The tavern was quieter than usual. The recent attacks had unnerved the village, and even the most seasoned drinkers huddled closer, voices lower, glances flickering toward the dark windows.

  Yet, as always, Caliban made his appearance.

  He strode in limping, his usual charm in place, though his movements were slightly stiff. A few villagers noticed, exchanging murmurs, but no one dared to question him directly.

  Caliban simply smirked. “A drunken misstep, nothing to fret about,” he said easily, waving off their concerns as he eased himself into a chair. “I blame Claudiu’s terrible ale. He serves the devil’s brew, I swear.”

  Laughter rippled through the tavern, though it was more hesitant than usual. Divan watched from his seat in the corner, his keen eyes trailing over his brother, taking in every detail.

  The limp, the glove on his right hand.

  “Circulation’s been slow in this limb,” Caliban remarked, flexing his gloved fingers as if it were nothing. “Ah, the joys of getting older.”

  Divan didn’t respond. He had seen too much, knew too much. Wounds from the strikes of the iron rod would need time to heal. After a moment, Divan rose from his table, taking his mug of ale and walking directly toward Caliban’s table. “Mind if I join you?”

  Caliban glanced up, his smirk widening, though there was something calculated behind his eyes. “Of course, little brother. You know you’re always welcome.”

  Divan took a seat, his movements deliberate, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was piercing. “Did you hear about Ishtak?”

  Caliban lifted his mug, taking a slow sip before exhaling with mock concern. “Ah, yes. Quite the ordeal, wasn’t it? Poor old man.”

  Divan tilted his head slightly. “He saw the beast.” The words hung in the air, subtle but heavy.

  Caliban arched a brow, leaning back with feigned amusement. “Did he? What did our fearless survivor have to say?”

  Divan studied him, voice steady, unreadable. “He described it, the size, the form.” He let the words settle, watching for the smallest flicker of reaction.

  Caliban simply swirled the ale in his mug, eyes half-lidded. “What do you think we can do about it?”

  Divan took a slow sip of his drink. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  For the first time, Caliban hesitated, just slightly. A moment of stillness. Then, his grin returned, easy, practiced. “I suppose it is.”

  Divan watched him, feeling the weight of unspoken truths between them. This was a dance, a test of wits, and neither had revealed their hand just yet.

  ***

  The next day, the forest was quiet, the usual rustling of birds and small creatures replaced by the whispers of the wind through the trees. Dusk was settling, the last remnants of golden sunlight filtering through the canopy. Lila moved carefully among the underbrush, her basket half-full of fresh-picked herbs.

  Divan walked close beside her, his gaze flickering between her and the darkening horizon. “We need to get home,” he murmured, his voice low but firm.

  Lila opened her mouth to protest, she wasn’t done yet, but before she could speak, a roar tore through the stillness. The sound was low, guttural, and remarkably close.

  Lila froze.

  Divan immediately stepped in front of her, his stance shifting, eyes sharp, muscles coiled. “Behind me.”

  Lila obeyed, her heart pounding in her chest, gripping the medallion at her throat as the thick air around them changed. The medallion pulsed a warning.

  “Run back to the village, get home safe, and lock yourself in.”

  Lila couldn’t move. Her body was locked in fear, not just for herself, but for him. “I can’t leave you!”

  Divan turned his head slightly, his gaze softening despite the danger. “Can you shift?”

  Lila nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes, into a lynx.”

  “Then do it, shift, and get up that tree. Hide.”

  She hesitated for only a moment before setting her basket down and closing her eyes. A soft rush of energy rippled through the air as her form shimmered and collapsed inward, fur sprouting where flesh had been. Within seconds, a large lynx stood in her place, golden eyes sharp and alert. Without another word, she leaped onto the lowest branch of the nearest tree, claws digging into the bark, climbing until she was hidden in the foliage.

  Then the source of the growling appeared.

