We departed shortly after, the procession slipping deeper into the forest's shadowed veins.
Another day passed beneath the ever-thickening canopy. As the sun sank behind the horizon, I spent the night refining within the swaying carriage—routine, almost dull, until the dawn teased its pale fingers across the treetops once more.
Had I been alone, I would have traveled by foot. Even an ordinary vampire could outrun the beasts of these woods, and I—an Awakened nocturnal—was far from ordinary. But among our kind, appearance was everything. A crown prince sprinting through underbrush? Laughable. Such things were reserved for rogues and savages, not heirs of the Grand Houses.
I glanced at the empty crystal bottle beside me. The last drop of that exquisite werewolf blood had vanished far too quickly. I still tasted it in my veins.
George's little test hadn't amused me, but the reward had been... worth it.
The journey stretched on. When the next night fell, our carriages came to a halt near a familiar landmark—another hidden cavern veiled behind a waterfall. Vicaris opened the door, stepping aside as I emerged into the crisp, damp air. George approached promptly.
"We're close to the boundary," he said. "We should reach the exchange point before sunrise."
I sat on a cold stone seat carved into the mountain wall, nodding slightly as the sound of rushing water echoed faintly in the cave.
"Are you sure about this, Your Highness?" George asked after a moment. "This could actually be... dangerous."
I turned, amusement flickering across my face. "Oh? Concern now, George? That's sweet."
He didn't respond. I stood, stretching.
"Relax. I won't die."
What he didn't know—what none of them knew—was that I'd already lived seventy years among humans. I knew their world better than any nocturnal who hadn't so much as stepped foot outside our veiled domains.
"Oh, George," I said, suddenly sniffing the air. My expression sharpened. "Do you have another bottle of that blood?"
His brow furrowed. "Royal werewolves are nearly as rare as dragons, Your Highness. Having one bottle was already a miracle. Another? Impossible."
I narrowed my eyes, sniffing again.
"Then where is that scent coming from?"
Before he could answer, a thunderous boom echoed through the cave—the stone seat behind me reduced to rubble.
I blurred forward, appearing outside the cave in an instant, the cold night wind catching in my silver hair.
"Vicaris!" I called. "Did you see anything pass through here?"
He stepped forward silently and shook his head.
George appeared a moment later, his breathing slightly uneven. "There can't be anything here. Not with a presence that strong."
But I could smell it—thick, primal, ancient. It wasn't just scent. I felt it.
It tugged at something beneath my skin.
I followed the trail into the forest, my pace slow now, deliberate. My eyes gleamed silver in the moonlight as I passed through ferns and shadows, the dense brush parting before me.
Then I stopped.
A rock. Smooth. Black.
A bush beside it, perfectly ordinary... but too still.
I walked past it—deliberately.
Behind me, in the silence, a pair of yellow eyes slowly blinked open within the darkness of the bush.
Then—
I was there.
Right in front of them.
The wolf flinched, recoiling instinctively as I appeared in a blink—only inches from its face. My silver eyes were glowing now, fangs bared in a predatory grin.
"Found you," I whispered.
The wolf—pitch black, with thick, soft fur—lurched back in shock, stumbling into the foliage. It was large, nearly waist-high to a grown man, its coat flawless and velvety under the moonlight. "Red flaming tattoo burned around tis yellow eyes.
A werewolf.
But in this form, it looked more like an overgrown shadow than a threat.
Fluffy.
Terrified.
I crouched slightly, my gaze never leaving its glowing eyes.
"You're not very good at hiding, are you?"
It growled low, unsure whether to lunge or flee.
My grin widened, fangs catching the light.
George appeared beside me, breath shallow, eyes wide.
"That red marking... That's a royal one," he murmured in awe, his voice barely a whisper. "Alive and kicking." He licked his lips, too fascinated to hide it.
The creature, sensing the rising energy around it, made its choice.
It turned.
And lunged into the dense underbrush.
Just as George instinctively moved to follow, I stepped forward, my voice cold and firm.
"Don't follow."
Only the words remained behind. My figure vanished in a blur as Vicaris and the others arrived, too late to see which way I'd gone. George looked torn—desperate curiosity warring with self-preservation—but he held his ground.
The silver moon was full tonight, luminous above the treetops, though the canopy shielded its light. The forest was cloaked in shadows, but I could still trace it—just barely. The creature was fast, its black fur blending with the darkness, moving like a phantom. It was a full moon, after all. The beast was enhanced, in its true form: strong, primal, fully awakened.
Had it encountered another House, it might have escaped with its life.
But fate had been unkind tonight.
It had crossed paths with me—scion of House Aestherisin.
I didn't pursue at full speed.
No.
I wanted the thrill—to watch it try, to see its panic swell as escape narrowed.
Werewolves were a rare delicacy for our kind, after all.
The chase was almost sensual in its rhythm. The wolf weaved through twisted trees and ducked beneath arching roots, but I stayed just behind—always close enough for it to feel the pressure, never close enough to catch.
Then, it darted left. A sharp, calculated turn.
Bold.
But my figure bloomed through the trees, the forest echoing with a resonant boom as I cracked through a thick branch, landing just ahead of it.
Its instincts were sharp. It didn't fight—yet. It turned and bolted in the opposite direction, desperate.
Again, I appeared in its path.
Then again. And again.
Four times.
Five.
It was trembling now, panting heavily, eyes wild—but still burning with will.
Then it stopped.
It turned and growled, the sound low and guttural, baring its fangs. They were long—longer than I expected—each one the length of a finger and sharper than any blade.
I smiled. My own fangs extended, gleaming under the fractured moonlight, silver eyes glinting with anticipation.
Then it lunged.
The sheer speed—blinding.
To another, it might've looked like the wolf disappeared, only to reappear inches from their throat.
But I was already moving.
My hand shot forward, meeting it mid-air. The impact sent a jolt down my arm, the force strong enough to shift my footing.
Fur, soft as shadow, gave way beneath my grip.
My fingers found the neck.
And the wolf froze.
Suspended in mid-motion, muscles tensed, yellow eyes flaring with refusal.
"Had enough fun, doggy?" I said with a quiet grin.
It snarled in protest, thrashing once—but I let my claws extend, brushing against its throat with a whisper of lethal promise.
It stilled.
Completely.
Then, as if its body had surrendered, it went limp in my grasp.
I lifted it higher, one hand holding it with insulting ease. The powerful body dangled helplessly, defeated.
Then, without ceremony, I tossed it to the ground.
Just as I was about to have feast, I noticed a strange shift. The hair seemed to be redoing, the burning red mark on and around the eyes shifting slightly and the posture extending as it more human than wolf.
I watched with an interested gaze.