The night Ivy first lost control, the moon was too bright.
It hung swollen and silver above Nocteria, its light spilling over rooftops and bleeding into alleyways like something alive. The city never truly slept, but tonight it felt watchful—breathing slowly, as if anticipating violence.
Ivy felt it in her bones.
A tremor.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Something awakening.
She stood on the narrow balcony outside her small apartment, fingers curled around the cold iron railing. Below, traffic lights flickered between red and green, indifferent to the war simmering beneath human awareness. Humans moved through their lives unaware that predators walked among them in tailored suits and sharp smiles.
And that monsters sometimes looked like nineteen-year-old girls trying to breathe through the pain in their chest.
Her pulse stuttered.
Too fast.
Her senses sharpened unnaturally.
She could hear a heartbeat three floors below.
Smell rain before the clouds gathered.
Taste iron on the wind.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Her mother had always warned her about the full moon. About control. About restraint.
"You are balance," her mother used to whisper. "Never let one side win."
But balance was slipping.
A sharp ache tore through her spine. Ivy dropped to her knees, barely catching herself before her forehead struck the concrete. Her nails scraped the ground—
And lengthened.
Not claws.
Not fully.
But not human either.
"No," she breathed.
Her reflection in the glass door flickered.
For a split second, her eyes burned crimson.
Then gold.
Then both.
The air behind her shifted.
Ivy froze.
She wasn't alone.
A presence lingered at the edge of the rooftop across from her building. Still. Silent. Watching.
Her enhanced vision cut through the dark.
A man stood there.
Tall. Unmoving. Elegant in a long black coat that stirred slightly in the wind. His posture was relaxed, but something about him radiated power—old power. Dangerous power.
Vampire.
She knew without knowing how.
Their gazes locked across the distance.
His expression did not change.
But his eyes—icy and ancient—narrowed slightly.
He had found her.
Across the Rooftop
Lucien had hunted many things in his lifetime.
Rebels.
Rogues.
Traitors to the Crimson Court.
But nothing like this.
He had expected a beast.
What he saw instead was a girl trembling under moonlight, fighting something inside her with quiet desperation.
Her scent carried across the wind.
Impossible.
Vampire.
Werewolf.
And something else.
It should not exist.
Hybrids died at birth.
Yet she stood there—alive, unstable, radiant with potential.
If Lord Malakar discovered her first, she would not survive the week.
Lucien's jaw tightened.
Orders were simple:
Capture her. Deliver her. Do not engage Moon Beneath Her Skin
The night Ivy first lost control, the moon was too bright.
It hung swollen and silver above Nocteria, its light spilling over rooftops and bleeding into alleyways like something alive. The city never truly slept, but tonight it felt watchful—breathing slowly, as if anticipating violence.
Ivy felt it in her bones.
A tremor.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Something awakening.
She stood on the narrow balcony outside her small apartment, fingers curled around the cold iron railing. Below, traffic lights flickered between red and green, indifferent to the war simmering beneath human awareness. Humans moved through their lives unaware that predators walked among them in tailored suits and sharp smiles.
And that monsters sometimes looked like nineteen-year-old girls trying to breathe through the pain in their chest.
Her pulse stuttered.
Too fast.
Her senses sharpened unnaturally.
She could hear a heartbeat three floors below.
Smell rain before the clouds gathered.
Taste iron on the wind.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
Her mother had always warned her about the full moon. About control. About restraint.
"You are balance," her mother used to whisper. "Never let one side win."
But balance was slipping.
A sharp ache tore through her spine. Ivy dropped to her knees, barely catching herself before her forehead struck the concrete. Her nails scraped the ground—
And lengthened.
Not claws.
Not fully.
But not human either.
"No," she breathed.
Her reflection in the glass door flickered.
For a split second, her eyes burned crimson.
Then gold.
Then both.
The air behind her shifted.
Ivy froze.
She wasn't alone.
A presence lingered at the edge of the rooftop across from her building. Still. Silent. Watching.
Her enhanced vision cut through the dark.
A man stood there.
Tall. Unmoving. Elegant in a long black coat that stirred slightly in the wind. His posture was relaxed, but something about him radiated power—old power. Dangerous power.
Vampire.
She knew without knowing how.
Their gazes locked across the distance.
His expression did not change.
But his eyes—icy and ancient—narrowed slightly.
He had found her.
Across the Rooftop
Lucien had hunted many things in his lifetime.
Rebels.
Rogues.
Traitors to the Crimson Court.
But nothing like this.
He had expected a beast.
What he saw instead was a girl trembling under moonlight, fighting something inside her with quiet desperation.
Her scent carried across the wind.
Impossible.
Vampire.
Werewolf.
And something else.
It should not exist.
Hybrids died at birth.
Yet she stood there—alive, unstable, radiant with potential.
If Lord Malakar discovered her first, she would not survive the week.
Lucien's jaw tightened.
Orders were simple:
Capture her. Deliver her. Do not engage emotionally.
But something in her eyes—fierce and terrified and unbroken—stirred a feeling he had not experienced in over a century.
Recognition.
Fate was a foolish human concept.
Yet as she rose slowly to her feet, meeting his gaze without flinching—
The word whispered through his mind.
Mine.
He stepped forward.
And Ivy ran. a foolish human concept.
Yet as she rose slowly to her feet, meeting his gaze without flinching—
The word whispered through his mind.
Mine.
He stepped forward.
And Ivy ran.