By the time he reached his chambers, the battle within him reached its peak. His limbs convulsed, fire licking up his spine as his muscles seized, stretching against the limits of his human form. A jagged gasp escaped him as his vision flickered, his mind splitting between man and beast.

  No, not yet—hold it back—

  With a roar of frustration, he seized the nearest chair, its weight nothing in his grasp, and hurled it against the stone wall. It shattered into splinters, shards of wood clattering to the floor like broken bones. His breathing was erratic, sweat slicking his skin as he staggered forward, his fingers curling into claws against the wooden table. Deep grooves tore into its surface, his nails—no, claws—scraping like the first whisper of something darker rising beneath his flesh.

  A low, guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest, no longer fully human. His pulse pounded, his veins pulsed, and his teeth ached with the promise of what was coming.

  Divan was coming back.

  If he got too close, if he uncovered too much . . . Caliban could feel the battle inside him. He just wanted it to end, but the beast had other ideas.

  Caliban’s head snapped up, his breath slowing, sharpening. A shudder of control slid back over his frame, though his limbs still trembled with the remnants of the fight within. Slowly, his lips curled into a twisted smile, the beast receding just enough for his mind to clear.

  Caliban stumbled against a post, gripping it hard, the wood digging into his palms. He shut his eyes tight. Let it come. Let it end.

  A part of him whispered it, the tired, broken part that had nothing left to give.

  But the other part, the stronger part, snarled and refused.

  No. Survive. Kill if you must. They will not take you. They will not end you.

  Caliban gasped, shuddering.

  He opened his eyes and saw his hands, his fingers curling unnaturally, nails blackening at the tips. The beast was closer now. Closer than it had ever been without the full moon to call it.

  He ground his teeth, forcing his hands to still, forcing the change back down with a growl low in his throat.

  The night watched him in silence.

  Caliban stood there, both man and monster, knowing, just like always, that the monster had won. It always did. The full moon hadn’t risen yet. But that didn’t matter anymore. “Welcome to Bran, little brother.”

  ***

  The road stretched ahead, winding through the valley like a serpent lying in wait. The closer Divan got to Bran, the heavier the air became, thick with the damp chill of the Carpathians. Twilight bled into the sky, a dull gray bruising into deeper indigo, the mountains looming, watching his return.

  A part of him had expected to feel relief after consulting the old wizard in Brașov. He had hoped for certainty, for proof that his instincts were wrong and that the truth he feared was nothing more than superstition and paranoia. But the old man’s words had only solidified his worst suspicions. Now he was riding straight back into the beast’s den.

  Divan adjusted his grip on the reins. His horse, sensing his tension, flicked its ears but pressed onward, hooves steady against the dirt path.

  He should have stayed in Brașov longer. He should have given himself time to think. But every time he had tried to turn away from the path leading back to Bran, something in him had pulled him forward, an invisible tether tightening around his ribs.

  He couldn’t let it go. His mind revisited the village tracks, the blood dried into the earth, the twisted, unnatural remains of the body. The villagers said the killings had started twenty-five years ago, always on the full moon. Until recently, it had all sounded like superstition to him. Old fears, half-remembered truths warped by time.

  But he had seen the woman’s body with his own eyes. The way something ripped it apart and dragged it through the street like a trophy. No wolf did that, no man either. Something else, something worse. Like a curse. Divan swallowed, the unease curling in his stomach like a knot of snakes.

  He had taken the tracks back to Brașov. That alone would be enough to enrage Caliban. But worse than that, he had spoken to someone who might know the truth. He had pried into the past, into the wounds that had never fully healed.

  If Caliban found out. . .

  Divan flexed his fingers against the reins. He could still see his brother in his mind’s eye, towering, dark-eyed, wearing that easy, almost charming smirk that had always hidden something sharper beneath. The wizard’s words – You already know what he is, don’t you? – echoed in his mind.

  Yes. No. He didn’t want to believe it. Divan could not shake the truth, pressing against his ribs like a dagger.

  The horse’s hooves struck the wooden bridge at the edge of the valley, the familiar creak of damp planks snapping him from his thoughts. Ahead, the village of Bran lay shrouded in mist, the silhouette of Castle Bran cutting against the night like an open wound.

  He was too close to turn back now. His instincts screamed at him to run, leave it alone, let it rest, but Divan had never been one to listen to his instincts when there was danger. He urged the horse forward.

  Whatever came next, he would face it.

  Chapter 14

  There was a time when I could feel it rising with the moon, predictable as the tide, a thing I could brace against, prepare for, fight, even keep at bay for a time. But now. . . it moves in me at its whim. A whisper at first, then a claw at my gut, then a roaring in my blood I cannot silence. -from the Journal of Caliban Drakovar

  Divan guided his horse along the narrow path through the woods, the sound of hooves muffled by the soft earth. The journey from Brașov had been long, and night had long since fallen, casting the valley into deep shadow. A low mist clung to the ground, curling around the trees like spectral fingers. The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp leaves, distant chimneys, and the faint musk of the nearby river.

