"Some nightmares don't end when you wake up... they're just beginning."
DARKNESS.
Complete, absolute darkness.
The kind that doesn't just surround you—it swallows you whole.
And then... a sound.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A heartbeat. But not a normal one. This one was desperate. Terrified. Running out of time.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood.
Falling onto cold stone floor, each drop echoing in the endless void like thunder in an empty cathedral.
And then—
EYES.
Two burning crimson orbs pierced through the darkness, glowing like dying stars in the abyss of hell. They weren't human. They couldn't be. No human eyes held that kind of hunger. That kind of ancient, patient, predatory want.
A voice slithered through the shadows—deep, velvet, dangerous:
"You can't run forever, little one. Your blood... it calls to me. It sings to me. And I always find what belongs to me."
The darkness shifted. Moved. Breathed.
And somewhere in that void, a girl screamed.
Elena's eyes snapped open.
Her chest heaved violently as she gasped for air, her body shooting upright in bed like she'd been electrocuted. Sweat drenched her oversized t-shirt, plastering dark strands of hair to her forehead and neck. Her heart hammered so hard against her ribs that she was certain it would break through.
It was just a dream.
Just a dream.
Just a—
She looked down at her trembling hands.
Blood.
Her palms were covered in blood.
"No, no, no..." Elena whispered, her voice cracking as panic seized her throat.
She scrambled out of bed, nearly falling as her legs tangled in the sheets. She ran to the bathroom, slamming the light switch with her elbow, and thrust her hands under the faucet. Cold water rushed over her skin.
Nothing.
Her hands were clean.
She stared at them—pale, unmarked, perfectly normal. No blood. Not a single drop.
Elena gripped the edges of the sink, forcing herself to breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Just like Dr. Morrison had taught her.
One... two... three...
She raised her head slowly and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
A girl of eighteen stared back at her. Long dark hair that fell past her shoulders in messy waves—the kind that couldn't decide if it wanted to be black or dark brown, with strange reddish undertones that only showed in certain light. High cheekbones, inherited from a mother she barely remembered. Lips that rarely smiled anymore. And eyes...
Elena had always hated her eyes.
They were wrong somehow. Not wrong in the ugly sense—people actually complimented them often. But wrong in a way she couldn't explain. They were dark gray, almost silver in some lights, with tiny flecks of gold near the pupils. Her mother used to say they were "touched by moonlight."
Her mother used to say a lot of things.
Before she stopped talking altogether.
A soft knock on the bathroom door made Elena jump.
"Elena? Honey? Are you okay in there?"
The voice was tired, worn, carrying the weight of too many double shifts and not enough sleep. But it was still warm. Still caring.
Elena splashed water on her face, patting it dry with a towel before opening the door.
Sarah Blackwood stood in the hallway, her nurse's uniform already on despite it being barely 5:30 AM. She was in her mid-forties, with kind brown eyes and graying hair that she always kept in a practical bun. Lines of worry had made permanent homes on her forehead—lines that had deepened significantly over the past three months.
Ever since Elena's nightmares had started.
"I'm fine, Mom," Elena said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just... couldn't sleep."
Sarah studied her daughter's face with that knowing look that all mothers seemed to possess. The look that said I know you're lying, but I'll let you pretend for now.
"The dreams again?"
Elena hesitated, then nodded.
Sarah sighed, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from Elena's face. "I'll call Dr. Morrison today. Maybe we can increase—"
"No." Elena stepped back gently. "I'm fine. Really. It's probably just stress. Senior year and all that."
Lie.
It wasn't stress. Elena knew it wasn't. These dreams were different. They felt different. They felt real. Like memories that didn't belong to her. Like warnings she couldn't understand.
But how do you explain that to your perfectly normal, rational, nurse mother without sounding completely insane?
You don't.
You just smile, pretend everything is fine, and pray that one night—just one night—you'll close your eyes and see nothing but darkness.
Peaceful, empty darkness.
"I have to leave early," Sarah said, clearly unconvinced but too exhausted to push. "Double shift. There's money on the counter for pizza. Don't wait up, okay?"
"Okay."
Sarah kissed Elena's forehead—a habit she'd never grown out of—and headed downstairs. A few moments later, Elena heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of their old Toyota starting up and pulling out of the driveway.
And then... silence.
The house felt different when she was alone. Bigger. Emptier. The shadows in the corners seemed deeper somehow, stretching toward her like curious fingers.
Elena shook off the thought.
Get a grip. You're eighteen, not eight. Shadows aren't alive.
She walked back to her bedroom, avoiding the creaky floorboard near the bathroom like she'd done for years. Her room was small but cozy—fairy lights strung along the ceiling, a bookshelf overflowing with worn paperbacks, a desk cluttered with college application forms she'd been avoiding for weeks. On her nightstand sat a framed photograph: a little girl with pigtails sitting on the shoulders of a tall man with kind eyes.
