King Jared was in a shitty mood—one he couldn’t try to hide even if he wanted to. His body might have been recovering faster than expected, but the irritation boiling within him refused to subside. His injuries were healing so rapidly that all that remained were angry bruises marking his skin—silent evidence of the pain he had endured. The accelerated healing meant nothing to him. It didn’t ease his temper, didn’t erase what they had seen.
What gnawed at him more was the state of his men. Unlike him, they bore their wounds more visibly. Their expressions were severe, marked by a quiet fury and unspoken concern. Bandages wrapped around raw skin. Deep gashes mended slower than they should have. The difference between his healing and theirs wasn’t natural. It unsettled him.
Night was falling like a veil over the vampire city, casting long shadows that only worsened Jared’s mood. The upcoming banquet Zyren had mentioned—some grand display of hospitality—was the last thing on his mind. His thoughts spun with the image of the monster, the creature that had exploded itself without warning, in a move so volatile and devastating that it could have wiped them all out if they had been any closer.
"We need to return," King Jared said coldly, his voice cutting into the heavy silence. He spoke directly to the three council members surrounding him. His tone matched the hard look in his eyes, sharp enough to draw blood. There was no room for debate. No space for diplomacy.
It had been one thing to arrive here under false pretenses. That was frustrating in itself. But what they had witnessed—two monsters in the span of three days—had torn apart any illusion of stability. They had agreed to spend three days in the vampire city, and in those three days, their reality had shifted into something nightmarish.
"Zygons! I truly thought they were a myth," Kennedy muttered, disbelief clinging to his words like cobwebs. He was trying to make sense of it, trying to process something his mind still rejected. It was easier to question the truth than accept it.
Brilla, ever composed, ran her hands through her hair. Her fingers shook slightly as they brushed past the dried blood near her temple. She sighed—a sound that barely escaped her lips. "The first monster is not even worth speaking of... but the second..." Her voice trailed off. Her hands, which had just barely stopped trembling, reminded her of the pain. The bruises. The explosion. The sheer violence of it.
Falson stepped forward, arms crossed. His voice was firmer, angrier. "That explosion should have been impossible. Even vampires can’t do that." He looked at them one by one, pausing at Jared, the weight of the implication hanging between them. His stare didn’t shift. The question lingered—if vampires couldn’t do that, what could?
Harned, loyal and stoic, stood slightly ahead of the others, closer to the room’s center. His silence said everything. His hand never strayed far from the weapon at his hip, and his eyes scanned the corners of the room repeatedly, as if expecting another attack at any second.
By the door, the rest of the guards stood rigid. Even Gregor, the most outspoken among them, held his tongue. They hadn’t entered fully into the room—just hovered near the entrance, witnessing the aftermath from a distance. Blood. Torn garments. Wounds. The sight said more than words ever could.
None of them spoke. None dared to ask questions. The mood in the room was grim, every breath weighed down by what had happened. They could all see the marks on the king. They could see the tension clenching his jaw, the frustration barely masked beneath his expression.
What made it worse—far worse—was that King Jared had issued a quiet but firm command: Every werewolf was to return to their rooms. More importantly, he ordered that no one shift their gaze from the others. Not for a second. That command had unsettled many.
Gregor and the rest, loyal to a fault, obeyed. But whispers had already begun to form between them. Monsters. Zygons. Words none of them had ever heard in any training scroll or historical briefing. And yet now they were real. Tangible. Dangerous.
"...Yet somehow it had happened!" King Jared snapped. His voice echoed through the room, sharper than before. The volume was enough to make everyone stiffen. His anger had broken free for just a moment, spilling out into the open.
None of them moved. None of them breathed too deeply. The implications were terrifying. If one shapeshifting monster could cause that kind of damage, then more of them—just one more—could mean the end of everything.
The silence that followed his outburst was suffocating. Jared moved toward the window, his gait tense and controlled. He stared out into the night—at the horizon, at the darkness thickening around the city. His thoughts churned. The bloodied explosion. The disguised monster. The false hospitality. It was all a game he no longer wanted to play.
The others stayed still. They understood his silence was temporary, filled with thoughts they had no right to interrupt. Still, they watched him. Studied the curve of his shoulders, the flex of his fingers against the windowsill.
Then finally, when they had nearly convinced themselves he wouldn’t speak again—he did.
"We leave tonight," he said, voice low but firm. He turned to face them. His tone brooked no argument. Not one of them questioned it. Not even the guards dared utter a suggestion. They all nodded, silent in their obedience.
They knew what traveling at night meant. They had trained for it, but even training couldn’t erase the dangers. Passing through the forest under the moonlight was close to suicide—even for creatures as powerful as them. Wild beasts. Traps. Things they couldn’t explain.
Daylight was safer, but not by much. Still, this order wasn’t made in haste. It was deliberate. Calculated. Jared wasn’t going to stay here—not after what he had seen. Not after what had happened.
"We’ll camp out by the roadside and cross the forest once it’s bright enough to do it," he continued. "We are not sleeping here overnight." There was weight behind every word. The council members didn’t speak. They didn’t argue. They turned and began to carry out the command.
What followed was a flurry of quiet movement. Jared instructed everyone to gather their belongings. Not just a few essentials. Everything. No one was to be left behind. No bags forgotten.
Then, surprisingly, he divided them into small groups—three to a group. It was an unusual formation. The implication was clear: If someone goes missing, we need to know immediately.
He added one more thing, his voice sharp. Anyone who got separated from their group had to be reported directly to him. Not later. Not when convenient. Immediately. And the threat behind that command didn’t need to be spoken aloud. The punishment would be severe—possibly fatal. The look in Jared’s eyes told them that much.
As the council members turned to leave, joined by the other guards and warriors, King Jared spoke once more, halting them in their tracks.
"You three are to stay with me. We’ll move together." He didn’t wait for an answer as he changed out of his torn clothes, pulling on a fresh set with steady hands. The fabric tightened around his bruises, but he didn’t wince. His council members nodded again, their faces taut with silent understanding.
That was when his tone changed.
His next words came like a blade wrapped in velvet—a promise and a threat, bound together in one breath. The air shifted. No one commented on it, but all three council members felt it in their bones.
"Any one that leaves my sight might as well be dead to me!" He said words they didn’t dare to take lightly.
Soon, arrangements were finalized. Outside, the night air was cool but heavy. Every werewolf in the entourage stood at the gates, horses and carriages prepared. Furry ears twitched at every small sound, eyes alert for shadows.
Jared was at the front, ready to leave without so much as asking Zyren for permission. He didn’t need it. He refused to ask for it.
But he wasn’t surprised when Zyren appeared.
"You’re leaving," Zyren commented. His tone wasn’t accusatory. Just observational. His arms were folded, his gaze sharp as it swept across the group, cataloguing them one by one.
Jared was about to respond when Zyren said something else.
Two simple words. But Jared felt something shift inside him.
Zyren’s tone had changed—low, intentional. The words were not kindness. They were a warning. Jared knew it instantly. He was saying, One of them might not be what they seem.
The idea struck Jared harder than the explosion had. A coldness touched his spine, and for a second, he didn’t move.
But then his expression hardened again. His jaw clenched.
"Move out," he barked.
No hesitation. No delay.
They couldn’t afford either but most of all he himself could not afford for anything to go wrong especially to him and the three council memebers with Jim’s
Yet his greatest fear was that apart from him one of the council members which were the strongest amongst the werewolves was no longer what they seemed.
’Don’t panic!’Jared thought to himself as he internally calmed his mind.
’For all i know they cannot transform into Werewolfs!’