  When the trees thinned, the village of Bran spread before him in the dim glow of a few lanterns left burning outside homes. His destination lay just beyond the heart of the village, a modest cottage with a thatched roof, positioned beside another home where Maria and Lila lived. The sight of the place filled him with an odd sense of familiarity, though he had only been in Bran for two days.

  Reaching the small stable beside the cottage, Divan dismounted with a quiet grunt. He patted the horse’s neck, murmuring words of gratitude before leading it under the shelter. His hands worked deftly, unbuckling the saddle, stripping off the bridle and reins. The horse gave a satisfied snort as he set down a bucket of water and poured a generous portion of grain into the trough. He ran his fingers through its mane briefly, giving the animal a final glance before heading toward the cottage.

  His boots made little sound against the packed earth as he approached the door. He reached up, fingers finding the key resting on the ledge above the frame, just as Lila had told him it would be. Slipping it into the lock, he turned it slowly, easing the door open without a sound. The air inside was cool, carrying the subtle fragrance of dried lavender and herbs that Lila must have left to welcome him.

  Then he saw her.

  Lila.

  She lay curled on his bed, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like silk, a contrast against the pale fabric. One arm rested beneath her head, the other draped across her waist in careless abandon. The moonlight, soft and silver, kissed every curve, tracing the delicate lines of her face, the gentle slope of her nose, the fullness of her slightly parted lips. The thin blanket barely concealed the shape of her legs, while her loose chemise, slipping from one shoulder, leaving the smooth expanse of her skin exposed to his hungry gaze.

  A slow, smoldering heat coiled deep within him.

  She was breathtaking like this, unguarded, vulnerable, her breathing soft and steady. The rise and fall of her chest beckoned his touch, the curve of her neck an invitation whispered in the quiet hush of the night. To have her here, tangled in his sheets, the warmth of her body just within reach. To brush his fingers over the delicate skin of her shoulder, to press his lips to the hollow of her throat, to claim her in ways that left him aching for more.

  He stepped closer, drawn to her like a man entranced.

  Lila shifted slightly, her brows drawing together as if sensing his presence before her lashes fluttered open. At first, there was only sleep-dazed confusion, then her lips parted in surprise.

  “Divan?” Her voice was soft, husky from sleep.

  A slow smile curled his lips as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hand moving instinctively to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “You were waiting for me?”

  Lila blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows, her voice still thick with sleep. “I thought you might return tonight. I wanted to know how it went.”

  Divan barely heard her words. The sight of her lying in bed, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, sent a slow burn through his veins. He swallowed hard, his restraint fraying at the edges.

  He leaned in, his breath warm against her temple. “And yet, you fell asleep in my bed.”

  She parted her lips, ready to respond, but he silenced her with a lingering kiss to her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. A shiver ran through her, and he felt it, the way her body tensed, then softened, as though caught between hesitation and desire.

  “Divan,” she whispered, his name barely a breath between them. “Tell me. . . how did it go? Tell me,” she tried again, but the words faded as he kissed her once more, tracing his lips down the elegant curve of her jaw, to the pulse fluttering at her throat.

  “You are so beautiful when you sleep,” he murmured against her skin, inhaling the faint scent of lavender lingering there. His lips moved lower to the sensitive spot beneath her ear, and he felt her breath hitch, the tension in her body shifting to something else, something he knew, something he wanted more of.

  She trembled beneath his touch. “Divan—”

  He hushed her, his voice a low command as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her throat. His fingers skimmed over her shoulder, slipping the fabric of her chemise lower, revealing more of her to his touch, to his hunger. “No more questions tonight.”

  Her exhale was shaky, her resolve crumbling. He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, more need, savoring the way she yielded to him. The warmth of her body pressed against his, and the feel of her fingers threading into his hair sent a raw ache through him.

  A quiet, breathless sound escaped her as she surrendered, her arms tightening around his neck, her body molding against his as though she had always belonged there. He groaned softly, the last of his restraint slipping as he eased her back against the mattress, covering her with his body, pulling her deeper into him, into the heat of what neither of them could deny any longer.

  For a long while, there was nothing else. Only the slow, sensual unraveling between them, the taste of her, the soft sighs and whispered touches that filled the night. And the ache of wanting more, but this was enough. It had to be. Until the day he could have all of her, freely, fully, and without hesitation.

  Eventually, exhaustion won out.

  Divan drew her close, tucking her against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath against him. His arms tightened around her, a silent vow, a claim deeper than words. He pressed a final, lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips brushing against her skin in quiet reverence before resting his cheek against the tousled waves of her hair.

  “Sleep now, Lila,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with the remnants of desire and something softer, something dangerously close to tenderness.

  In the night's hush, with her warmth seeping into him, the scent of her still lingering in the air, he finally let his own eyes drift shut. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, sleep came easily.