Elena's father.
Or rather, the man she called her father. The man who had disappeared when she was five years old. No note. No goodbye. Just... gone. The police searched for months. They found his car abandoned near the woods outside of town. His wallet was inside. His phone. His wedding ring.
But no body.
The case went cold after a year. The official conclusion was "presumed dead." Her mother had stopped talking about him after that. There were no more photos displayed in the house—Elena had saved this one in secret. There were no more stories about how they met, how he proposed, how happy they were.
It was like he had been erased.
And sometimes, late at night when the world was quiet and Elena was alone with her thoughts, she wondered if he had ever existed at all. If maybe she had imagined him. Created him. A ghost father for a ghost childhood.
But the photograph was real.
His smile was real.
And somewhere, deep in her bones, Elena knew he was still alive.
She just didn't know where.
Or why he left.
Or why, lately, she'd started seeing his face in her nightmares—standing in the shadows behind those red eyes, watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
Stop it.
Elena grabbed her phone from the nightstand. 5:47 AM. Too early to be awake. Too late to go back to sleep. She had school in two hours.
Might as well start the day.
SCENE 2: THE MORNING ROUTINE
The town of Ravenwood was the kind of place that existed in the margins of maps.
Population: 12,847. Main industries: A lumber mill that had seen better days, a dying shopping district, and approximately seventeen churches. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone, where secrets were currency, and where nothing exciting ever happened.
Or so everyone believed.
Elena had lived here her entire life. She knew every street, every shortcut, every abandoned building that teenagers used for parties they thought adults didn't know about. She knew which houses had dogs that barked at strangers and which had old ladies who watched the neighborhood from behind lace curtains.
She knew this town like the back of her hand.
And yet, lately, it felt... different.
Unfamiliar.
Wrong.
Elena couldn't explain it. It was like walking through a painting you'd seen a thousand times, only to realize the shadows had shifted when you weren't looking. The trees seemed to lean closer. The fog that rolled in from the forest stayed longer. And sometimes—just sometimes—she could swear she saw figures moving in her peripheral vision.
Figures that vanished whenever she turned to look.
You're losing your mind, she told herself as she walked to school. That's what this is. Senior year pressure. Nightmare-induced paranoia. Perfectly normal breakdown.
Totally normal.
Completely fine.
"ELENA!"
A voice shattered her thoughts, and Elena barely had time to react before a human-shaped missile collided with her.
"Oh my God, you look like death," Mia Chen announced cheerfully, her arms wrapped around Elena's shoulders in a half-hug, half-chokehold. "Did you sleep at all? Please tell me you slept. Your under-eye bags have under-eye bags."
Elena couldn't help but smile. A real one this time.
Mia Chen was, by all accounts, the most chaotic person Elena had ever met. She was tiny—barely 5'2" in her platform boots—with bright pink streaks in her black hair, eyeliner sharp enough to kill, and an energy level that suggested she consumed approximately seventeen espressos every morning. She talked fast, laughed loud, and had been Elena's best friend since third grade, when she'd punched Tommy Wilson in the face for calling Elena an "orphan weirdo."
Elena still remembered the way Tommy had cried.
It was beautiful.
"I slept," Elena lied.
"Liar." Mia fell into step beside her. "Was it the nightmares again? The blood ones?"
Elena winced. She shouldn't have told Mia about the dreams. But three months ago, when they'd started, she'd needed to tell someone. And Mia was the only person in the world who wouldn't immediately suggest medication or therapy.
"They're getting worse," Elena admitted quietly.
"How worse?"
"Red eyes worse. Creepy voice worse. Waking-up-thinking-my-hands-are-covered-in-blood worse."
Mia was quiet for a moment. That was concerning. Mia was never quiet.
"Maybe," she said slowly, "it's like... supernatural?"
Elena snorted. "Mia."
"I'm serious! What if you're like, psychic or something? What if the dreams are visions? What if you're being haunted by a ghost? What if—"
"What if I'm just stressed and need more sleep?"
Mia pouted. "That's boring. And also probably true. But I prefer my version."
"Of course you do."
They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, passing the old library (closed for renovations since 2019), the coffee shop that made decent lattes and terrible muffins, and the corner where Mr. Patterson walked his ancient poodle every morning without fail.
Normal town. Normal morning. Normal life.
So why did Elena feel like she was being watched?
She glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Just empty street. Fallen leaves. Morning fog.
But for a second—just a split second—she could have sworn she saw someone standing under the oak tree near the park. Tall. Dark. Completely still.
And then a car passed, and the figure was gone.
Your mind is playing tricks on you.
Just tricks.
"Hey." Mia's voice was softer now. Gentler. "You okay? You went pale just now."
Elena nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."
Lie.
Another lie.
