People gathered around, whispering in hushed tones, their faces twisted in horror. Police officers moved methodically, placing yellow tape around the gruesome discovery—a naked couple, their bodies mangled, blood staining the pavement. Their limbs twisted unnaturally, throats torn open, exposing raw, ravaged flesh.
Toff arrived on his bike, skidding to a stop. His breath hitched at the sight, his stomach twisting in discomfort. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his gaze steady.
"Damn…" he muttered under his breath.
A few officers turned, glancing at him before refocusing on the bodies. He quickly turned away and pedaled toward school, but the image stayed seared in his mind. Who were they? Why were they killed so brutally? And why… why did he feel something stir deep inside him at the sight of blood?
Inside the school, Toff found his best friend, Norm, lounging in chemistry class, his usual easygoing smirk plastered on his face.
"Hey," Norm nudged him. "Did you hear about the dead couple? They say it was some kind of animal attack."
Toff frowned. "Yeah, I saw it. It was messed up. But something about it... I don't know, it felt off."
Alexa, their classmate and friend, overheard. She leaned in, her dark curls bouncing. The scent of jasmine and something else—something earthy, almost burning—filled the air as she moved closer.
"That wasn't an animal," she said in a low voice. "Something else killed them."
Norm raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you say that?"
Alexa glanced around, lowering her voice. "Because I can feel it."
Norm scoffed, but Toff didn't. He knew Alexa well enough to recognize the seriousness in her tone. What he didn't know—what neither he nor Norm knew—was that Alexa came from a powerful family of lawyers. But even darker than that—her lineage carried a hidden secret. They were witches.
Deep in the woods, far from the city lights, a man walked barefoot through the damp soil. His body was well-built, his moreno skin glistening under the moonlight. His hair, slightly long, fell messily over his eyes. He moved with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate, his breath steady.
A figure waited for him beneath the gnarled branches of an ancient tree. She leaned against the bark, her dress slipping off one shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone. Her breathing hitched as he closed the distance between them, the air thick with tension.
"You took your time," she murmured, her fingers trailing over his chest, tracing old scars.
He grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not unkind. "You waited."
She smirked. "I always do."
Their mouths met—hungry, desperate. Her back hit the tree as he pressed against her, hands roaming, exploring. His lips trailed down her neck, fangs grazing her skin. She gasped, clutching his shoulders as heat coiled in her stomach.
The night swallowed their moans, the forest bearing witness to their passion. The wind carried the scent of sweat and something darker—something primal.
Then, he shuddered. His body tensed, muscles rippling beneath his skin. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. She pulled back, her breath ragged, eyes wide with realization.
"Not yet," she whispered, a mix of fear and desire lacing her voice.
His fingers dug into the tree behind her as his body contorted. Bones cracked, shifting. His breaths turned ragged, deeper. Clawed hands replaced fingers, his jaw lengthened, teeth sharpening into fangs.
She barely had time to scream before his transformation completed. Before the beast within him took over.
A single cry echoed through the forest, followed by silence.
Back at school, Toff wandered the hallways alone, lost in thought. As he turned a corner, he bumped into someone—hard. A thud followed as an ID fell to the floor.
"Sorry, man—" Toff started, but then he froze. The name on the ID read: Bret Zalazar.
Toff's gaze traveled up to meet Bret's piercing stare. Bret's lips curled slightly—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. There was something intense in his eyes, something unreadable. His presence was overwhelming, his scent intoxicating, a mix of leather, sweat, and something darker.
Bret grabbed the ID, his fingers brushing against Toff's. Heat shot through Toff's skin, unexpected, unsettling.
"Careful," Bret murmured, voice low, almost teasing. "Wouldn't want you falling too hard."
He walked away without another word, leaving Toff standing there, heart pounding. What the hell was that?
At the penthouse of an extravagant skyscraper, Lord Vlad descended into the dungeon once more. The dimly lit corridor smelled of iron and damp stone. Chains clinked as he approached a cell.
Inside, a man trembled, his naked body bruised and weak. His breaths were shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Lord Vlad stepped closer, savoring the fear that radiated from him. "Please…" the man whimpered, his voice cracking.
Vlad's lips curled into a smirk. "Begging won't save you."
In a swift motion, he grabbed the man's throat, inhaling his scent. His sharp fangs grazed the fragile skin before he sank them deep into the man's neck. A muffled scream filled the chamber, but Vlad only tightened his grip, drinking deeply. His hunger was insatiable.