  ***

  The first thing Divan noticed when he woke was the absence of warmth beside him.

  He reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against nothing but the cool linen sheets. His eyes opened, blinking away the remnants of sleep. The bed was empty. Lila was gone.

  For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake off the strange sense of loss creeping into his chest. Had she regretted last night? Had she left before dawn to avoid facing him?

  He ran a hand over his face and pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The room was dim in the early morning light filtering through the small window, the air carrying the faintest chill. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, before rising to wash up.

  A wooden basin sat on the table near the hearth, a jug of water beside it. He poured the cool liquid into the bowl and splashed it over his face, the sharp chill clearing away the lingering drowsiness. Grabbing a cloth, he dried himself and ran a hand through his hair before pulling on a clean shirt. His thoughts remained on Lila as he dressed.

  Why had she left without waking him?

  Pushing the thought aside, he stepped out, inhaling the crisp morning air. Dawn crept over Bran, and the village stirred to life, slow and reluctant. Smoke curled from chimneys. A few villagers milled about, gathering wood or heading toward the well with buckets. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed. The scent of baking bread drifted from one home, mingling with the damp earth and pine of the surrounding forest.

  He crossed the small yard to Maria’s cottage, knocking once before stepping inside.

  The warmth of the room greeted him first, the fire in the hearth crackling with fresh logs. The scent of porridge and fresh bread filled the air. Maria stood at the wooden table, kneading dough with strong hands. She glanced up as he entered, giving him a small, knowing smile.

  “Good morning,” she said without hesitation, as though nothing was amiss.

  Divan felt a flicker of uncertainty. Did she know Lila had spent the night in his bed? Did she disapprove? She gave no sign of it. Her demeanor was as calm as ever.

  He nodded, clearing his throat. “Morning.” His gaze swept the room, but Lila was nowhere to be seen. His pulse ticked up slightly. “Where’s Lila?”

  Maria pressed her hands into the dough, folding it over with a firm motion. “She’s gone to fetch milk for breakfast. She’ll be back soon.”

  Relief washed over him before he could stop it. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until now. She hadn’t left because of him. She had merely gone on an errand.

  He stepped closer, watching Maria’s hands work the dough. The silence between them stretched, but she seemed content, humming softly under her breath. He studied her face, searching for any indication that she knew what had happened between him and Lila last night. But Maria showed no hint of suspicion, no reproach, nothing at all.

  Of course, nothing happened. They had only kissed, although passionately and thoroughly, then fallen asleep in each other’s arms. And yet, the memory of it lingered, her warmth against him, the taste of her lips.

  He exhaled slowly, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table.

  Maria glanced at him, wiping her hands on a cloth. “You look like you have something on your mind.”

  He hesitated. “Did Lila say anything before she left?”

  Maria raised a brow, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “About what?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  She let out a soft chuckle. “She was in good spirits this morning, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  That was good to hear, but it did little to help his racing thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw, wondering if he should ask Maria directly if Lila had mentioned spending the night in his bed. But before he could say anything, there was a sudden, hurried knock at the door.

  Both of them turned as the door swung open. The blacksmith, his face pale, his breath coming fast.

  “There’s been another attack,” he said grimly, stepping inside without invitation. His eyes flickered to Divan before settling on Maria. “Martin Tomescu, ripped from his house last night by his wife’s side. She said it happened so fast she never even saw the beast, only smelled it.”

  “Where are Gina and the children now?” Maria asked.

  We found Martin this morning outside in front of the cottage, ripped to pieces. His wife and children are inside the cottage, afraid to leave, to even look at him.

  Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.

  Maria crossed herself, murmuring a prayer under her breath. “I will be there momentarily.”

  Divan clenched his fists. Another attack, another death. So soon, the very next night after the full moon. He hadn’t been in Brașov for but a day and returned immediately.

  His stomach twisted. He had been so caught up with Lila, with the pull of desire, with the quiet intimacy of last night, that he had almost forgotten the reason he was here, to uncover the truth. But he never thought. . . it wasn’t supposed to happen again so soon. . . something had gone wrong.

  ***

  As Divan strode through the village toward the cottage, his eyes caught movement to his left. Lila.

  She was hurrying toward the cottage, her arms wrapped tightly around a metal bucket of milk as though she were clutching it for comfort. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted, her breathing uneven.

  When she saw him, she nearly stumbled, then changed course, rushing to his side.

  “Oh, Divan, it’s horrible.” Her voice trembled.

  He reached out instinctively, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. “Go to the cottage. I’ll see you shortly.”

  She hesitated, gripping the milk bucket, her eyes searching his as if trying to decide whether to argue. But after a moment, she swallowed hard and nodded, turning on her heel and continuing to the cottage.

  A small crowd had already gathered at the Tomescu cottage, murmurs rippling through them like a slow-moving current of dread. The scent of blood reached him before he saw the body, a thick, metallic tang that mixed with the stale ale and damp earth. He pushed through the villagers, his presence enough to make them part ways.