1

he bright moon held its place in the warm, night sky. The muted white light poured onto the forest below as a frightened girl made her way through the scratching branches and dense brush. Her lungs and muscles starved for air and begged her to cease running. But she refused. Nothing had the power to sway her mind now.
A few pounding strides behind her was the creature she tried to escape. She had no fear from the werewolves of whom she belonged to, but this one particular wolf… he was different. He wasn’t from Clayton’s Pack.
The girl reached the base of an old oak tree. She leaned against it, allowing this short break to calm her nerves. But there was another set of eyes watching her on this night. Up in a tree, well out of her visual range, stood an old soul. He had been following this little chase with his sharp eyes, and his interest had yet to diminish. Though the vampire wished he were the one giving chase, he knew well to keep his distance.
Leaves and underbrush rustled as the wolf neared the tired girl. When she heard the sounds, she was off again, making her way toward the only place where she felt safe. Running faster on her weakening legs, she finally made it to a thick metal door on the hill’s side.
The vampire caught sight of the large wolf as it slunk past the base of the tree. He then looked over at the girl who began struggling with the heavy door.
“She’s there,” the vampire called out to the wolf’s mind. “Stop her before she warns them.”
The wolf increased his speed. The human stopped to look back at the wolf as it shot out from the thick undergrowth, leaping for her, his mouth clamping around her fragile neck. Giving a quick twist, the girl’s neck snapped. The wolf dropped his kill and stepped back.
The vampire approached the wolf and tossed a large, black duffle bag at the animal, then crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for his next order. The werewolf looked up at the vampire and spoke with his mind. “Get rid of the body.”
Doing as he was told, the vampire picked up the dead girl and carried her away from the scene. It wasn’t that he had to dispose of the body, but rather keep it from being seen or smelled by any stray werewolves or others who may happen to pass by while they were inside the den.
And what a den it was. The wolf could sense the heavy presence from outside. It was a perversion of everything he was raised to believe. These creatures who called themselves werewolves were nothing more than wolves who were once human, indulging in vulgar desires of the flesh rather than listening to the soft voice of the world around. They were truly lost. But he wasn’t here to pass judgment over these creatures; he was there to do the job he was hired for.
The wolf raised his head into the night air and breathed deep. He picked up on the vampire’s aura and the scent of the girl’s body. This was going to be a good night.
Relaxing his muscles, he pushed away his fur and called upon his human form. Bones and muscles twisted and reshaped themselves, leaving him less intimidating in appearance. His human facade; short, sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and an overall innocence that was the perfect disguise.
With his form complete, he walked over to the duffle bag, removed his clothes, and began to dress. He then reopened the bag and grabbed his small arsenal. Nothing much, just a .44 Desert Eagle handgun, a holster carrying full magazines, and additional rounds, just in case things got too out of hand. Though he disliked the gun’s heavy recoil and noise, it was the power behind it he favored the most.
The vampire, however, carried only one weapon on this night—a silver knife stylized in an unusual cut. The blade once belonged to a powerful vampire who made a living killing werewolves over the centuries. But the vampire on this night didn’t consider himself a werewolf hunter—he did this for fun. There were no long term plans for him in this field of work. And the werewolf knew this, as well.
Returning to the scene, the vampire waited for the second phase of the plan to get underway.
“Nothing fancy like last time, all right?” the werewolf said.
The vampire gave a small grin as he remembered the time the wolf spoke of. For this night, however, he was willing to agree with the wolf’s order.
Nicholas Conrad was the werewolf’s name. He came from a well-known pack led by his father, Richard Conrad. The heart of the pack centered around his father’s land in southern Oregon. On this land, Richard allowed other members of the pack to live in houses he built. To the outsiders, Conrad’s land appeared more like a town onto itself.
As the years passed, Nicholas’ father delved deep into the capturing and torture of vampires. Something he saw as a harmless hobby at first driven by the death of his wife. Members from the pack, as well as Nicholas, grew concerned about Richard’s pastime. This caused a rift to form within the pack. Questioning their alpha’s ability to place the pack first before all other matters, a decision was made to leave Richard to his madness. The fear of vengeful vampires and curious hunters broke the tranquil veil over their little “town.” Nicholas, however, remained at his father’s home. He stayed out of loyalty.
And now, ten years later, he thought less of his father and more about the preservation of his species and traditions. Though this left him at odds with himself. Here he was, without a pack, labeled a rogue by other werewolves, yet he fought to keep their rules in check.
The vampire’s name, as spoken only once from his lips, was Arden. Beyond a name, Nicholas knew little of the vampire who chose to follow him. It was ten years ago when they first met, the same night he witnessed his father’s death. Nicholas shed no tears for his father.
Ten years. It seemed like another lifetime.