  The beast was more hideous than Divan had expected, so twisted and unnatural. Divan realized it had been stalking them, and before the sun was completely down. Another mystery.

  Looming in the half-light, its body twisted and unnatural, thick with corded muscle that flexed beneath stretched, ruined skin. The limbs were grotesquely elongated, its fingers too long, ending in curved black claws that twitched as though eager to tear into flesh. Patches of fur clung to its body like remnants of what it once was, but between them, raw, glistening sinew pulsed over exposed bone, shifting as if something writhed beneath the surface, desperate to break free.

  The face was an abomination – part-wolf, part-human, but grotesquely wrong. The jaw hung unnaturally wide, distended like a snake preparing to consume, rows of jagged fangs slick with saliva that dripped in slow, glistening strands to the ground. Red eyes burned feral, ravenous, filled with something beyond hunger, beyond rage. The creature breathed in heavy, ragged bursts, nostrils flaring as it fixed its gaze on Divan, as if already tasting the blood it would spill.

  Divan did not flinch. He was not afraid. With a snarl, he shifted. His human form melted away, fur overtaking skin, his bones cracking, reshaping into his wolf form.

  Then they clashed.

  The werewolf lunged first, swinging one massive, clawed hand, aiming to tear into Divan’s side.

  Divan dodged, snapping his powerful jaws onto the creature’s forearm, his fangs tearing into flesh.

  The beast howled, swinging wildly, throwing Divan off.

  The wolf rolled, landing low, then sprang forward, sinking his teeth into the creature’s throat.

  The werewolf screeched in fury, its claws raking down Divan’s side, splitting skin and drawing blood.

  Divan growled through the pain and ripped back, tearing its ear clean off with its sharp teeth. The monster howled, stumbling back, gripping the side of its mangled head.

  Divan didn’t stop. He leapt again, clawing at its chest, tearing into its arms, ripping away chunks of flesh.

  ***

  Above, the lynx crouched, golden eyes locked on the battle.

  She couldn’t stay hidden anymore. With a low, warning growl, she leaped from the tree, landing squarely on the beast’s back. Her sharp claws dug deep, and she reached her paws forward, raking down its face, tearing away fur and skin, exposing raw, bleeding flesh beneath.

  The Monster shrieked, trying to shake her off, but she clung on, her hind legs ripping at its back, tearing out chunks of hair.

  Then the medallion around her neck flared to life. A pulse of magic erupted from it, the burning red glow searing into the werewolf’s flesh. The monster screamed in agony as the heat burned deep, scarring its back, shoulders, and neck with hot, glowing welts. The scent of scorched skin and hair filled the air.

  Thrashing, it sent both Lila and Divan flying. Dazed but alive, they scrambled to their feet as the beast howled in pain, its charred flesh smoking in the chilly night air. Finally, it turned and fled, crashing through the forest, leaving a trail of burning embers in its wake.

  Divan, still in wolf form, growled low, watching it disappear. Lila shifted back, her chest heaving, fingers clutching the medallion that had protected her.

  Divan stepped toward her, his form shimmering as he returned to himself. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head against his chest. “You?”

  Divan exhaled, his lips brushing against her hair. “Not enough to matter.”

  They stood there, breathing together, the sound of the forest settling around them once more. Then Divan looked in the direction the beast had vanished into the night. “That monster is wounded now, but it won’t stop. Those wounds won’t last. The beast will regenerate, the wounds from the medallion are the only thing that it can’t heal, but I don’t know that for sure.”

  Lila gripped his coat, her voice steadier than he expected. “Then we have to finish it before it can attack again.”

  Divan and Lila shifted back into their animal forms without hesitation, their bodies rippling into fur and sinew as they bolted into the darkened forest, chasing down the beast before it could find another victim.

  The village was silent, its people locked away, their doors and windows barred against the night, but Divan’s sharp wolf eyes caught movement ahead. The beast was moving toward the cottage where Gregor was staying.