You're getting good at those.
SCENE 3: RAVENWOOD HIGH SCHOOL
Ravenwood High School was a building that couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
Built in the 1960s, renovated poorly in the 90s, and patched up haphazardly ever since, it was a Frankenstein's monster of architectural decisions. Red brick walls. Green lockers. Fluorescent lights that buzzed like dying insects. The kind of school that showed up in every teen movie ever made—complete with cliques, questionable cafeteria food, and at least three bathrooms everyone avoided because "something happened there once."
Elena navigated the crowded hallways with practiced ease, Mia chattering beside her about a new boy in her calculus class who was "absolutely gorgeous in a mysterious-possibly-a-serial-killer way."
"He just transferred," Mia said excitedly. "Nobody knows where he came from. He sat in the back and didn't talk to anyone. He has cheekbones you could cut glass with. And get this—his name is Damien. DAMIEN. That's like, legally a hot villain name."
Elena hummed absently, barely listening.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it.
The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up. Her skin felt electric, like the air before a thunderstorm. And there was a pressure in her chest—tight, uncomfortable—like her body was trying to warn her about something her mind couldn't understand.
What is happening to me?
"—and then I said, 'If you want my number, you have to earn it,' but he just stared at me with these super intense dark eyes, and I swear to God, Elena, I almost fainted right there—Elena? Elena!"
Elena stopped walking.
She didn't know why.
Her feet just... stopped. Right in the middle of the hallway, students flowing around her like water around a stone.
And then she felt it.
A pull.
Deep in her chest.
Like someone had hooked a thread around her heart and was tugging gently. Insistently. Calling her toward something. Someone.
Elena turned her head.
And the world fell away.
He was standing at the end of the hallway.
Tall. So tall. At least 6'2", maybe more. He wore all black—black jacket, black shirt, black jeans—like he'd stepped out of a shadow and forgotten to change. His hair was dark, falling across his forehead in careless waves. His skin was pale, almost unnaturally so, like he'd never seen sunlight. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones high, his lips curved in an expression that wasn't quite a smile.
But his eyes—
Oh God, his eyes.
They were dark. So dark they seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Black holes in a beautiful face. And they were staring directly at her.
At her.
Not through her. Not past her. But into her.
Like he could see everything she was. Everything she'd ever been. Everything she was terrified of becoming.
Elena couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
The noise of the hallway faded to static. The students around her blurred into nothing. There was only him. Only those eyes. Only that impossible, magnetic, terrifying pull.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
Almost a threat.
And then—so quietly that she shouldn't have been able to hear it over the chaos of a crowded high school—a voice slid into her mind.
Not her ears.
Her mind.
"There you are."
Elena's blood ran cold.
It was the voice from her nightmares.
The exact same voice.
Velvet. Dark. Dangerous.
And achingly, horrifyingly real.
She blinked—
And he was gone.
The hallway returned to normal. Students pushed past her, complaining about her blocking the way. Mia was grabbing her arm, shaking her gently.
"Elena? ELENA! What the hell just happened? You went totally white. Like, ghost white. Like, vampire-victim white."
Elena stared at the empty space where he'd been standing.
Gone.
Like he'd never existed.
Like a ghost.
Like her father.
"I..." Elena's voice came out as a whisper. "I don't know."
But she did know.
She knew something had just changed.
Something irreversible.
Something that would never let her be normal again.
SCENE 4: THE DISAPPEARANCE
The rest of the school day passed in a blur.
Elena went through the motions—classes, notes, nodding when teachers asked questions—but her mind was elsewhere. Every time she blinked, she saw those dark eyes. Every time the room got quiet, she heard that voice.
"There you are."
What did it mean?
Who was he?
And why—why—did the voice in her head sound exactly like the monster from her nightmares?
You imagined it, she told herself. You're exhausted. You hallucinated. That's all.
But Elena didn't believe that.
Not really.
Because deep down, in a place she'd never dared to explore, she had always known she was different. She had always felt... out of place. Like she was waiting for something. Like her real life hadn't started yet.
Like she was born for something more.
Stupid, she thought. You're a normal girl from a normal town with a normal, boring life. Stop being dramatic.
The final bell rang, and Elena gathered her things slowly. Mia had detention (for telling Mr. Harmon that his grammar was "almost as bad as his haircut"), so Elena was walking home alone.
Normally, this didn't bother her.
Today, it made her stomach clench with inexplicable fear.
The walk home was quiet. Too quiet. The afternoon sun was already setting—days were getting shorter now, autumn swallowing summer—and long shadows stretched across the streets like reaching fingers.
Elena walked faster.
She was passing the old Miller house—abandoned for years, windows boarded up, For Sale sign so faded it was barely readable—when her phone buzzed.
MIA: Hey, got out early! You home yet?
Elena started to type a response.
