Chapter 1: Blood and Whispers
The night reeked of ash and fear, a suffocating weight that clung to the skin like smoke.
Five cloaked figures stood in a circle, their hoods swallowing what little light the torches offered. The flames trembled as though afraid, shadows writhing against the dirt as their low chants rose in the air—guttural words that bent the night, sharp and unnatural, like a curse given flesh.
At the center of their circle, a woman struggled violently against the grip of the tallest figure. Her wrists were bound, her nails clawing at nothing, her screams slicing through the chanting.
A blade pressed against her throat, its steel catching the faint light.
"Please!" she begged, her voice breaking. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Let me go! I have a son—he needs me!"
Her desperate eyes darted to where a small boy was held back by another cloaked figure. The child's tiny hands reached out, his sobs tearing through the air.
The chanting only grew louder, drowning out her pleas. Each word rolled like thunder, heavy and merciless.
The woman's gaze locked onto the boy, and for a moment her trembling lips steadied.
"I love you, Elvas."
The knife moved in one swift, merciless stroke.
Blood spilled across the floor, hot and dark, pooling beneath her body as it collapsed into stillness.
The boy's screams broke into choking sobs, but the cloaked ones didn't falter. Her death was nothing more than a step in their ritual.
…
Fifteen years later.
Avalon's only school buzzed with the endless noise of footsteps, chatter, and slamming lockers, but Elvas barely noticed. His headphones blared loud enough to ache in his ears. It wasn't enough. The whispers still found him, slithering through the cracks in the music.
Demon. Curse. Freak.
Students moved aside as he walked, not out of respect but disgust. Their eyes followed him like knives, some laughing openly, others muttering behind hands. He kept his head down, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his fists buried in the pockets of his worn jacket.
This was life. Cruel stares, crueler words. He'd learned to take it, to swallow it whole and walk forward as if it didn't matter.
Until he saw her.
Liora.
At the far end of the hall, surrounded by her pack of friends, her laughter rang sharp and bright. The fluorescent lights turned her silver hair into a living halo, her green eyes flashing as she spoke.
Everyone admired her. Everyone wanted to be near her. She was the pride of the werewolves, the girl they said would rise to become their fiercest warrior.
Elvas froze. His chest tightened.
She was everything he wasn't—strong, celebrated, alive with purpose. And she didn't even see him.
"Get out of the way, jerk!"
A hard shove knocked him down. His headphones skidded across the tiles. Laughter erupted instantly, bouncing down the lockers.
Elvas didn't need to look up to know.
Marcus.
The vampire's smirk was sharp enough to cut stone. He stood over Elvas, flanked by his cronies—Mark and Luke. Their red eyes gleamed with hunger, fangs glinting at the edges of their sneers. Marcus, with his broad shoulders, slicked-back hair, and arrogance that clung like a second skin, never missed a chance to remind everyone that he was next in line to rule.
Elvas pushed himself to his knees without a word. He'd been through this dance too many times. What was the point in fighting?
But Marcus wasn't about to let him walk away. He stepped into Elvas's path, towering.
"No apology?" he sneered, voice loud enough to draw the hallway's attention. "Think you can just walk around like you're somebody?"
Whispers grew into a hum of excitement. More eyes, more laughs.
Elvas finally lifted his gaze, his dark eyes steady, unblinking. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight.
"I didn't touch you."
A flicker crossed Marcus's face—annoyance at being answered.
"Maybe," Elvas said, slower this time, "you should apologize."
The air cracked in silence.
Then Marcus's laugh tore through it. In a blink, he seized Elvas by the collar and slammed him against the lockers. The clang echoed down the hall as the crowd surged closer, hungry for a show.
"You're nothing," Marcus hissed, his breath cold. "A demon freak. You should be groveling before me. I'll be the next vampire king—remember that."
Mocking laughter swelled again, a cruel tide.
But a new voice cut through it, deep and taunting.
"Vampire king? More like king of cowards."
The crowd shifted, parting like waves before a storm. Auran stepped forward, his broad frame commanding the hall. The alpha of the werewolves carried himself with a dangerous ease, his dark eyes locked on Marcus. Behind him, three scarred packmates leaned against the lockers, grinning like wolves ready for blood.
Marcus dropped Elvas and spun to face the new threat. His fangs bared fully.
"What's your business, mutt?" he snarled, fists curling.
Auran's laugh was low, rumbling with menace.
"Didn't know vampires liked picking on the weak. Makes sense, though. You're too busy hiding behind your little pets to take on someone stronger."
The tension crackled. The crowd suddenly felt alive with it.
Marcus took a step forward, his eyes blazing. "You want to test me, dog? I'll rip your throat out here and now."
"Try it," Auran shot back, grin widening. "I could use a new rug."
"STOP!"
The single word rang like a blade drawn from its sheath.
Every head turned.
Elira, the school's safekeeper, strode into the scene. Though her frame was small, her presence was not. The dark robes around her shifted with each step, her piercing blue eyes sweeping over the crowd like judgment itself.
"Enough," she snapped. "Get to class. Now."
Her voice cracked like thunder.
The crowd scattered instantly, muttering as they went. Marcus gave Auran a venomous glare before storming off, his cronies close behind. Auran smirked, unconcerned, and disappeared into the hall with his pack.
Silence lingered.
Elvas bent down, scooping up his headphones with hands that still trembled. His chest was tight, but not from fear—something deeper, something heavier.
"Elvas."
Elira's voice pulled his gaze upward. Her tone was softer now, but no less firm.
"Stay. You're coming with me."
He hesitated, jaw tightening, then gave a small nod. With the weight of a hundred stares still pressing on his back, he followed her toward her office—unsure of what awaited him, but certain of one thing.
It would change everything.