In the midst of the eternal darkness of night, on the hidden slopes of the Mexican mountains, there lived a man named Xochitl. Ia bukan manusia biasa; the blood of the ancient Aztecs flows in his veins, mixed with a wolf's curse that makes him immortal. He had been breathing for hundreds of years, watching civilizations rise and fall. His face was handsome like those of Aztec gods carved in ancient stone: a sharp, sharp nose, thick lips that suggested primal power, silver-gold eyes that shone like the full moon, and dark brown skin that glistened like fertile soil after rain. Xochitl is Alpha, supreme leader of the werewolves, who rules with an iron fist and a war-scarred heart.
For centuries, Xochitl and her clan fought endless battles against the vampire aristocrats. The bloodsuckers, with their pale skin and glowing red eyes, consider themselves the lords of the night. Battle after battle erupts in dense forests, in the ruins of ancient pyramids, and in modern cities that have never known the dark secrets behind their shadows. Xochitl lost her brother, friend, and lover in the war. The blood of vampires and wolves mixed on the ground, but peace seemed like a dream that would never come true.
Until one day, shocking news spread like wildfire: Prince Vladislav, crown prince of a hidden vampire kingdom in Eastern Europe, was engaged to Lady Elara, a human noblewoman. Elara is no ordinary human; he is a descendant of ancient nobility who has mixed blood, making him valuable as a bridge for political peace between vampires and humans. The engagement was announced as a truce, but behind the curtains of the cold marble palace, Vladislav was the real monster.
Vladislav suffers from a serious mental illness, involving Narcissistic Personality Disorder which makes him thirsty for absolute power. His personality split into several faces: one moment he was loving like a romantic lover, but suddenly he turned into a cruel tormentor. Elara, with long black hair and hopeful green eyes, is the main victim. Night after night, he was tortured—not only physically with bites that left scars, but also mentally with poisonous words that tore at his soul. "You're mine alone," Vladislav whispered in one of his personalities, while the others laughed while forcing him to dance in a dark room until his feet bled. Elara survives for the promised peace, but in the end, her fragile soul is no longer strong.
On a cold crescent moon night, Elara escapes from the vampire palace. He ran endlessly, over rivers and hills, towards the unknown wilderness. Behind him, the entire vampire army was deployed: pale soldiers with red eyes, hellhounds barking bloodthirsty, and Vladislav himself leading with burning anger. "He is mine!" he roared, his crazy personality taking control. The poison arrow shot, but Elara kept running, her wounds bleeding, her breath short.
Finally, he entered the borders of the wolves' territory—a forbidden land for vampires, marked by Aztec stone statues covered in protective runes. The forest here is darker, the trees are like ancient sentinels. Elara fell down on the river bank, her body shaking with exhaustion and fear. The vampire army approached, the sound of their footsteps was like approaching thunder.
But suddenly, a thunderous roar broke the night. Xochitl emerged from behind the trees, her body half transformed into a giant wolf: pitch black fur, sharp claws, and blazing silver-gold eyes. Behind him, his wolf clan gathered, ready to fight. "This is our territory," Xochitl muttered in a deep voice that resounded like a mountain breeze. "Leave, or die here."
Vladislav laughed maniacally, but Xochitl didn't flinch. Pertempuran singkat meletus—cakar melawan taring, darah vampire berceceran di tanah. Pasukan vampire mundur, terluka parah, meninggalkan Elara di belakang. Xochitl approached the woman, her form returning to that of a handsome human with sweaty dark brown skin. He lifted Elara gently, his silver eyes looking at her full of compassion he had not shown in centuries.
"Why are you protecting me?" Elara whispered, her voice weak.
"Because this war has taken enough lives," answered Xochitl. "And perhaps, you are the key to ending it."
Since then, Elara has lived in the wolves' territory, protected by Xochitl. Slowly, the wounds healed, and among the ancient Aztec trees, the seeds of love began to grow. But Vladislav's shadow still lurks, and the eternal war between wolves and vampires is not over. Xochitl knows that the greatest battle may be just beginning—not with the claws, but with the heart.