And then she heard it.
A sound.
A scream.
Muffled, distant, coming from somewhere behind the Miller house.
A girl's scream.
Elena's blood froze. Every instinct told her to run. To call the police. To do anything except investigate.
But then she heard it again.
And this time, she recognized the voice.
Mia.
"MIA!"
Elena didn't think. Didn't plan. Didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Around the house, through the overgrown backyard, toward the tree line that marked the beginning of Ravenwood Forest. Branches scratched her arms. Thorns tore her jeans. The light was fading fast, shadows swallowing the world.
"MIA! WHERE ARE YOU?"
No response.
Elena's lungs burned. Her legs screamed.
And then—
She broke through into a clearing.
And stopped dead.
The clearing was empty.
No Mia. No one at all.
Just... empty grass. Empty trees. Empty silence.
Elena spun around, chest heaving. "Mia? MIA!"
Nothing.
But on the ground, near the center of the clearing, something glinted in the dying light.
Elena walked toward it slowly, her heart pounding so hard she could taste copper in her throat.
A necklace.
Mia's necklace.
The silver crescent moon pendant her grandmother had given her. The one she never took off. The one she said was her "lucky charm."
It lay in the grass, chain broken, like it had been ripped off.
And next to it—
Blood.
A small pool of blood, soaking into the earth.
Elena's legs gave out. She fell to her knees, hands shaking as she reached for the necklace.
No.
No, no, no.
This isn't real.
This can't be—
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
Elena's head snapped up.
A figure emerged from the shadows between the trees. Tall. Broad. Moving with a predator's grace.
But it wasn't the boy from school.
This one was different.
His hair was lighter—golden brown, wild, untamed. His skin was tan, sun-kissed, like he spent every day outdoors. He wore a simple gray t-shirt and jeans, nothing remarkable.
But his eyes—
His eyes were glowing.
Golden. Bright. Inhuman.
Like a wolf.
"Who—" Elena scrambled backward, still clutching the necklace. "Who are you? What happened to Mia? WHERE IS SHE?"
The stranger didn't answer immediately. He just watched her, head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring like he was... smelling her.
"You're the one," he said finally. His voice was different from the other—rough, warm, earthy. "The one they're all looking for."
"I don't know what you're talking about! Where is my friend?"
He stepped closer.
Elena's body screamed at her to run.
But her legs wouldn't move.
"Your friend is alive," he said. "For now. But she won't be for long. None of them will. Not unless—"
He stopped.
His entire body went rigid.
And then he turned, slowly, to face the opposite end of the clearing.
Another figure emerged from the shadows.
Him.
The boy from school.
Those dark, bottomless eyes locked onto Elena like a missile finding its target. But he wasn't looking at her with curiosity anymore.
He was looking at her with rage.
And he was looking at the golden-eyed stranger with something far worse.
"Get away from her," the dark-eyed boy said. His voice was ice. Death. Promise. "She's mine."
The golden-eyed stranger laughed—a bitter, angry sound. "Yours? She doesn't belong to you, leech. She never will."
"I won't say it again, wolf."
Leech.
Wolf.
Elena's mind reeled.
What is happening?
What ARE they?
The two strangers faced each other across the clearing, Elena trapped between them. The air crackled with tension, with hatred, with centuries of violence waiting to be unleashed.
And then—
The dark-eyed boy moved.
So fast Elena couldn't track him. One second he was ten feet away. The next, he was there, inches from the other stranger, hand wrapped around his throat.
"I don't share," he growled.
The golden-eyed stranger grabbed his wrist—and Elena watched in horror as his fingernails extended into claws.
"Neither do I."
And then—
CRACK.
The sound of impact. Bodies colliding. Inhuman strength meeting inhuman strength.
Elena didn't see who threw the first real blow.
She was too busy running.
Blindly. Desperately. Branches tearing at her skin. Darkness swallowing her whole.
Behind her, she heard sounds no human could make.
Snarls. Roars.
And then a voice—that velvet, terrible voice—cutting through the chaos:
"You can run, Elena. But you can't hide. Not from what you are. Not from what's coming."
"And certainly not from me."
Elena burst out of the forest and onto the main road, collapsing on the asphalt. A car slammed its brakes, nearly hitting her. The driver honked, screamed something angry, drove away.
Elena lay there.
Shaking.
Bleeding.
Clutching Mia's broken necklace.
And as she stared up at the sky—at the clouds parting to reveal the rising moon—she realized something that shattered every belief she'd ever held.
The moon wasn't white.
It was red.
Blood red.
And somewhere, in the depths of her nightmares made real, a war was beginning.
A war that would consume everything.
A war that, she was beginning to realize, had been waiting for her.
She didn't know it yet.
But Elena Blackwood was never just a normal girl.
She was the match.
And the world was about to burn.
END OF CHAPTER 1