The first thing I remember is the smell of damp stone and expensive cologne. The second is being picked up by a werewolf lord in a remote Gothic manor who was, objectively, handsome enough to make angels weep. He had the money, the face, the eight-pack, and a case of OCD and self-loathing so severe it was practically a second personality. I was bracing myself for either a kidnapping plot or a serious case of Stockholm syndrome. Instead, in a desperate attempt to get me into a bathtub, he consulted an ancient tome and then proceeded to strip naked. Looking at his gorgeous face, which was practically screaming “Aren’t I doing a good job?”, I came to a profound realization: when a species evolves, sometimes it leaves a little bit of the common sense behind. 1 The man who took me in was Alaric, the last werewolf lord of Moonshadow Keep. Right now, his brow was furrowed, his knuckles white where he gripped the collar of my shirt. His eyes, the color of storm clouds over a winter sea, seemed to hold their own light in the candle-haunted gloom. He was assessing me like a priceless antique someone had dropped in the mud. He wanted to give me a bath. I fought him with everything I had, my nails snagging on the fine wool of his coat, leaving faint red scratches across the wrist of the hand that clamped down on mine. With an exasperated sigh, he pinned me between the cold stone wall and the surprising heat of his body. With one hand, he reached into his long coat and produced a heavy, silver-edged book. Those stormy eyes scanned the yellowed pages, searching, it seemed, for some forgotten spell to tame a stubborn pet. After a moment, he snapped the book shut, a strange, thoughtful look on his face. “To purify a mortal vessel,” he murmured, the words sounding like a half-remembered prayer, “the guardian must first reveal his own untainted form, as a sign of harmlessness.” And so, as I watched in stunned silence, Alaric began to unbutton his elaborate tunic. One by one, the jet-black clasps came undone. The velvet coat slid from his shoulders and pooled on the floor, as silent as a falling shadow. Next came the linen shirt, embroidered with a crest I didn’t recognize. I could only stare as he shed every layer. Moonlight streamed through a high, arched window, tracing a pale, ethereal glow over the sharp lines of his body. The muscles were sleek and powerful, not with the bulk of a human athlete, but with the fluid grace of a predator. I was frozen solid, the blood turning to ice in my veins. Alaric, however, looked as if he had just completed a perfectly normal and necessary ritual. He walked to the enormous, sarcophagus-like stone tub, then turned back, his expression a mixture of confusion and earnest expectation. “Clara,” he said, and my new name echoed in the cavernous bathroom. “Now. It is your turn.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and gestured vaguely for him to at least turn around. “Okay, before we go any further, we need to have a talk,” I said, my voice hoarse with shock. “Rule number one: no getting naked in front of the human.” He shifted his weight, a gesture of innate arrogance that, for the first time, was undermined by a clear flicker of uncertainty. 2 My captor, I soon learned, was a very melancholy werewolf. “I was not seeking to end my life that night,” he explained later. “It was an old ritual, an attempt to soothe the restlessness in my blood. I did not expect… to find you.” He recalled the moment, his brow crinkling. “You were covered in grime, clutching a piece of scorched, twisted metal. You looked utterly lost, and yet you were trying to take a bite out of it.” He shuddered. “I could not abide it.” “It was too… chaotic.” “I thought, before the beast within me consumed this estate entirely, I could at least throw away that piece of junk and get you cleaned up.” And that was how I was brought to Moonshadow Keep. Thinking back on it, the whole thing felt like a fever dream. Who would have guessed that this aloof, aristocratic lord was secretly waging such a violent war against himself? The deep, jagged lines on his wrists, clotted with dark blood, looked like grim runes against his pale skin. When he saw me looking at his arms, he subtly pulled his cuffs down. “Don’t look. They are unsightly marks.” “After you are clean,” he stated, his tone flat, “I will find a suitable guardian for you, and I will send you away.” I nodded without a second’s hesitation. Alaric’s expression darkened. He stared at me, saying nothing. I was brutally honest, pointing toward his scarred wrist. “You don’t seem to care much for your own soul. I can’t expect you to truly care for me.” “If I stayed with you,” I said softly, “I don’t think I would