The Grand Masquerade was New Sheer's most anticipated event, where the city's elite gathered under golden chandeliers, masked in mystery and intrigue. The ballroom shimmered with opulence—marble floors gleamed, ivy-wrapped pillars towered, and a haunting melody filled the air.
Women in bejeweled gowns glided through the hall, while men in tailored suits whispered of alliances that would shape the city's future. But behind velvet drapes, the true nature of the masquerade unfolded—the Mondec Empire's elite vampires indulged in their darkest desires, where pleasure and hunger intertwined in a dance as old as time.
At the heart of it stood Veronica Vladislava, daughter of Lord Vlad. Draped in crimson silk, her presence commanded attention. Yet, as she twirled among eager suitors, her mind lingered on whispers of an impending war—one between her kind and the werewolves. Something was coming. She could feel it.
As she moved effortlessly across the ballroom, a nobleman reached for her hand. Duke Armand Ferrero, a centuries-old vampire with a taste for the finer things, bowed deeply.
"A vision of the night, as always, Lady Veronica," he murmured, his voice smooth as aged wine.
She allowed him a slow, knowing smile. "And yet, you sound surprised, Duke Ferrero. Have I ever been anything less?"
He chuckled, leading her into a slow waltz. "Never, my lady. But tonight, there is something in your eyes. A storm brewing beneath the calm. What troubles you?"
Veronica twirled, allowing his words to settle. Should she tell him? The rumors had been growing louder—the council whispering in hushed voices, the sudden disappearances of certain werewolf families. And now, a single name had surfaced in the whispers.
Her lips curved slightly. "Tell me, Duke, have you ever met a man who was both prey and predator?"
He raised an elegant brow. "A contradiction, indeed. But such creatures do exist… in legends."
Her fingers trailed lightly over his shoulder. "Perhaps some legends walk among us."
The duke's gaze sharpened. "Are you speaking of the invitation?"
Veronica's smirk deepened. "Ah, so you've heard. Yes, it seems the council has extended a rather peculiar invitation tonight. A werewolf. One who does not know what he truly is."
The music swelled as Duke Ferrero guided her into another spin, his expression unreadable. "A wolf among vampires. Either he is bold or he is ignorant."
Veronica's eyes gleamed behind her mask. "I suppose we shall find out."
Elsewhere, far from the masquerade…
Stefano Lazaro had not expected an invitation.
It had arrived in the dead of night, delivered by a faceless messenger cloaked in the scent of rain and something richer—something metallic. He had stared at the gilded envelope, running his fingers over the wax seal pressed with the emblem of the Mondec Empire. The invitation felt more like a summons, and yet, he found himself dressing for the occasion, his curiosity outweighing his caution.
Now, standing at the entrance of the Grand Masquerade, he adjusted his onyx mask, his dark eyes scanning the room beneath hooded lashes. The air was thick with opulence and danger, the scent of perfume barely masking the underlying traces of blood and sweat. He felt the weight of eyes on him—curious, calculating, predatory. He wasn't just any guest.
He was a werewolf walking into a den of vampires. And everyone knew it.
A voice like silk brushed against his ear.
"I didn't think you'd show."
Stefano turned. Veronica Vladislava stood before him, draped in crimson, her mask adorned with rubies that glowed like embers. Her lips curved into something between amusement and intrigue, but her eyes burned with something far more dangerous.
"And yet, here I am," Stefano smirked. "Did you invite me?"
She chuckled, stepping closer. "No, but I might have whispered your name in the right ears."
His jaw tensed. "Why?"
She reached up, her fingers grazing the lapel of his midnight-black suit. "Because you interest me."
Stefano knew better than to fall for a vampire's charms, but there was something about Veronica—something untamed beneath the carefully cultivated mask. He let her lead him away from the crowd, through gilded hallways, past locked doors, into a secluded chamber where the music dulled into a muffled echo.
Inside, the scent of candlewax and something darker lingered. The walls were draped in deep red, the furniture decadent. The room felt like sin incarnate.
Veronica turned to him, reaching up to untie her mask. "Tell me, Stefano, how does it feel to be the only wolf at a feast meant for the undead?"
He leaned against the door, watching her. "Like being the only one with a heartbeat."
She smiled, slow and knowing. "And yet, I can hear it racing."
Stefano exhaled sharply. "What do you want from me?"
"Confession." She stepped forward, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Do you know why they invited you?"
He frowned. "I assumed for sport."
She shook her head. "No. They know what you are. What you hide."
His blood ran cold.
