The shadows in Dr. Percy's study seem to writhe as he reads the message in his hand… an official invitation by the Alpha of Alphas, Wilson Smith. This isn’t the first time he’s been invited by the Park House, but this one is different. It is a summons, not an invitation. Alpha Wilson's words, while polite, carry the weight of command, a gravity that pulls at Percy's chest with cold, iron fingers.He knows why he has been called. The incident between Valentine and Jason has sent ripples through Clovis City, stirring up old fears and new suspicions. The air in the city feels malignant, the night darker. It’s as if the very earth knows that something is amiss—something ancient and hungry.Dr. Percy clenches the letter, his knuckles whitening. The secrets he harbors are heavy, pressing down on his soul like a stone slab on a grave. For years, he has kept the darkness at bay, locking it away behind walls of secrecy and deception. But now, those walls are crumbling. He cannot fight this al
The drawing-room is an expanse of cold silence as Dr. Percy enters, his presence barely disturbing the heavy atmosphere. The air reeks of old secrets and forgotten truths, clinging to the walls like a dark fog. His footsteps echo ominously on the polished floor towards the drawing-room, each step a reminder of the weight he carries. The room is empty, a void waiting to be filled with the confessions that have been buried for centuries.As Dr. Percy steps into the drawing room, the silence is suffocating, a heavy, almost tangible veil of dread that clings to the air. The room is empty, save for the oppressive weight of his thoughts. His eyes sweep across the shadows, half-expecting them to move, to shape into the figures of his past—ghosts he has long avoided. But there is no one here. Only the quiet hum of tension, a lull before the inevitable storm.His heart, usually cold and still as the grave, now beats with a disconcerting fervor. Each pulse reverberates with the weight of what h
Your mother and I... we fell in love afterwards, after she turned me into a vampyre to gift me the immortality… saving me from a death I wasn’t ready for. But our love was forbidden by her father."Chloe’s heart races as she listens, the pieces of her past clicking into place like a jigsaw puzzle she never knew she was solving."Her father," Dr. Percy continues, "disapproved of our union because I wasn’t of the pure bloodline. He wanted Matilda to marry her brother to keep the bloodline pure, but she refused. When she became pregnant with you and Valentine, we knew we had to flee. Her father created a creature, a monstrosity born of his own blood, to hunt down those he deemed abominations—those born of mixed bloodlines like you two."Chloe feels a cold dread seep into her bones as she begins to understand. "So we’ve been running our whole lives from this... creature?"Dr. Percy nods. "Yes. Matilda left us to return to her father, hoping to protect you by sacrificing herself. But it wa
The night is thick with the smell of petrichor, the earth still drenched from a rainstorm that passed only hours ago. The sky, a panoply of swirling clouds and a deep indigo abyss, mirrors the turmoil surging within the Adams estate. Inside, the silence is deafening, every shadow a sentry, every creak of the old wooden floor a harbinger of something darker lurking.Valentine lies still on his black sheeted bed, paler than usual, unmoving, an ethereal figure whose once vibrant presence is now reduced to a melancholic husk. His pale, clammy skin is strewn with lifelessness, his breathing shallow and labored. Sweat beads on his forehead, but it is the veins—those dark, serpentine lines crawling beneath the surface—that draw all eyes.They coil like a creeping vine, twisting and winding up from the wrists to the elbows, then slithering further towards the neck. Black and swollen, they pulse with an eerie rhythm, as if alive, as if feeding on the very essence of life within him. The darkne
The scent of damp scent of earth lingers in the air, mingling with the heavy aroma of antiseptic in the dimly lit room. The rain outside pounds against the window, a rhythmic pulse to the storm brewing between Gabrielle and Jason. He sits on the edge of the bed, his body still, yet taut with barely-contained pain. The ethereal glow of the moon filters through the cracks in the blinds, casting slivers of silver across his battered form. His chest, normally solid and unyielding, rises and falls with the effort of breath, each movement betraying the damage inflicted during the battle with Valentine’s dark force.Despite his werewolf healing abilities, the injuries sustained in the fight are no ordinary cuts or bruises. His body is marred by something darker, deeper—a lingering malevolence that no natural recuperation could cleanse. Strewn across his torso are jagged gashes that still ooze, as though something ineffable clings to him, refusing to let go.Gabrielle watches him from across
The crackle of the fire burns low in the grand hearth, casting an ominous glow across the room. Shadows twist and flit along the stone walls of the Pack House, the ancestral seat of the Smith Dynasty, but even the warmth of the flames can’t thaw the icy dread that weighs heavily on Wilson's mind.Alpha Wilson Smith stands at the far end of the room, his gaze locked on the window where the storm outside rages in perfect harmony with the tempest inside his soul. His hands are clasped behind his back, fingers flexing unconsciously as he contemplates the grim news he received earlier from Dr. Percy. An adversary looms—an entity so dark, so powerful, that even his instinctual ferocity as Alpha of the Redbone Pack feels insufficient.His usual calm, predatory demeanor is frayed at the edges, and there’s only one person in this world who can offer him counsel in times like this.Behind him, the heavy wooden doors creak open, and the unmistakable presence of his mother, Lady Chacaritas Smith,
The waxing crescent moon hangs heavy in the night sky, its silvery light cascading a shy light over Clovis City like a spectral shroud. Beneath its pale glow, the city is a hive of shadowed intrigue and simmering tension. The night sky hangs in stillness, draped in a velvet blackness that swallows the horizon whole. The new moon hides in plain sight, its presence felt more in absence, an ineffable darkness casting an ethereal hush over the world. It’s a night for shadows to skulk across the city, for the stars to form a mellifluous choir, quietly harmonizing above the strewn whispers of leaves below. The air smells of fresh smell of rain that recently subsided, that damp scent of rain-soaked earth rising like an ephemeral breath from the ground, a fleeting reminder of nature's recent kiss.For some, it feels as though the universe is bamboozling them, hiding its celestial panoply behind an opaque curtain. Yet, for others, there’s a serendipity in this dark sky, a chance to dial in to
Bucky returns to his own pack, his mind a tempest of conflicting emotions. The weight of his decision presses heavily upon him, but he knows he must act with cunning and discretion. The insurrection is set in motion, but it is a dangerous game, one that could unravel in ways they cannot yet foresee.Late into the night, Bucky contacts Wilson in a secretive, encrypted message. The communication is brief but laden with urgency. “Meet me at the old watchtower. We need to talk.”Wilson receives the message with a growing sense of foreboding. He has been aware of the murmurings of dissent, but this direct summons from Bucky—who is both an ally from the past and a potential enemy—raises his alarm.As dawn breaks, Wilson makes his way to the old watchtower, a relic from a bygone era, its once-strong structure now weathered and scarred. The morning air is thick with the scent obsoletism, a reminder of the earth’s resilience amidst turmoil.*******The Old Watchtower of Clovis City once loomed