The den, home to fourteen impure werewolves, all of them male, referred to themselves as a pack, but they were nothing more than rogues who banded together. Each one carried three things in common; they were once human, disregarded the rules set by their kind, and lived only to satisfy their skewed vision of what their new life granted them.
Rogue. A term used to describe a werewolf who had no pack, by either choice or banishment. These rogues were impure wolves living on the fringes of respected werewolf societies. Many of the prominent werewolf packs had gone as far as to hire vampires to clean them out. Of course, dealings like these were never openly talked about.
The night before, the strongest members of the rogue pack tore through the nearest town. They took with them anything they deemed worthy, including several teenage girls, most of them runaways. The girls were taken for the obvious reasons. There were other humans the pack kept with them, their fates sealed within the attention span of their captors.
One particular girl was seen as a favorite by the self-proclaimed alpha. But it was apparent to everyone that she wished to be far away from this hole in the ground. Yet she saw this as a life of convenience. She needed a place to feel safe, and he offered it to her on shackles of fear and controlling threats. She learned fast in the early days at his side.
Throughout the first year with the pack, the girl remained secure in the knowledge of who she was but forgot her past and family. Her new life stripped away anything human, yet this strengthened her survival skills. Be a good horse and yield to the bit, she would tell herself.
The den was nothing more than an abandoned mine shaft with plenty of corridors and other rooms. Over the years it had been fixed up to appear less like a mine. From the looks of the current interior, it resembled more like a place set aside for the homeless. But anything was better than the cold, bare walls from before.
The alpha, named Clayton, lay on his bed of stolen blankets and pillows. There was no need for a mattress. The blankets served their purpose against the hard floor of the cave. His room was the second largest in the den and housed his many pets. His favorite, who everyone called Jayda, rested near him. She had only a single thin blanket and a worn-out pillow to use against the cold floor.
Clayton began to wake, along with the others in the cave. The three nights of the full moon were a day away, and everyone was beginning to feel the anticipation. It wasn’t that they had to wait for a full moon to change into their wolf form, but the three nights brought forth a forced change, something all werewolves were cursed to do. Many impures saw it as a curse to their new freedom. The purebloods, however, saw it differently.
“Purebloods,” Clayton would say in disgust. He always scoffed at the air surrounding purebloods. The high and mighty. The arrogant and pompous. He imagined plenty of times meeting a pureblood just to test his true strength. He savored the idea.

The door wasn’t hard to open. There were no locks or any other security measures in place. Nicholas understood this as a silent expression of invincibility. Entering the dark corridor, he held one of the guns in his hand while keeping the other free. The vampire followed.
A strong scent of lit candle’s and musty earth struck them first. The smell nearly overshadowed the unmistakable scent of the wolves.
Candles. Nicholas pointed out to himself. Impure werewolves were strange like that. Perhaps it was the conflicting blood within them. They tended to keep many of their human traits, such as the possession of material items. And this den was clear proof of that. Many purebloods would never change a natural den beyond natural means. This meant no intrusion of manmade objects: no chairs, tables, or even lanterns. The den in which they entered looked more like an underground playhouse.
As they rounded the first corner, a man crossed their path and stopped upon seeing them. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Who the hell are you?”
Arden moved from behind Nicholas and swung his hand. The man caught a fleeting glimpse of the silver knife before it was sent into his neck, moving from one side to the other. A small shudder left the man as he fell to the floor, head almost severed.
“That’s more like it,” Nicholas whispered. He gave the dead man no second thought. He was a human and a loyal servant to the pack. But as they were ordered, everyone within the den had to die. Werewolf and human.
They continued on.

