Chapter 7: A Howl Beneath the Moon
Elsewhere—in another part of the world.
Deep within a dense forest, where light entered only in fragments, and where the shadows were older than the trees themselves, silence was not stillness… but the waiting for something bad.
A wolf's howl rose.
A sorrowful howl.
Long.
Saturated with bitterness that did not belong to a single wolf… but to the land itself.
It was not a call.
Nor a warning.
But a wail torn apart by hatred.
Grief that split the air like an open wound, and a heavy rage that nearly burned the tree trunks from within.
The howl echoed for a long time, striking the forest again and again,as if it were groaning alongside it, unable to respond.
And when the sound finally broke—The shadows moved beneath the moonlight.
Wolves emerged from between the trunks, from behind the rocks,from the depths of darkness.
Countless wolves.
Pouring in from every direction.
Different sizes.
Different fangs.
But only one color.
Gray.
A dark gray… like the ash that remains after a fire dies.
They gathered.
They circled.
They formed ranks.
And at the forefront—stood the leader.
A massive gray wolf, its shoulders broader than the trunk of an ancient tree, its body drawn taut like a string on the verge of snapping.
His eyes burned with a dark light—without warmth… without mercy.
He was not merely the largest.
He was the heaviest in presence.
Heads lowered.
One after another.
It was not submission.
But acknowledgment of blood.
The leader stepped forward slowly.
The earth beneath his claws groaned.
His body was steady, solid—yet his voice, when it emerged, was burdened with deep fracture.
A tear fell.
Then another.
They carved their way through his dark fur and struck the soil like two drops of cold blood.
He lifted his head.
And his voice exploded, roaring as if the forest itself trembled beneath it:
"My son has been killed… by one of the Originals."
A suffocating silence fell.
"The treaty has been violated."
His jaws clenched.
"And blood… must be reclaimed with blood."
A murmur rippled through the wolves.
It was not a howl.
But a choking blend of rage and fear.
Then another wolf stepped forward.
Slightly smaller than the leader.
But around his mouth was a white beard—the mark of a wise wolf.
He spoke in a heavy, cautious voice:
"My lord… if we enter a direct battle against the Originals, do not forget the Blood Kings."
He paused.
"The Gray Wolf Clan… could be wiped out entirely."
The leader moved his head slowly.
Then turned toward him.
His eyes flared—like embers buried beneath snow.
"I know very well what I am doing."
He stepped closer.
And his voice dropped, deeper… darker: And I do not need a wolf like you to remind me of danger."
He paused for a moment.
Then continued:
"The treaty has been broken."
"And we will enlist the other wolf clans."
He drew a deep breath.
"And I will drag the White Moon Clan…"
His eyes narrowed.
"…and the Lord of the North himself… into this conflict."
He lifted his head toward the darkened sky.
And said slowly, word by word:
"And I will make the vampires pay for killing my son… drop… by drop."
And in that moment—the transformation began.
His forelimbs bent sharply.
Then—
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The bones of his shoulders and arms shattered, shifting from within in an impossible way, as if his body were being reforged under a force that knew no mercy.
Gray fur fell away—thick tufts scattering across the ground like ash drifting from a burning sky.
His back arched.
And the bones of his spine cracked one after another:
Kraaak… kkkraaak…
His skin stretched.
Contracted.
His breathing turned into ragged gasps, laced with pain and rage.
The fingers of his hands tore free from the shape of claws.
Tendons ripped—then were rewoven with brutal speed:
Shshkk— crack!— crack!
His groan rose among the trees.
Not a groan of weakness.
But the groan of a creature that embraced pain… as part of its strength.
And when the last remnants of fur fell away—there stood a man.
Pale skin.
Short gray hair tinged with white.
A light beard of the same color.
And eyes… still the eyes of a wolf.
He appeared to be in his mid-fifties or early sixties, yet standing before him felt like standing before a mountain that understood the meaning of killing.
His body was average, leaning toward lean, yet his bearing was solid… declaring a leader who does not retreat.
He raised his hand.
And wiped away a streak of blood that had seeped from him.
Then he spoke in a low voice… deep… inhuman:
"I will go ignite discord… between the vampires… and the hunters."
He turned away.
And added without looking back: You… gather the remaining wolf clans."
And in that moment—the gray wolves began to assemble behind him.
Each wolf lifted its head toward the sky.
And their eyes burned with a single vow: This war… will end only with blood.
At that moment, in the town of San Hollow, Lili was getting ready for bed.
She had finished brushing her teeth and put on her pajamas, and when she finally sat on her bed, a faint sense of relief flowed through her exhausted body.
Then—
Knock.
A faint sound… barely audible.
She ignored it.
Maybe the wind.
Maybe her imagination.
But the sound did not stop.
Knock… knock…
It grew more insistent, steady, as if someone were truly standing there.
Lili sighed with boredom mixed with drowsiness and slowly got up, heading toward the window.
She pulled the curtain aside.
And opened the window—then froze.
Alex.
He was standing on her window's balcony.
His clothes were disheveled, his hair messy, and his eyes… were unsettled, as if they carried the weight of something left unsaid.
She stared at him in shock.
And said in a surprised voice, kept low so as not to wake anyone:
"Alex… you… how did you get up here? And what's wrong with you? It's very late, and you're sneaking into my bedroom window?"
Alex lifted his eyes to her.
A weary… exhausted look… as if it had been drained by a night longer than it could endure.
He said in a low voice:
"Lili… I want to come in. May I?"
Lili sighed.
She hesitated for a moment, then said:
"Alright… you can come in. Go ahead. But you have to explain afterward, agreed?"
He did not answer.
He entered the room in silence.
And the moment his feet touched the floor—he embraced her.
Tightly.
With a force that unsettled her, stealing her breath.
He leaned slightly, inhaled her scent deeply, as if clinging to something anchoring him to this world, then closed his eyes.
And whispered near her ear, in a trembling voice:
"Lili… I think I've fallen in love with you."
Lili's face flushed instantly.
Her body stiffened, and her words stumbled as she tried to pull back slightly:
"Alex… what are you… we… you… you're reckless… don't think about strange things, okay?"
She lowered her voice, trying to regain her composure: We'll talk about this later… at a suitable time. Anyway, we don't really know each other well yet. Let's first… get to know each other."
But within her arms—Alex still had his eyes closed.
Lili stood where she was.
Stunned.
As if time had stopped for a brief… cruel moment.
She slowly raised her hand and touched her neck.
She felt warmth.
A sticky liquid… seeping.
She lowered her hand.
Blood.
She stared at her palm, her eyes widening unconsciously.
She murmured in a faint voice, barely audible:
"Alex… you're strange…"
She hesitated, then continued as if trying to convince herself:
"I thought it was a kiss on my neck… with a light bite… but…"
Her gaze dropped to the blood in her hand.
"Why is there blood?"
Her voice trembled.
"What does this mean…?"
She moved slowly toward the mirror.
Each step heavier than the last.
She lifted her head.
And looked.
On her neck—the mark was clear.
Two small drops of blood slowly trailing down,
and around them… two close-set marks.
Bite marks.
Not human.
Clean… precise… unnatural.
Exactly—like in series and films.
The marks of a vampire's bite.
Lili held her breath.
And for the first time—She felt that what had happened was not a fleeting mistake…
but the beginning of something terrifying
she was not ready for.