EPISODE 2: THE BLOOD OATH
Smoke curled from Arwen's fingertips. The forest lay in silence, broken branches and scorched earth marking the path of her uncontrolled outburst.
Alaric—the Moonfang Alpha—rose to his feet, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury. "She carries the Drag's energy. It's real." His violet eyes glinted with something between fear and awe.
The vampire, still shielding Arwen, spoke coldly. "Her power doesn't belong to you."
Alaric snarled. "It doesn't belong to your kind either, blood leech."
Arwen staggered forward, gripping her pendant. Her entire body ached, but it wasn't the pain that scared her—it was the voice inside.
"You are awakening, child. Soon, I'll no longer need to whisper. I'll command."
She gritted her teeth, blocking the voice out. "No. You don't control me."
The vampire turned to her, voice calmer now. "You need to leave. Now. The Drag's energy is like blood in the water. Every creature that hunts power will come for you."
Arwen narrowed her eyes. "Why are you helping me?"
He hesitated. "Because I know what it's like to be cursed."
Before she could press for more, Alaric stepped forward, his tone calmer but firm. "You must come with us, Arwen. The Drag of Power is not just a relic. It's a throne, a weapon, and a war waiting to be born. We can help you control it."
"She doesn't need your chains," the vampire interrupted.
Alaric's eyes gleamed. "And she doesn't need your bite."
The tension cracked the air like lightning. The werewolves flanked their Alpha, claws extended. The vampire—still unnamed—unsheathed twin blades forged of obsidian and silver.
"ENOUGH!" Arwen shouted.
Power surged in her again. Her eyes burned golden. The ground beneath her feet pulsed with energy, forcing both sides to step back.
"I'm not going with either of you. Not until I know the truth."
Alaric growled. "The truth will kill you."
"Then let it," Arwen spat. "I'd rather die standing than be used as a pawn."
The vampire sheathed his blades, eyes narrowed. "Then start with a name, Arwen. Mine is Lucien Vale, last heir of the Crimson Bloodline."
"Lucien…" She repeated it like a memory just out of reach.
Alaric stepped forward, gaze unreadable. "And mine is Alaric Thorne. Alpha of Moonfang, guardian of the Drag. Our people have fought for centuries, but you… you could end the war. Or start a new one."
Arwen's chest tightened. "What do you mean?"
Lucien answered first. "The Drag isn't just a magical relic. It's alive. It chooses a host—a ruler. And it has chosen you."
Alaric added, "But that choice came with a price. You are now the vessel for the spirit of Seraphine—the first cursed queen of the wolfblood."
At the sound of that name, the voice inside Arwen laughed darkly.
"So they remember me."
Arwen's knees buckled.
Lucien caught her. "She's pushing to the surface. Possession isn't instant—it's a battle. You still have time."
"Then help me fight her."
Both men looked at each other. Enemies by blood. Bound by war. But united by her.
Alaric spoke slowly. "If we work together, we may be able to trap Seraphine. Seal her before she consumes you."
Lucien didn't flinch. "But it will require a blood oath. Between all three of us."
Arwen's throat tightened. "What kind of oath?"
Lucien looked her dead in the eye. "A vow of loyalty. Of power. Of shared fate. If one of us betrays the oath, we all burn."
Alaric nodded grimly. "It's the only way."
Arwen stared at them. A vampire and a werewolf. Her enemies. Her would-be protectors. Her fate.
She took the dagger from Lucien's belt and sliced her palm.
"I swear," she whispered, as blood dripped to the soil. "On my name, on my soul, I swear. We fight together."
Lucien cut his palm and added his blood to hers. "I swear."
Alaric did the same. "So it is bound."
The blood hissed as it soaked the ground. The Drag's energy pulsed like thunder, and from deep in the earth, something stirred.
Far away, in a forgotten castle buried beneath mountains and moonlight, a pair of eyes opened—glowing gold, ancient, and hungry.
To be continued...