Elara's first night in wolf territory felt like a nightmare that turned into a strange dream. A small bonfire burned in the center of the ancient stone circle, its light dancing on the faces of the wolves standing guard nearby. They were no longer in the form of wild beasts, but well-built men and women with alert gazes. The smell of firewood mixed with the scent of wet earth and dried blood—the remains of last night's battle.
Elara sat on a rough wool blanket, her knees pulled up to her chest, her body still shaking even though her wounds had been bandaged with a herbal concoction that smelled like pine and sage. Xochitl sat across from him, her large body relaxed but her golden silver eyes never leaving him. He had fully returned to human form: long black hair tied loosely, broad chest partially exposed as his leather cloak was torn at the shoulder, revealing old scars that formed a pattern like Aztec runes.
"You haven't eaten," he said quietly, his voice deep and resonant like an echo in a cave. He pushed a wooden bowl filled with corn soup and venison towards Elara.
"I'm not hungry," Elara answered, her voice hoarse. His green eyes which were usually full of elegance were now dim, full of shadows. "I'm… afraid that this is just a dream. If I wake up, I'll be back in that palace, next to him."
Xochitl was silent for a moment. He understood that fear—not fear of death, but fear of returning to a familiar hell.
"Here, no one will touch you without my permission," he said finally. "And I never give permission for something like that."
Elara stared at him for a long time. There was something in the man's eyes—not just strength, but also a deep sadness, like a lake frozen for centuries. "Why are you protecting me? You don't know me. I'm your enemy's fiancé. I could be a trap."
Xochitl took a deep breath. "Because I've seen women like you destroyed for too long for a 'peace' that never existed. And because..." He trailed off, as if the next words were too heavy to say. "Because the full moon tonight makes my blood whisper that you are not the enemy."
That night was indeed the first full moon after the battle. Silver light filtered through the forest canopy, making Xochitl's eyes shine brighter. Elara felt a strange vibration in her chest—not fear, but something more primal, like an inexplicable calling.
Suddenly, a distant roar sounded from the valley next door. Not an ordinary wolf roar. His voice was cold, resounding like metal being dragged across stone. The guards immediately stood up, their hands touching the hilts of the obsidian blades.
"Vladislav," one of the female wolves muttered, her voice strained. "He didn't give up."
Xochitl got up slowly. His body stiffened, the fine hairs on his arms and neck began to stand up. "He won't come in. The rune boundaries are still strong. But he will try to tempt you out, Elara."
Elara got goosebumps. He remembered Vladislav's sweet voice in one personality, then turning into a crazy scream in another personality. "I won't go."
Xochitl knelt in front of her, her large, rough hand gently touching Elara's chin, forcing the woman to look into her eyes. "If he calls your name in a dream tonight, don't answer. If you hear his steps outside the tent, don't come out. Promise me."
Elara nodded slowly, but tears flowed silently. "I'm scared… I'm scared I still love him. Even though he's a monster."
Xochitl didn't answer with words. He just pulled Elara into his arms—a hug that was strong, warm, and full of the scent of forest and ancient blood. For the first time in centuries, the Alpha's heartbeat felt faster, not because of the war, but because of the fragile woman who now leaned against his chest.
In the distance, Vladislav's roar grew closer, accompanied by the whisper of the wind that carried his name: "Elaraaa... come back to me... you are mine..."
Elara closed her eyes tightly, her hands gripping the fabric of Xochitl's robe. And under the light of the full moon, something began to change inside him—no longer just fear, but a small spark called hope.
But that night was just the beginning. Vladislav will not only attack with claws and fangs. He will attack with memories, with the sweet promises that were once made, with the madness that once made Elara believe that she was worthy of love despite being tortured.
And Xochitl knew that the real war had just begun—not on the battlefield, but in the heart of the woman she now protected with all her soul and Aztec blood.