The bell above the cafe door chimed—a soft, hollow sound. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Eldritch Grounds, the only cafe in Brokehaven still stubborn enough to keep its doors open past tourist season.
Maris Calder sat alone by the window, her long blonde hair falling like a pale curtain over one shoulder as she idly stirred her coffee. Twenty-five and already feeling like she had outgrown this place twice over. Still, she stayed. They always stayed, whether they meant to or not.
Her fingertips skimmed the rim of the ceramic cup—an old habit. The cup had a tiny chip on its edge. Everything here had edges like that.
Across the street, the shadows stretched just a little too far for the hour. She squinted. For a second, she thought she saw someone standing under the sign of the old tailor's shop. Watching. But when she blinked, it was empty again.
"You're staring again," came a voice.
Maris glanced up to see Caleb Rowe, the cafe's owner, setting a slice of plum cake on her table. He was a few years older than her, dark-skinned with tired eyes.
"Just thinking," she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear, though her fingers trembled slightly.
"About what?" he asked, arching an eyebrow as he slid into the seat opposite her, uninvited but familiar.
She hesitated. "Do you remember when people used to say Brokehaven was cursed?"
Caleb's jaw tightened—just a flicker, but she caught it. "People still say that."
"I think they're right," Maris whispered, leaning in. "I think something's happening again. I see things. I hear things. Dreams that don't feel like mine."
Caleb didn't move, didn't blink. Then slowly, as if his movements weighed more than they should, he reached out and touched her wrist.
The bell above the cafe door chimed sharply this time.
A man stumbled in.
Tall but awkward, lanky in a jacket two sizes too big. His thick glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he hurried forward, dark curls a disheveled mess .
His eyes locked on Maris instantly. Wide. Unblinking. Fear and relief tangled into one fractured look.
"Maris," he blurted. His voice cracked like dry paper.
And then—
He ran. Straight toward her.
Chairs scraped across the floor as he knocked one aside with his hip. His hand caught the edge of a table, sending a coffee mug clattering to the ground and shattering. He didn't even notice.
Maris shot up, heart hammering. She moved fast, faster than she thought she could, boots scuffing against the tile. Dropping to one knee, she reached for him.After all he was her brother.She couldn't just sit there.
"Hey—hey, you're okay Mathew," she murmured, her hand brushing his wrist before sliding to his palm. His skin was cold, trembling under hers. "What's going on? Are you hurt?"
Mathew's fingers clutched hers with sudden, urgent strength—not the grip of a frightened man, but one trying not to fall apart.
"Father summons you."
Maris froze but Mathew continued. "Something's at the entrance… of Brokehaven. Something the elders shielded us from. It's here."
A hum began low in her chest, then higher, hotter.
A sharp, piercing blue that grew brighter swallowed her eyes.
Then she blinked hard and looked down, grounding herself in the mundane: the warmth of Mathew's hand.
Too many eyes. Too many people.
Her wolf wanted out.
But she shoved it down—hard. Swallowed it like a scream.
"Mathew," she hissed, her voice low, steady, but fraying at the edges. "You shouldn't have come here. There are humans."
"I didn't have a choice," he rasped. "They sent me."
From the counter, Caleb watched. His hand paused halfway to a coffee pot, brow furrowed—not suspicion, exactly. But awareness.
Maris didn't meet his gaze. She stood slowly, keeping Mathew close, half-draping an arm around him as if helping an injured sibling. Her jacket slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing a faint scar shaped like a crescent moon near her collarbone.
"We need to go," she murmured.
Mathew nodded, his legs trembling.
They moved to the truck. Maris didn't comment on the peeling paint or the cracked dashboard this time. Normally, she'd toss something sharp at Mathew—You could buy a better truck, you know. We have money. But her brother would just flash that crooked, goofy smile and say, She's my baby, like it explained everything.
When they crested the last hill, Maris sucked in a breath.
The pack house stood like a fortress at the edge of Brokehaven. Towering stone, moss-covered pillars, tall glass windows reflecting gray skies. It was big enough to hold hundreds, built for legacy and war—not comfort. But it had always been their home.
Now, the front grounds were filled.
Dozens—no, more—of familiar faces stood scattered across the lawn. Warriors, elders, young wolves barely old enough to shift. All of them tense. Watching. Whispering.
