Chapter 4: The Moon and the Shadow
The air in Redpaveley didn't just feel cold tonight; it felt electric. From my bedroom window, I could hear it—the long, mourning howls echoing from the forest edge, vibrating through the stone walls of the house. It was the night of the full moon.
My father, Drac, was sitting in the living room, his face illuminated only by the dying embers of the fireplace. He didn't try to stop me when I headed for the door. He simply looked up, his eyes knowing . "Be careful, Drayan. A werewolf in mid-shift doesn't recognize friends. They only recognize the hunt."
"She isn't just a werewolf," I muttered, pulling my coat tight. "She's Wolfie."
I slipped out into the night. The village was ghost-quiet. Most residents—the witches and the humans—were locked inside, their windows barred. But for the were-kin, the night was just beginning. I followed the scent I had memorized: cedar, rain, and that feverish heat.
I found her near the old stone ruins at the edge of the woods.
The silver moonlight was so bright it turned the snow into a sheet of glowing diamonds. Wolfie was there, collapsed against a crumbled pillar. She had changed out of her emerald dress into something loose and simple, but even that was beginning to tear. Her breath came in ragged, animalistic gasps.
"Wolfie?" I called out, my voice barely a whisper.
"Go... away!" she growled. The sound wasn't human. It was a deep, guttural vibration that seemed to shake the very ground. She looked up, and my heart stopped. Her amber eyes were glowing like twin lanterns, the pupils slitted. Fine, silver-gray fur was beginning to creep up her neck and across her cheekbones.
I didn't run. For the first time in my life, the "monster" inside me felt at peace with the monster in front of me. I stepped into the clearing, moving slowly.
"I'm not leaving you," I said.
She let out a piercing cry as her bones began to shift—the sound of a sickening crack-pop that would have made a human faint. She lunged forward, her fingers now tipped with sharp, black claws, pinning me against a tree. Her face was inches from mine, her fangs bared, a low snarl ripping from her throat.
She was terrifying. She was beautiful.
I didn't flinch. I reached up, my pale, cold hands trembling only slightly as I cupped her face. Her skin was burning—hot enough to blister a normal person—but to a vampire, it felt like the sun I hadn't seen in years.
"Wolfie, look at me," I commanded, my voice low and steady. "It's Drayan. I'm the 'city boy,' remember? The one who's too grumpy for his own good."
She snapped her jaws near my ear, her body shaking with the effort to not tear me apart. The "Wolf" wanted to hunt, but I could see her—the real her—fighting behind those glowing eyes.
"Stay... with... me," she gasped, her claws digging into my shoulders, drawing a thin line of vampire blood.
The smell of my blood hit the air, and for a second, her hunger flared. But I didn't pull away. I leaned my forehead against hers, closing my eyes. I let my own cold energy flow into her, trying to act as an anchor against the storm of her transformation.
"I've got you," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere. You aren't alone in the dark anymore."
Slowly, the frantic heaving of her chest began to slow. The snarl died down into a whimpering moan. She slumped against me, her weight heavy and warm. The transformation didn't stop—she was still becoming something else—but the pain seemed to dull. My coldness was the only thing that could soothe her fever.
As the moon reached its peak, she shifted fully into a massive, silver-furred wolf, but she didn't run into the woods to kill. She stayed right there, her large head resting on my chest, her golden eyes looking up at me with total recognition.
I sat back against the tree, my arms wrapped around the thick fur of her neck. I was a vampire in the middle of a werewolf village, holding the girl I was supposed to marry under a cursed moon. For the first time since my mother died, I didn't feel lonely. I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.