As the man's life drained away, Vlad's body tensed, heat coiling low in his abdomen. The pleasure of the kill—of dominance—was more intoxicating than any drug. His free hand trailed down his own stomach, fingers ghosting over hardened flesh. But he stopped himself, pulling away, watching as the body crumpled to the floor.
"Dispose of him," he ordered to the guards as he wiped his lips, licking the remaining blood from his fingers. "And bring me someone… fresher."
Meanwhile, Alexa returned home. Her house, an old ancestral mansion, loomed under the night sky. Inside, rows of law books lined the shelves, but hidden among them were ancient tomes filled with secrets of witchcraft.
Her mother, Belinda, stood over a steaming cauldron, candles flickering around her. She watched as melted wax dripped into the water, forming ominous shapes.
"It's coming," Belinda whispered, her face pale. "The blood moon approaches. A war is near."
Alexa swallowed hard. "What do we do?"
Her mother turned to her, fear in her eyes. "Prepare. Secrets will be revealed. And with them, death."
Alexa's gaze drifted to the long wooden table at the center of the room. Her father, a powerful warlock, and her grandparents were hunched over bubbling vials and steaming bowls, carefully mixing ingredients into shimmering liquids.
Her grandmother held a small vial filled with thick, golden liquid. "This is a potion of truth," she murmured, swirling it gently. "One drop, and no man can lie."
Beside her, Alexa's grandfather was grinding dried herbs into fine powder, sprinkling them into a deep red mixture. The scent of roses filled the air. "Love potion," he said with a knowing smirk. "One sip, and the heart will betray even the mind."
Alexa stepped closer, fascinated as her father poured a black, inky substance into a clear vial. It thickened immediately, dark tendrils swirling inside. "And this," he said grimly, "is a curse." He met Alexa's eyes. "A fate worse than death."
She shivered.
Magic had always been a part of her life, but tonight, the air felt heavier, charged with something more dangerous.
Something inevitable.
Later that night, deep in the woods, a lone police officer patrolled a deserted road. His headlights illuminated an abandoned car, smoke still rising from its engine.
Curious, he stepped closer, his flashlight sweeping over the vehicle. Then he saw them. Two men—naked, their bodies intertwined in a grotesque stillness. Their throats were torn open, deep gashes exposing raw flesh. Blood pooled beneath them, soaking into the earth, their skin unnaturally pale under the moonlight.
He barely had time to react before a rustling sound came from behind him.
At the penthouse, another meeting took place. A long, elegant table sat in the center, surrounded by figures cloaked in shadows. The dim light from the chandelier barely touched their faces, but their presence alone exuded power. These were not ordinary men and women—they were the architects of the city's underworld, the ones who pulled the strings behind closed doors.
This time, it was Gilbert who spoke. He sat at the head of the table, his blue eyes cold and piercing, a quiet authority in his posture. He tapped his ring against the glass of his whiskey, the sound cutting through the silence.
"The Mondec Empire is at war," he declared. "And we will not lose."
The room fell into a hushed stillness, the weight of his words pressing on every soul present. They all knew what was at stake.
A man with graying hair and sharp, calculating eyes cleared his throat. "We've controlled this city for decades, Gilbert. Every mayor, every police chief—they all owe us. So why do you say we're at war?"
Gilbert leaned forward, his fingers clasped together. "Because our enemies no longer cower in the shadows. They've grown bold. They challenge our rule. And we don't tolerate betrayal."
A woman with scarlet lips and a cigarette between her fingers chuckled. "Betrayal is inevitable in a kingdom as large as ours."
The Mondec Empire was not just a syndicate—it was a dynasty. A hidden hierarchy that ruled over the city's elite. It was built on four pillars, each represented by a leader at this very table.
Gilbert had not always been at the top. He earned his place through blood, strategy, and an unwavering ruthlessness that made even the most hardened criminals respect him. His blue eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the table.
"We have enemies who think they can dismantle what we built," he continued. "The Dark Moon Society moves in the shadows, whispering rebellion. And now, there are rumors of something worse—things beyond men. Forces beyond politics and money."
A young man, barely out of his twenties but already a force in the underground markets, scoffed. "Ghost stories, Gilbert?"
Gilbert smirked. "Tell that to the bodies we found in the woods. Torn apart. Drained."
The air grew heavy. Even among criminals and kingmakers, the idea of something unnatural sent chills down their spines.
An older man, his suit immaculate, exhaled deeply. "Then we prepare."
Gilbert nodded, lifting his glass. "To the Mondec Empire. May it never fall."
One by one, they raised their drinks, sealing their silent vow.
Outside, the city lights flickered, unaware of the dark battle brewing beneath them.