Jayda felt Clayton leave her side. She kept her eyes shut and tried to rest a few moments longer. But if history told her any differently, Clayton would wake her just as soon as she returned to sleep. Anticipating this, her body refused to relax.
Her eyes finally opened and saw the other girls laying in the room. They, too, tried to sleep. Her heart wanted to ache for them. These girls were new to this madness. They would learn in time or die from their refusal to yield.
She turned her head to the horrific scene from the previous night. The bodies of the three girls remained in the far corner: stripped, bloodied, and missing large chunks of flesh. Jayda knew that she and the other girls would be ordered to remove the bodies and burn them. They were Clayton’s orders from before and no doubt tonight would be the same.
Showing no hints of disgust, Jayda looked away and closed her eyes. There was a fine line she walked each night. Her life rested in her talent to please her keeper.

“I think there’s eight,” concluded Nicholas.
The two walked deeper into the den, finding more signs of life the further they went.
Arden didn’t agree with Nicholas’ assumption. The werewolf had been wrong in the past and his pride suffered for it in the form of a severed arm. But a severed arm wasn’t as terrible as it seemed. Werewolves healed just as fast as vampires and even carried the special trait of regeneration.
“Yeah, there’s eight,” said Nicholas, more confident.
“There’s nine,” Arden quietly corrected.
“If you say so. How many humans?”
“Thirteen. All female.”
Nicholas shook his head. “Figures.”
The job they were contracted for was straight forwarded; enter the den and kill everyone, then return with the leader’s head. Their payment wasn’t the real reason they took jobs such as these. It was the act of cleansing the world of the corrupt that drove Nicholas. But he wasn’t sure why Arden chose to fight at his side.

“Someone’s here,” one of the werewolves said. He stood in the center of the chamber, his body in human form.
Clayton stretched his arms above his head, showing little concern at the possibility of intruders. “Take John with you and check it out.”
Sitting on her makeshift bed, Jayda watched the two werewolves leave the main chamber. People had wandered into the den in the past. The common visitors were the homeless, seeking a safe place to stay for the night.
Not human…
Jayda felt a cool rush run from her fingers and toes and inward, settling within her stomach. The sensation jolted her. Clayton picked up on the familiar change in his pet, the real reason he chose to keep her around.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Jayda’s eyes fought to focus on anything. “I…”
“Well?”
The coolness within her body numbed her skin. As it faded, another realization entered her mind. The truth as she saw it was rarely accompanied by any visions. She just knew them as fact, truths that can never be changed.
Jayda finally looked up, one of the rare times she dared to meet his eyes. “We’re all going to die.”
Clayton’s face contorted into a sneer as he turned to the exit the other two werewolves took. He marched across the room, ordering the others to follow him. Before they could exit the chamber, gunshots rang out, startling the humans more than the werewolves. Clayton and the others prepared themselves for the battle heading their way. Throughout the chaos and lack of skill, the impure wolves were uncertain as to how many were heading their way.
Forcing herself to move, Jayda crawled to the furthest corner of the chamber. The remaining girls cowered around each other, the tables turning as they looked to their captors to keep them safe.
The scene fell quiet. Clayton and six other werewolves waited in the center of the room, eyes locked on the dark exit. Jayda, too, stared into the darkness, the flickering light from the candles doing little to help her see.
The sound of footsteps entered the room, each strike of the heavy-soled boots telling of the calmness within their owner. Through the darkness, Jayda saw the form of a man take shape as the candle light found him. He was dressed all in black and wore a coat that almost touched the floor. His pale face stood out against his long, dark hair, solidifying Jayda’s first realization. Not human… Vampire.
As the closest werewolf lunged for his attack, the vampire counterattacked, never once losing his calm exterior.
Jayda saw the blur of movements from the two. Before any clear victor could be seen, two other werewolves joined the fight, their forms shifting into a more beastly appearance. The vampire threw his hand on top of one werewolf. Jayda spotted the knife in his hand. The skill with which he used the blade left it blending in with his body, as though it were apart of him. A second wolf felt the ferocity of the knife as it sliced upwards, catching his body from groin to chest. The third wolf attacked along with the fourth. One dropped just as fast as the others, but the other found himself in the vampire’s grip, his hand holding tight around his neck. The vampire stared at the werewolf before slowly letting go. He stepped to the side. The werewolf seemed stunned by his actions.
A loud bang and a flash of light filled the darkened corridor. The werewolf, once standing before the vampire, collapsed to the floor. The final two werewolves waited for Clayton’s order.
Another set of footsteps came to Jayda’s ears. She looked beyond Clayton to see a young man with short, blond hair, wearing clothing more fitting of a typical human. But this one wasn’t a human either.
Clayton’s nostrils flared as he took in this one’s scent. “A pureblood,” he said in disgust. “You dare to walk in here with your undead freak? You must have a death wish, boy.”
“Standing back while the others fight for you,” the pureblood said, “and now barking out cheesy threats, you must be the leader.”
“Alpha,” he corrected.
“I see no alpha here, only puppies playing pretend.” He kept his eyes on Clayton and added, “This freak at my side has been ordered not to harm you. I, on the other hand, have ordered myself to not to use any guns on you.” He backed up his words by tossing the gun to the ground, followed by the holster.
The other two werewolves sensed the oncoming battle and changed their forms to match their growing rage. Rage was no fuel for the pureblood, however, it was disgust.