The moment the truck rumbled up the gravel drive, all eyes turned.
Maris stepped out before the engine even fully died. She kept her head high, jaw tight, but her chest burned with something wild. Her wolf clawed just under the surface, sensing the sharp energy rippling through the crowd.
At the center stood him.
Her father.
Tall and broad-shouldered, hair once golden like hers.A long, vicious scar split the right side of his face—earned in the war before her birth, back when legends were still made in blood and fire.
Alpha Calder's voice cut through the murmurs.
"Form ranks! We move as one—no exceptions!"
"Maris," he barked, beckoning her with one powerful hand. "Inside. Now."
She swallowed hard, her feet already moving. Mathew followed silently behind her, head low.
The crowd parted as she walked past, whispers curling behind her like smoke.
"She hasn't shifted in over a year—" "Why summon her now?" "Is it true? Is it really back?"
She ignored them.
Alpha Calder led them away from the gathering, past the heavy iron doors of the Pack House and down a narrow corridor rarely used—one that led beneath the estate, to a forgotten wing buried in stone, the sharp edges of his presence no longer aimed outward but turned inward.
He stopped in a long-abandoned study, the room choked with dust and silence. The door closed with a groan behind them. No guards. No advisors. Just father and children.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, slowly, Alpha Calder turned to them—his face no longer carved from stone, but drawn with quiet fear. His eyes softened when they met Maris's, and his voice, when it came, was rougher than she'd ever heard it.
"You two are all I have left," he said. "You know that, don't you?"
Maris blinked, startled by the nakedness in his tone. Mathew fidgeted, his hands stuffed deep into his jacket sleeves, eyes darting away.
"You're the future of this Pack," Calder continued. "Maris—you've always known your place. You're strong. You were born for this. And Mathew…"
His voice faltered. Just a little.
Mathew stiffened, his mouth set in a line. He didn't look up.
"…you have your own strength," Calder finished, gently. "But you're still growing into it. You haven't shifted. That doesn't make you weak. It just means you're different."
Maris stepped forward. "Why are you saying this like goodbye?"
Calder exhaled. His eyes darkened. "Because you're not coming with me."
Her jaw clenched. "No. Don't do this—don't make decisions without—"
"This isn't a decision," he snapped, but the bite in his voice faded just as fast. He rubbed a hand down his face, like the weight of years had finally settled on him.
"You both need to stay behind. It's too dangerous."
Maris's eyes burned. "I'm not afraid of danger."
He looked at her, tired and proud. "You think I don't know that? But this—this is something else. You've heard the story."
Her heart stuttered.
"The monster of the snow," she whispered.
Calder nodded slowly. "The one that slaughtered our ancestors. They were just children when it came… something unnatural. It came in winter, dragging the cold with it. Killed their parents, ripped through the pack like it was made of paper."
Maris swallowed. "But they reclaimed the land."
"Only because the thing disappeared. Not because they beat it. And when they rebuilt Brokehaven, they raised a barrier—a living ward. Magic and blood and memory." His voice dropped. "That's what's kept it out all these years."
" There's only one place in this house that anchors it—one place where the stones were laid with the first blood oath."
"The foundation stone," Maris said. She remembered the stories.
He nodded. "Deep beneath the Pack House. If it's broken… that thing walks through our gates."
Maris's breath hitched.
"I need you to protect it," Calder said. "You're the only one I trust. Everyone else will be out there, eyes on the woods, preparing for battle. But you… you stay with the stone. No matter what."
She stepped closer, voice shaking. "Father, don't do this alone."
"I have to," he murmured. "I know it's calling to us—whatever it is."
A silence stretched.
Then, his voice broke into a whisper. "I won't let it get through. Not again."
Maris's wolf stirred under her skin, restless and wild. But she nodded, slow and sure, even as her fists clenched.
"I'll guard the stone."
Calder stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on each of their shoulders. "No matter what happens. If I don't come back, you lead, Maris. And Mathew… you survive. No more running."
His eyes glinted. "We end it this time."
And then, without another word, he turned and walked out—shoulders straight, heart heavy.
The door creaked shut behind him, and silence wrapped around the siblings.
The Pack was gone within seconds—moving like shadows through the trees.
She pulled Mathew with her through the dim corridor, her grip firm. They descended to the lower floors where stone walls grew tighter and the air colder. Her instincts screamed to keep moving—but something made her stop.
