The city of Halewick glimmered like a restless jewel in the dark. Neon lights flickered above the avenues, advertisements looped endlessly across giant screens, and the hum of late-night traffic was constant. Yet on the northern edge of the city, where the university district melted into quieter streets, the noise seemed to vanish.
Liora Sterling stepped out of the library, clutching her notebooks against her chest. The heavy doors closed behind her with a hollow thud. For hours she had been buried in assignments, diagrams, and highlighted passages. Now, stepping into the cool September night, she inhaled deeply, hoping the air would clear the fog in her head.
It didn't. Instead, a strange heaviness lingered in the silence.
She adjusted her scarf and began walking toward her dorm. Normally, she enjoyed these evening strolls. The streetlamps threw warm circles of light onto the sidewalk, and the chatter of students from nearby cafés filled the air. But tonight, something was different.
The cafés were shuttered. The air seemed colder than it should have been. Even the old cat that usually prowled around the fountain was missing.
Her boots echoed too loudly against the pavement.
"Okay," she muttered, hugging herself tighter. "Stop being paranoid. It's just late. People went home. That's all."
But the uneasy prickle at the base of her skull didn't ease.
Halfway down the block, the night shifted. A low growl threaded through the quiet. It wasn't loud, but it resonated—vibrating in her chest, deep and unnatural. Liora froze, her breath catching.
"…Hello?" Her voice was tentative, fragile.
The silence that followed was heavier than any response. Then came another growl, closer this time, from the shadows to her left.
Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive. She spun, scanning the alley between two buildings. Something moved—too fast, too large. The faint glow of eyes flashed, unnatural amber cutting through the dark.
Her skin turned to ice.
Run.
She didn't think. She sprinted, her notebook slipping from her grasp and thudding onto the sidewalk. Her boots pounded against the concrete as she raced toward the main road. She could almost see it—the stretch of lights, the security cameras, the faint noise of traffic. Safety.
But then the lamps above her began to flicker. One by one, they buzzed and died, plunging the street into near-blackness.
"No, no, no—" Panic clawed at her throat.
Behind her, the growls multiplied. Claws scraped against the ground. She didn't dare look back, but the sound told her enough: whatever was chasing her wasn't human.
She darted around a corner, lungs burning. Her legs screamed with effort, but adrenaline pushed her on. She could hear them—three, maybe four—bounding across the pavement, their snarls echoing.
Suddenly, one lunged. A dark mass slammed into her from the side. She cried out as claws tore through her sleeve, searing pain slashing across her arm.
Liora hit the ground hard. The notebook she'd managed to clutch tumbled into the gutter. Her mind shrieked with terror. She kicked, punched, flailed wildly against the beast pinning her down. Its hot breath reeked of iron and earth.
Then, with a violent snarl, the weight was ripped away from her.
The world spun. Liora rolled onto her back, gasping, clutching her wounded arm. The pain was white-hot, spreading up to her shoulder. Her vision blurred, but through it she saw… him.
A man stood between her and the creatures.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark tailored coat that moved with him like armor. He was motionless, yet every line of his body radiated authority—an aura so palpable she almost forgot the monsters circling them. His silver eyes glowed faintly under the fractured light of the one surviving streetlamp.
The beasts, three of them, circled but hesitated. Their snarls faltered under his gaze.
"Back," the man commanded. His voice was low, guttural, carrying the weight of command.
The wolves—if that was what they were—shifted uneasily. One snapped its jaws, saliva dripping onto the pavement. But before it could move again, the man blurred into motion.
It was impossible—too fast for human sight. One heartbeat he stood still, the next he was among them, his hand flashing with unnatural claws. A yelp split the air, followed by a crash as one beast was thrown into a wall.
Another lunged, but he caught it midair, twisting with lethal strength. Bone cracked. The remaining wolf lowered itself, whining, then bolted into the shadows, the others limping after it. Their glowing eyes faded into the darkness.
Silence descended.
Liora could only stare. Her body shook uncontrollably, her pulse wild in her throat.
The man turned to her. His expression was unreadable, his silver eyes piercing. For a heartbeat, she thought he might finish what the beasts started.
"Y-You…" Her voice trembled. "What are you?"
He stepped closer. His boots echoed softly against the pavement, deliberate, controlled. The glow of the streetlight revealed his features: sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips pressed into a firm line. He was beautiful in a way that was cold, dangerous, untouchable.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, ignoring her question.
"I—" Liora swallowed, panic making her words stumble. "I was just… walking back. Those things—" She shuddered, hugging her arm. "They weren't normal."
"No," he agreed flatly. "They weren't."
She stared at him, confusion battling with fear. "And you? You fought them like one of them. I saw—"
His eyes flickered, dangerous silver catching the dim light. For a second, she swore she saw claws, still wet with blood, retract back into human hands.
Her stomach lurched.
"You're hurt." He extended a hand.
She flinched, backing an inch. Yet there was something steady, commanding in his gesture. Slowly, trembling, she placed her hand in his.
A shock shot through her body. Heat, fierce and real, burned through her veins, spreading from her palm to her chest. She gasped and pulled back instinctively.
He studied her, eyes narrowing. "Interesting."
Liora looked down. Her arm—the deep, bloody gash that had burned seconds ago—was already knitting together. Torn flesh smoothed, blood dried, the wound closing in front of her eyes.
Her breath caught. "That… that's impossible."
"It is possible," he said. "For you."
Her eyes shot up. "What do you mean, for me?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he scanned the shadows, as though listening for something only he could hear.
The air was heavy, charged.
Finally, she pushed to her feet, swaying slightly. "Stay away from me."
"If I hadn't interfered, you'd be dead," he said coldly. "Or worse."
She hugged herself, staring at him. Fear warred with reluctant gratitude. "Why help me?"
His jaw tightened. For a brief moment, his expression softened, though his voice remained edged. "Because you're not what you think you are."
Her lips parted. "I don't—"
A howl split the night. Long, mournful, echoing across the rooftops like a warning. The sound chilled her to her bones.
His eyes darkened. He turned toward the sound, his body tensing like a predator. Then he looked back at her. "You need to get somewhere safe."
"I… I don't even know your name," she whispered.
For a beat, silence. Then: "Adrian Blackwood."
The name was heavy, like the toll of a bell.
Liora repeated it under her breath, barely aware she had spoken aloud. "Adrian…"
He stepped closer, so close she could smell him—clean, expensive cologne tinged with something primal, musky, wild. "Go home, Liora Sterling."
Her heart stuttered. "How do you—how do you know my name?"
But before she could demand an answer, he was gone. One blink, and the street was empty. Only the fading scent of him and the echo of his command remained.
Liora stood alone beneath the flickering streetlamp. Her arm was whole. Her notebook lay forgotten in the gutter. Her world had shifted.
She hugged herself tightly. The night seemed darker now, heavier. Somewhere inside her, something stirred—something old, something fierce. She didn't understand it yet. But she knew one thing.
That night was only the beginning.