Nicholas’ heart continued its steady rhythm. The other three werewolves were unable to do the same. Their hearts raced among the anger and bloodlust, sending unneeded adrenaline throughout their bodies. Amateurs, he inwardly scoffed.
Arden stepped away from Nicholas’ side, drawing the attention of the two flanking werewolves. He, too, took Nicholas’ lead and disarmed himself, dropping the knife near the discarded gun.
The leader made the first move as he ran for Nicholas, his body blending fast into his beast form. In response to his attack, the other wolves went for the vampire.

Jayda tore her eyes from the scene. She crawled further into her corner, concealing herself behind an outcropping of rock. She drew up her legs and buried her face into her knees. The sounds from the fighting gave birth to images in her mind as she visualized Clayton’s final moments. But she knew these moments were also her last. The “visions” she saw always came true, they never changed. She was only thankful she didn’t know how it would end for her.
The growling from the werewolves slowly ceased. Jayda held her breath. They were all dead. From the center of the room, she heard the pureblood werewolf speaking. His words sent the cowering girls into hysterical cries. “I’m sorry,” she heard him say.
Jayda hugged her knees tighter as the sound of gunshots rang out. Another stretch of silence filled the room. The pureblood began speaking again, commenting on the Clayton, the den, and the poor humans whom he just killed. Jayda’s curiosity sent her to her hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the large rock concealing the scene. Her eyes landed on a black form. Looking upwards, she saw the vampire towering over her, his dark eyes studying her with his own curiosity. Jayda’s mouth opened as she wanted to gasp and scream at the same time. The crushing weight of fear smothered her rational mind. Instinct drove her to run.

The human slipped past Arden and ran for the exit. Upon reaching the dead body of the self-proclaimed leader, she froze.
Nicholas raised his gun and aimed at the mess of short, black hair on the girl’s head.
Arden’s hand gently pushed Nicholas’ arm to the side, silently claiming this kill as his.
The werewolf lowered the gun as the vampire approached the stunned human. The girl, transfixed by the torn body of her keeper, saw all of her thoughts blanketed by a veil of thick, white fog. The chaos that had always plagued her was gone. The fog grew into a blinding, white light. She could see her body floating within its heat and hear a humming, starting low within the depths of her mind, and then rising to a deafening squelch.
Nicholas watched the human in Arden’s arms. She didn’t fight him as he drank from her. The look on her face showed peace. Did she really want to die?
Arden’s face twisted in a sign of pain. He let go of the human and doubled over, grabbing his head in his hands. The girl collapsed, the peaceful, blank stare still locked on her face.
“What’s wrong?” asked Nicholas.
Holding his head in an attempt to quiet the phantom pains, Arden tried to search for the answer himself. “She’s not a normal human.”
“What is she?”
The vampire fought through the pain. The effects began to subside. “I don’t know what she is.”
Nicholas aimed the gun at the girl’s head.
“Don’t kill her,” said Arden.
“No one is to live, remember?”
“She lives.”
Nicholas heard the rare infliction in the vampire’s voice. The change caught him off guard. “If that’s what you want,” he said, lowering the gun. He then nodded at the girl. “I hope you didn’t take too much.”
Arden’s composure returned to normal as he answered, “Barely a stomach full.”
Looking down at the den’s pathetic leader, Nicholas sighed. “Not much of a fight. I was really disappointed with this one. Let’s get this over with.”