A prickle at the back of her neck.
Watched.
She turned, scanning the shadows, but nothing was there. Still… the feeling clung like ice to her spine.
Mathew froze beside her. "Do you feel that too?"
Before she could answer, he broke away, rushing toward the nearest window—one narrow enough to barely see through. He pressed his palms to the glass, breath fogging it slightly.
Then he stiffened.
"There's someone out there," he whispered.
Maris stepped beside him, narrowing her eyes—but her brother's vision was keener than he let on. He leaned in further.
"He's just standing there," Mathew murmured. "Tall. Black hair. He's smiling... "
Maris focused, tuning her hearing to the edge of its limit.
A soft whistle carried through the cold. A slow, casual melody.
Then, from beyond the glass—so quiet it might have been in her own mind—she heard the man's voice.
Low. Smooth.... Hungry.
"Two little pups guarding a power that was never meant to keep my beloved out."
Her breath caught.
And outside, the man kept smiling.
Maris's voice ripped through the silence.
"Run, Mathew! Now!"
They turned, feet pounding against the old stone as they raced down the corridor, the air behind them growing colder—heavier—as though it were holding its breath. The house groaned under an unseen weight.
When they reached the heart of the house, the stone chamber stood before them—. The room was circular. And there, cradled in a raised pedestal of weathered obsidian, was the stone.
It was not large—no bigger than a clenched fist—but it seemed to contain a world inside it. Swirls of deep midnight blue and veins of burning crimson pulsed just beneath its smooth surface, as though it were alive, breathing in the stillness.
They stood before it, ready. Ready to die for it.
But then—
A sudden gust of wind, sharp and unnatural, swept through the chamber, snuffing out the torches in an instant. The stone's glow was the only light now, casting long shadows.
And from one of those shadows... he appeared.
Killian.
As if he'd always been there.
He moved with eerie grace, not walking but sliding forward. In a blink, his hand closed around the stone.
Maris stepped forward, fury igniting in her. Her muscles tensed, lips curled back to snarl—
But Killian merely wagged a pale finger, his eyes locked on hers.
"Calm now, little flame," he said, voice a purr laced with venom. "If I kill you now, my beloved will only be made to wait longer. And we've waited long enough to come home."
The word home fell from his lips like a curse.
Maris snarled, ready to launch—
But Mathew's hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her. He didn't look at her. He couldn't. His eyes were on Killian,what was terrifying was the absolute fear that had overtaken his features.
The man didn't blink. Didn't breathe. Only watched.
Waiting.
The moment stretched, fragile as glass.
Then Killian smiled—a slow, sinister thing—and crushed the stone in his hand.
A soundless explosion rippled outward—a shockwave of raw, magic that shattered the runes on the walls and sent the siblings sprawling. Light—blinding, searing light—rushed through the room, then he vanished like smoke.
The barrier protecting the village... was gone.
____
On the other side of the mountain pass, beyond the trees that whispered warnings to no one who listened, Alaric sat crouched at the edge of Brokehaven's entrance.
His hands were tangled in his hair, fingers pressed hard against his scalp as he stared at the ground, seething. He should've never let Eric—enter. He had felt it in his bones the moment the man crossed the village threshold, like a tremor in his soul.
He had thought the barrier would hold and Eric was just being deluded and overestimating his strength.
But then—something shifted.
His eyes snapped up. The air around the arch shimmered unnaturally.
A pulse of cold, dead magic rolled through the trees.
Alaric stood slowly, raising his hand, heart thundering as he reached out to test the air.
Nothing.
The barrier was gone.
His breath caught. For centuries, the spell has protected Brokehaven from what lurked beyond. It wasn't supposed to be broken. Not by anyone—especially not alone and by Eric a newly turned vampire,no less.This was the second time he was able to do it without any explanation.Was Eric who he seemed to be...would he betray him as well.
His expression hardened. "Eric… what did you do?"
The village was full of wolves. Shifters with lineage stretching back to the first blood oath. They should've torn him apart.
But they didn't.
That, more than anything, made Alaric's chest tighten.
He turned toward the village, eyes narrowing.
If Eric could bring down a protection woven by ancestral magic…
If he could slip into a den of wolves and leave it breathing…
Then who in the hell was he.Alaric knew for certain Eric..... wasn't just a vampire.