  ***

  Inside Gregor’s rented cottage, he sat at his small wooden table, a half-empty bottle of ale in his grip.

  He had seen things in his time, graves dug up, Strigoi legends whispered, the dead looking almost alive. But nothing, nothing, had shaken him like what he had seen in the forest.

  Suddenly, the door to the cottage exploded inward, breaking the heavy bolt across the door. Splinters flew through the air, the wooden frame cracking apart like kindling.

  Gregor froze, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood too fast.

  The werewolf stood in the doorway, fur smoldering from burns across its face and head and back, its face was torn, one ear missing, and blood oozing down its arm. There were gashes on its arm, but its red eyes burned with pure, undiluted hatred.

  Gregor knew it wanted blood. The Strigoi hunter, for all his boasting, all his so-called experience with monsters, knew hunger when he saw it. He swallowed thickly, moving slowly, inching toward the back door. He knew not to run, not to make sudden moves. The creature stepped forward, its massive hands gripping the sides of the doorway, splintering the wood beneath its claws.

  Gregor’s hand shook as he reached for the knife at his hip. He knew it was pointless, but his body needed to do something. “Easy now, beast,” he muttered, voice low.

  Then the creature roared, and with one great swing of its arm, it sent the wooden table crashing across the room.

  Gregor jumped back, his heart hammering against his ribs. This. . .thing was going to kill him. Rip him to shreds like he had the others.

  Before the creature could lunge, a massive black wolf hurtled through the open door, slamming into the beast’s back.

  Gregor barely had time to register what was happening before the wolf’s powerful jaws clamped down on the creature’s neck, dragging it backward with sheer brute force. The monster shrieked, its claws swinging wildly, but the wolf was relentless, its teeth tearing through thick muscle and flesh.

  Gregor staggered back, eyes wide, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. When then, a massive lynx rushed through the shattered door, its size unnatural, larger than any wildcat Gregor had seen in the Carpathians.

  The lynx moved with deadly grace, its golden eyes locked on the struggling beast. Around its neck, a medallion glowed, flaring to life. The red runes ignited, sending lashes of fire through the air, searing into the werewolf’s flesh like molten brands.

  The creature howled, its body writhing in agony as the magic burned deep, leaving blackened marks across its chest and arms.

  Gregor stared, frozen in place. He had spent his whole life boasting about monsters, claiming to be a hunter of the unnatural. But this? This was something beyond him.

  The creature reared back, thrashing wildly, throwing the wolf off its back and letting out a pained, furious roar. Then, in a desperate burst of speed, it bolted through the ruined doorway, disappearing into the forest once more.

  The wolf and lynx followed, their bodies flashing through the moonlight, relentless in their pursuit.

  Gregor stood there, breathless, his heart still pounding in his ears. His fingers ached from how tightly he had been gripping his useless knife. Then, slowly, he looked down. He had wet himself. Letting out a shaky breath, he carefully set the knife down on the window ledge.

  “I think,” he whispered to himself, “I’m going to find another occupation. Somewhere in a city.” His shaking hands reached for the bottle of ale. He took one sip. Then he stumbled out the back door and vomited into the grass.

  Chapter 21

  They are all against me. They smile to my face and sharpen their knives behind closed doors. They speak of the beast in low voices when they think I cannot hear, as if their whispers could bind it, as if their prayers could save them. They watch me. Every man, every woman, every squalling child. Their eyes follow me from window to window, street to street. They pretend. Pretend not to know. Pretend to care. But I see it. I see the fear hidden behind their forced smiles, the way their hands clutch at their crosses and talismans when I pass. -from the Journal of Caliban Drakovar

  Divan and Lila returned from the hunt, their bodies exhausted, their minds heavy with the weight of the battle.

  Lila was unscathed, her nimble form having avoided the worst of the fight. Divan, however, bore the marks of the battle. Deep claw wounds marred his side, and his muscles ached from the relentless strain. Yet, none of it mattered. Not when she was here, beside him.