Veronica's lips brushed against his ear, her breath sending a shiver down his spine. "You're not just a werewolf, Stefano."
His pulse hammered. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" She stepped back, watching him carefully. "Your mother. Your father. Did they ever tell you the truth?"
Stefano clenched his fists. "You don't know anything about my family."
Veronica tilted her head. "I know that you're more like Toff than you think."
The name struck him like a bolt of lightning. Toff—the werewolf with vampire blood. The abomination. Stefano had spent his life believing he was just a werewolf, nothing more. But the doubt had always lingered in the back of his mind, unexplained moments of unnatural strength, wounds healing too fast even for his kind, and now… Veronica's words made his world tilt.
"Lies," he whispered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
Veronica smirked. "Then prove me wrong."
At that moment, a bloodcurdling scream shattered the night.
The Grand Masquerade had just turned into a bloodbath.
Then there was Stefano Lazaro.
He had not expected an invitation.
It had arrived in the dead of night, delivered by a faceless messenger cloaked in the scent of rain and something richer—something metallic. He had stared at the gilded envelope, running his fingers over the wax seal pressed with the emblem of the Mondec Empire. The invitation felt more like a summons, and yet, he found himself dressing for the occasion, his curiosity outweighing his caution.
Now, standing at the entrance of the Grand Masquerade, he adjusted his onyx mask, his dark eyes scanning the room beneath hooded lashes. The air was thick with opulence and danger, the scent of perfume barely masking the underlying traces of blood and sweat. He felt the weight of eyes on him—curious, calculating, predatory. He wasn't just any guest. He was a werewolf walking into a den of vampires, and everyone knew it.
As he took a step forward, a voice like silk brushed against his ear.
"I didn't think you'd show."
Stefano turned. Veronica stood before him, her lips curved into something between amusement and intrigue, but her eyes burned with something far more dangerous.
"And yet, here I am." Stefano smirked. "Did you invite me?"
She chuckled. "No, but I might have whispered your name in the right ears."
His jaw tensed. "Why?"
She stepped closer, fingers grazing the lapel of his midnight-black suit. "Because you interest me."
Stefano knew better than to fall for a vampire's charms, but there was something about Veronica—something untamed beneath the carefully cultivated mask. He let her lead him away from the crowd, through gilded hallways, past locked doors, into a secluded chamber where the music dulled into a muffled echo.
Inside, the scent of candlewax and something darker lingered. The walls were draped in deep red, the furniture decadent. The room felt like sin incarnate.
Veronica turned to him, reaching up to untie her mask. "Tell me, Stefano, how does it feel to be the only wolf at a feast meant for the undead?"
He leaned against the door, watching her. "Like being the only one with a heartbeat."
She smiled, slow and knowing. "And yet, I can hear it racing."
Stefano exhaled sharply. "What do you want from me?"
"Confession." She stepped forward, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Do you know why they invited you?"
He frowned. "I assumed for sport."
She shook her head. "No. They know what you are. What you hide."
He stiffened. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Veronica's lips brushed against his ear, her breath sending a shiver down his spine. "You're not just a werewolf, Stefano."
His blood ran cold. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" She stepped back, watching him carefully. "Your mother. Your father. Did they ever tell you the truth?"
Stefano clenched his fists. "You don't know anything about my family."
Veronica tilted her head. "I know that you're more like Toff than you think."
The words struck like a lightning bolt. Toff—the werewolf with vampire blood. The abomination. Stefano had spent his life believing he was just a werewolf, nothing more. But the doubt had always lingered in the back of his mind, unexplained moments of unnatural strength, wounds healing too fast even for his kind, and now… Veronica's words made his world tilt.
"Lies," he whispered, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
Veronica smirked. "Then prove me wrong."
She pressed against him, her lips finding his with a force that burned through the haze of confusion. He responded before he could think, gripping her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss was fire and fury, hunger and recklessness. When she bit his lip, drawing blood, he felt the shift in her—her pupils dilating, her breath hitching.
She licked the blood from his lip, humming in satisfaction. "You taste… different."
Stefano pushed her against the wall, his hands tight on her hips. "And what do I taste like?"
Her lips curved against his. "Like something that shouldn't exist."
The door suddenly burst open.
Bret stood there, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. "Stefano," he said, voice low with warning. "We have a problem."
Stefano exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, no kidding."
Bret's golden eyes flickered to Veronica before settling back on him. "They know."
The weight of those words sank like a stone in Stefano's gut.
From the ballroom, a scream shattered the night, followed by the chilling sound of steel being drawn.
The Grand Masquerade had just turned into a bloodbath.