girl's power—it's a weapon I need to understand. If she is a bastard daughter of a primordial force, she's worth more than the entire Winter Moon line."
Ken turned, abandoning his post on the ridge. He would not rely on his subordinates for this kill. He would find Violet Darkwood himself. He wanted to look into those captivating, fearful eyes when he finally broke her.
The Divide and the Dark Power
Back in the Blackwoods valley floor, William, realizing he was running straight toward an ambush, suddenly reversed course with a sharp, disciplined turn. His front claws dug deep into the damp soil, sending mud spraying backward.
Too many. We split. The thought was a shared mental command, not spoken aloud, but Violet's wolf understood instantly.
They had briefly encountered the first perimeter team—two heavily muscled vampires in dark tactical gear. The fight was swift, brutal, and shocking in its one-sided violence. William had taken a silver-laced stake to the shoulder that stung like a thousand wasps, but the adrenaline and the primal rage had allowed him to shrug off the pain long enough to shatter the vampire's rib cage with a single shoulder charge. The second one had barely managed to fire a high-caliber silver round that scraped William's flank before Violet, in a flash of terrifying, instinctual power, had shifted the shadows.
It wasn't a physical attack. It was a psychic distortion.
The second vampire, mid-aim, suddenly staggered, clutching his head and screaming about a monstrous, winged figure demanding his soul. The illusion, born from Violet's extreme terror and latent succubus power, was simple but devastating.
"Go! To the crag!" William barked in a deep, guttural wolf-growl. He used his bulk to shove her toward a narrow, almost hidden tunnel leading into the ravine walls—the very tunnel described in the Chapter 14 snippet.
Violet, her heart hammering against her ribs, hesitated. She didn't want to leave him. His strong, masculine scent, even in wolf form, was the only thing anchoring her to reality, keeping the dizzying rush of her shadow power from consuming her entirely.
I am a distraction, William. I will lead the smaller ones away. You heal. The thought was less a thought and more a raw projection of necessity and fear.
She flashed her golden eyes at him, and for a second, the light of the moon seemed to bend and follow the gaze, illuminating a path within the tunnel that hadn't been there a moment before. Her wolf form seemed to ripple, the ash-grey fur momentarily dissolving into pure, light-absorbing shadow, only to coalesce again.
William knew then: she was the key. She was the one he had met at the lake, the one who nearly killed him with a kiss. Her power was chaotic, beautiful, and overwhelming.
"Don't look back!" William roared in his wolf voice, then turned and charged back into the main path, toward the sound of approaching troops. He ran directly into a squad of five heavily armed vampires, drawing all attention to the open space.
Violet, seeing the raw, selfless sacrifice, felt a terrifying surge of energy. This was worth fighting for. This was what the kiss had promised, not eternal love, but a shared, bloody fate.
She plunged into the tunnel, the stone walls closing in around her, absorbing the light.
Violet's Desperate Escape
The tunnel was disorienting, lit only by stray phosphorescent mosses. Violet ran low, trusting her instincts and the frantic direction of the shadow raven that had suddenly materialized, a flickering, obsidian bird born from her stepmother's ritual.
The raven was Wynona's gift, a fragment of her soul now bound to protect her daughter, a dark, fiery sacrifice made in desperation. The raven's presence was a cold comfort, its sharp screeches guiding Violet deeper into the earth.
Behind her, she could hear the heavy footfalls of the pursuit team. They were fast, disciplined, and getting closer. She knew they were following the trail of her succubus-wolf scent—a heady mix that must have been driving them into a frenzy.
They want my blood. They want my power.
Violet reached a sharp, upward incline, her lungs burning, the cold air scraping her throat. She needed to lose them, and the only way was to make her scent an active weapon.
As she reached a small, cramped section of the tunnel, Violet instinctively utilized the dark power she was starting to understand. She scraped her claws on the rock walls, not drawing blood, but forcing the primal, lust-drenched fear and the pure essence of her hybrid scent out of her pores. She was broadcasting a psychic signal: Prey. Vulnerable. Powerful.
She then focused on her wolf form and performed the same trick William had used to shed his clothes. She willed the ash-grey wolf to change color. In a shuddering, painful moment, her fur became a muddy brown, blending perfectly with the tunnel. Her eyes, instead of flashing golden, now held a cool, predatory green.
The pursuing vampires slowed, confused.
"I can't track her," one of the voices echoed down the tunnel. "The scent is everywhere. It's too strong, almost debilitating. It's like running through a cloud of raw essence."
"It's a succubus, or something higher. Keep moving! We have visual! The crag is just ahead!" the leader's voice commanded, full of the rigid control that separated the soldiers from the newly turned.
Violet, having bought herself a few seconds, broke out of the tunnel and onto the crag—the "interstellar asteroid" valley where the true trap of the Blackwoods lay. The open canopy above felt like both a terrifying exposure and a momentary freedom.
She looked back down the tunnel entrance, waiting for the first sign of pursuit, her whole body coiled and ready to fight or fly, a hybrid creature facing extinction.
William's Stand
Meanwhile, William was engaged in a desperate fight on the main trail. The five vampires were using sophisticated tactics: three kept him moving, driving him toward a pre-set snare net, while two circled, using silver-tipped spears to keep his head low.
William's wolf was magnificent. He was bigger, heavier, and possessed the raw, untamed speed of a true Alpha. He wasn't just fighting; he was dancing, weaving through the silver attacks, his jaws snapping, his claws ripping into the vampires' kevlar.
They are good, but they are not werewolves.
He took a glancing blow from a silver spear across his muzzle. The pain was blinding, instantly searing his nerves. He ignored it, focusing his golden gaze on the nearest aggressor, a massive vampire with a chain whip.
He lunged low, dodging the whip, and slammed his entire body weight into the vampire's legs, twisting as he did so. The sound of shattered kneecaps was loud, muffled slightly by the forest. The vampire collapsed, screaming a soundless vampiric shriek.
But the moment of triumph was costly.
The second vampire in the pair, the one he had briefly dismissed, drove a heavy stake into William's side, hitting the muscle just above the ribs. It wasn't silver, but it was enough to momentarily stop his breathing.
William fell, gasping. His strength was legendary, but his healing factor was now fighting a dual battle: the systemic anticoagulant from the silver and the sheer blunt force trauma.
No. Not yet.
He forced himself up, using the wounded side to push off the ground. He had to keep them busy. He had to keep them away from Violet.
He looked over the ridge, in the direction of the crag. No signs of pursuit for his mate. He let out a furious, defiant howl that echoed through the trees, a challenge to Ken Castelli and a promise to Violet.
I will not fall until you are safe, my little bastard vixen.
The four remaining vampires paused, momentarily stunned by the sheer volume and primal rage of the howl. That was enough. William used the split second to disappear into the thicker brush, leading them away from the valley.
The chase was far from over, but the two mates had successfully split the enemy force, each now a target, each fighting for their very existence. The stage was set: William, the proud wolf, was bleeding out on the main path, and Violet, the shadow vixen, was about to face the hunters in the deadly, confusing expanse of the crag.