The night drapes itself in a humid cloak, thick and cloying, clinging to every surface and casting a fremescent tension that prickles the skin as Jason waits in the dim warmth of his apartment. After the long, solemn hours of Granny Minama's funeral, he can still feel the weight of Wilson’s directive pressing upon him, a derisive whisper urging him to slip the truth from Gabrielle without alerting her to his intent. The assignment is deceptively simple, yet Jason knows the fine line he walks: one misstep, one hint of calculation, and her walls will go up.She arrives just past midnight, her silhouette framed by the streetlight outside before stepping into the flickering glow of his candlelit living room. Shadows dance along cluttered shelves, over worn furniture, and around the dark corners of the room, painting an almost ominous scene. Jason greets her with a kiss, his hand grazing her cheek as their eyes meet, hers soft and trusting, unknowing of his hidden purpose.In that moment,
Loneliness is a silent architect, building castles of solitude in the minds of those who wander without tether. Identity is a dance of masks, but in crisis, the mask slips, revealing not clarity but a fog, as if one were peering through glass, shattered and smeared. However, to lose oneself is not to wander; it is to walk through a foreclosure of one’s own soul, each familiar landmark of self closing its doors with a hollow thud. But solitude is the truest mirror, a place where whispers echo louder than the clamors of a crowd, where silence is the only faithful companion. In the heart’s quiet corridors, the comfort of isolation mingles with a cold draft of longing, one that no borrowed company can fill. Like a shadow dancing in one’s periphery, a fractured sense of belonging haunts the fringes of an empty room. And yet, perhaps loneliness is the sculptor, and solitude the chisel, whittling away the superfluous to reveal the form beneath. Some seek company to escape it; others confro
The days bleed into one another in a dim cadence of restless hours and unbroken silence, with Demika hidden away in the secluded corners of Minama’s cottage. The air within these walls is thick, a heavy shroud of mourning still tinged with Granny Minama’s spirit, even though her presence now lingers as only shadows and echoes.Demika clings to her solitude like a lifeline, guarding it fiercely within the shadows of Granny Minama’s cottage. This sanctuary, thick with ancestral whispers and cloaked in twilight, is her one remaining tether to the world before her transformation.Her days bleed into nightfall, melting into each other as she consumes herself with a single focus: to probe the surge of power that crashed into her like a tempest the night her grandmother’s body was lowered into the earth. This power is unlike anything she has ever felt—ancient, electric, and dangerous, thrumming beneath her skin like a pulse with its own fierce will.By the muted glow of candlelight, Demika l
The witching hour wraps Clovis City in a cloak of shadows, its darkness laced with whispers of secrets and spells unspoken. Within the flickering light of her grandmother’s old cottage, Demika sits, her eyes gleaming with the fervor of a newfound obsession. Power—a current now thrumming through her veins like molten metal—spills over her senses, intoxicating, consuming. She yearns to explore its limits, to delve deeper into the legacy left in her blood, one that has made her the most formidable in her lineage. Tonight, her thirst for mastery borders on ravenous; no knowledge, no spell, no secret can escape her.But first, she indulges in a bit of mischief. Her curiosity drifts to Chloe, her love interest, and she murmurs an incantation under her breath, fingers tracing arcane symbols in the air. She plunges herself into the past, her spirit slicing through the veil of time, her consciousness landing centuries ago.She arrives to find a silver-haired, pint-sized vampire toddling unstea
The soft knock at the cottage door rouses Demika from the depths of her trance, her heart racing as she emerges from the haze of memories—memories not her own, yet as vivid and haunting as any she has ever known.Morning light seeps in, streaking the dim room with harsh lines that cut through the shadows, marking the end of her night of revelation. She blinks at the sunlight with a slight start, realizing, only now, that she has been suspended in the remnants of the past for hours. Selena’s voice reaches her ears, carrying both worry and curiosity."Demi… Demika," Selena says, pushing the door open and stepping inside. She stops, eyes widening as she takes in her friend, studying her with a blend of disbelief and awe. “You look... different.”A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Demika’s lips. “I am different,” she says quietly, her voice carrying an edge of something ancient, something foreign. “You have no idea.”Selena glances over her shoulder as Chloe enters, her expression one of
Selena finds herself ensnared in the relentless grip of the Haze season, a turbulent period that looms like an ominous storm cloud over her existence. At eighteen, she is a virgin—a state that, for a she-wolf, renders the journey of self-discovery both arduous and fraught with tension. The intensity of her experience seems particularly acute, marked by a series of haunting, nocturnal visions. These nightmarish orgies, vivid and unrelenting, have become a grotesque intricate pattern woven into the very fabric of her psyche. Each night, her dreams are invaded by primal, feverish encounters that leave her gasping in the cold sweat of terror and desire. This relentless barrage of nocturnal turmoil is like a mental wolfsbane, searing through the landscape of her mind and leaving her in a constant state of disquiet. Struggling to navigate this labyrinthine torment, Selena’s days are a fraught battle against the shadows of her own subconscious, and the nights, an endless struggle to escape th
Wilson had just turned 33 when the news came that his father had been assassinated. At first, there were suspicions that he was attacked by vampyres, since he single-handedly exterminated all the vampyres from Clovis City. They have been scattered all around the neighboring cities, and Lucas had gone out of Clovis for some business when he was attacked. After the autopsy, it became clear that it was an organized wolf-pack attack due to the visible bite marks all over his body.It wasn’t members of his own pack, else the bite mark would’ve disappeared by now, and would take only the foresight of an Alpha to see the invisible bite marks. Also, the blood of werewolf is poisonous to vampyres, so they don’t bite werewolves during a combat. They could only rip them apart with their super strength, or better still use a gun with silver-laced AV rounds to overpower werewolves. Hence, it was ruled out that vampyres attacked the deceased Alpha Lucas.Wilson automatically became the Alpha after
She’d always fought the urges she felt during previous Hazes by running in the woods all-night, ever since she could shift. A werewolf usually starts shifting when they turn sixteen, except for the late bloomers - and about same time they also go ballistic with their libido during Haze seasons.This Haze, for Selena, is so different, so intense… seems it’s getting harder to resist the urge as she gets older.“Hello kiddo!”“Please don’t call me that, I’m eighteen.”“Well, I’ll start addressing you as such when you start behaving like one.”“Is there something you want from me?”This is what gets him hooked every time he encounters this little teenage temptress. Her gut. She’s the bane of his existence, yet he can’t seem to get enough of this opium-like intoxication.“Hey sis, show some respect… you’re talking to your Alpha.” Gabrielle cuts in.“So you keep reminding me... If he’s truly as powerful as they claim, perhaps you don’t have to remind me almost all the time.”“I guess it’s t