  Lila insisted on taking him to her cottage, where Maria could tend to his wounds. But just as they reached the door, as the moonlight cast their shadows against the walls, Divan stopped, gently pulling her back into his arms.

  “Lila, my heart,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You are perfect.”

  She shook her head, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I didn’t do much.”

  He caught her hand, pressing it to his chest, where his heart pounded fiercely beneath her palm. “You are my perfect partner. Everything about you is perfect. We are good together, Lila, a true team. Out there, in the chaos of battle, we moved as one. Every step, every strike, it was like a dance, a symphony of trust and passion.”

  He searched her eyes, as if trying to memorize every flicker of emotion within them. “In every clash, in every moment of peril, you were my anchor, my guiding light. I’ve never known such strength and tenderness woven so seamlessly together. You complete me in ways I never imagined possible. We are more than just warriors fighting side by side, we are two souls entwined, bound by something deeper, something unbreakable.”

  Lila’s fingers tightened around his. “I feel the same way about you, Divan. When I’m with you, I feel invincible. Whether we’re battling monsters or simply working in the market booth, you and I, we belong together.”

  A soft smile tugged at his lips before he cupped her face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against her skin. Then, with infinite tenderness, he kissed her, pouring every ache of love into it.

  “I love you,” he whispered as he pulled away, his forehead resting against hers. “More and more with each passing day.”

  Lila smiled, her eyes shining. “And I love you.”

  For a moment, the battle was forgotten. There were only the two of them, wrapped in moonlight, their love stronger than any darkness they would ever face.

  ***

  Maria looked up sharply when they entered, and her weathered hands went still over the herbs she had been sorting. Her keen eyes immediately took in Divan’s bloody tunic, the way he leaned against the doorframe, his exhaustion barely contained.

  “Sit down,” she ordered, already moving toward her cabinets.

  Divan lowered himself into a chair, gritting his teeth as Lila helped him remove his coat and shirt. The claw marks along his ribs were deep but not fatal, already beginning to scab over from his natural healing ability.

  Maria began to work, her hands steady as she cleaned him up, then applied a cool salve and wrapped clean bandages around his torso. “What happened?” she asked without looking up.

  Lila answered for him, her voice steady despite the night’s horror. “We were attacked by the creature. Divan fought with it, and it nearly tore him apart. We chased it. It ran after we burned it again, but not before it nearly tore Gregor apart.”

  Maria sighed heavily, securing the last of the bandages. “You shouldn’t have gone after it alone.”

  “No one else can fight it,” Divan murmured.

  There was a long silence as Maria cleaned the blood from her fingers, setting the bandages aside.

  Then Divan looked at her, his expression grim. “Maria, do you know how to kill it?”

  She stilled, her hands resting on the table. The firelight glowed on her face. Then, she said softly, “Only the one who cursed it will know.”

  Divan felt his stomach tighten. He already suspected that, but hearing it out loud made his pulse pound in his ears. “Who cursed it?”

  Maria’s eyes met his. “Cel Tradat.”

  Divan stared at her, unable to mask his shock. “That’s not possible.”

  But Maria only nodded, as if she had been waiting for this moment. “It is true. Cel was once married to a beautiful Hungarian woman. He loved her beyond reason, if there was such a thing. But the—“

  Lila inhaled sharply. “Caliban.”

  Maria gave a slow nod. “He seduced Cel’s wife. Afterwards, she went to Cel and confessed it all, and when Cel heard it, he was consumed by rage.”

  Divan’s long-buried memories of Caliban and his “women” began surfacing, things he had never questioned before. He had only been a child and hadn’t understood any of it.

  Maria continued, her voice even but heavy with memory. “Cel cursed him. A curse of rage, of jealousy, of betrayal. After what she had done, Cel’s wife left him. She felt ashamed, and though he tried to console her, she couldn’t bear it. She truly had loved Cel, and he knew it. She returned to Hungary, and Cel himself fled to Brașov.”