The moon over Charlotte wasn't full—but it felt heavy, like it was watching.
Jordan Storm crouched on the edge of a parking garage, camera pressed to his face, finger hovering over the shutter. Below him, the city breathed. Sirens in the distance. Neon lights flickering. Shadows moving where they shouldn't.
He always shot at night.
Night didn't lie.
Click.
The image froze: an alleyway, empty at first glance. But when Jordan lowered the camera and checked the screen, his breath caught.
Something stood in the reflection of a rain-slicked wall.
Tall. Wrong.
Eyes glowing like embers.
Jordan stood too fast.
"Shit…"
A growl rolled through the air—low, vibrating, ancient. It wasn't a sound meant for human ears.
Jordan ran.
Footsteps slammed behind him, faster than any person should move. His lungs burned as he bolted down the stairwell, camera swinging wildly against his chest.
The exit door exploded inward.
Jordan hit the pavement hard. The world spun. He tasted blood.
Then he saw it.
The creature unfolded itself from the shadows—bones cracking, muscles shifting beneath torn skin. Its eyes locked onto him with predatory focus.
"Please," Jordan whispered, though he didn't know why.
The werewolf lunged.
Pain detonated through his shoulder as teeth sank in. Not just flesh—something deeper. Something inside him snapped awake, like a lock breaking.
The beast recoiled.
It staggered back, snarling—not in triumph, but fear.
Jordan screamed as heat flooded his veins. His heartbeat thundered. His vision sharpened until he could see every crack in the concrete, every bead of sweat on the monster's fur.
The moon slipped from behind the clouds.
And Jordan Storm howled back.
Across the city, ancient eyes opened.
Packs stirred.
Vampyres whispered his name.
The war had found its new alpha.
And it was hungry.