ever know peace.” He was furious. At dinner, he carved the roast beef with a silver knife, the blade scraping against the porcelain with a piercing shriek that echoed through the cavernous dining hall. Yet, the plate he set before me held a perfectly cooked meal fit for a human. I ate in silence, refusing to engage with his simmering rage. At the far end of the long table, the werewolf’s every breath was a study in suppressed volatility. “You ate my food,” he said, his voice cold. “You found me, you feed me,” I replied without looking up. I didn’t understand why he was so unstable. The first night he brought me here, I had curled up on a sofa in a side parlor and slept surprisingly well. But in the middle of the night, Alaric shook me awake, dark circles already forming under his eyes. “What have you done to me? Why can I not sleep?” Every time he closed his eyes, he said, all he could see was my small, fragile form curled on the cushions. I was completely baffled. “What does your insomnia have to do with me?” He stared at me, those silver-gray eyes practically glowing in the dark. Suddenly, he threw his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck and breathing in deeply. It wasn’t a sniff; it was like he was drawing something essential from me, like air. He tried to haul me off to the massive bed in his chambers, and I started to struggle. “You’re insane!” “You told me I wasn’t allowed in your private wing!” Alaric clamped a hand over my mouth, his voice a ragged whisper. “I’ve changed my mind.” He rested his chin on my shoulder and closed his eyes. Moments later, the sound of his long, steady breathing filled the silence. I lay stiffly in his arms, staring up at the shadows of the stone beams on the ceiling. This werewolf lord, I decided, had absolutely no integrity. 3 Because I put my foot down, Alaric did not, in the end, help me bathe. He simply stood outside the heavy oak door, stubbornly explaining the function of the ancient crystal faucets. His voice was strained. He hung a change of clothes on the door handle, then walked away with deliberately heavy footsteps, as if to broadcast his gentlemanly departure. I peeked through the crack in the door, then quickly snatched the clothes inside. From the shadows at the end of the hall, the werewolf lord who was supposed to have left had a hand covering his face, but his eyes were locked on my every move through the gaps in his fingers. He was radiating a bizarre scent, a mixture of shame and deep satisfaction. After my bath, I found two beds had been placed in my room. One was his, ornate and enormous. The other was small, simple, and clearly for me. “You really can’t give me my own room?” Alaric, now back to his usual composed self, patted the edge of my small bed with a faint smile. “I cannot.” A human soul, he explained, was far too fragile. It required the protection of a powerful being nearby to acclimate to the nights at Moonshadow Keep. I gritted my teeth and accepted his grand-sounding excuse. I lay down, folded my hands over my stomach, and closed my eyes peacefully. I heard a soft rustling sound behind me. Alaric’s enormous, silver-white wolf tail snaked out from his side of the room and gently tucked the corner of my blanket in. “Goodnight, my… Clara.” I said nothing. I don’t know how much time passed before my eyes snapped open again. Who could possibly fall asleep at dusk in a creepy, ancient manor? My sudden movement startled Alaric, who had been leaning over me. “Wh-what is it?” he stammered, his intention to secretly touch my cheek while I slept now painfully obvious. I sat up and sighed. “Tomorrow, can you get me a magic mirror or something I can use to connect to the outside world? I can’t sleep without some kind of reading material.” Alaric hemmed and hawed. “No, a human’s eyes are delicate. The arcane light would burn them.” I pressed my lips together and stared at him, my expression blank. “Please.” He flinched, and his wolf tail gave a slight, involuntary twitch. “Fine. But I have a condition,” he said, holding up three fingers. “Since I brought you to this castle, you have defied me three times.” “I want to be repaid.” Beggars can’t be choosers. I offered him my cheek and closed my eyes. “Go on, then.” A frantic flurry of kisses fell upon me. I went into a state of complete, soul-crushing surrender as he held me, touching his lips to my cheeks, the backs of my hands, even my forehead, with an almost religious reverence. “Clara, you smell of moonlight and clean spring water. It’s intoxicating.” “I am no longer the beast guarding an empty fortress alone!” He was lost in the simple pleasure of breathing me in, completely oblivious to the fact that my face was burning hot. I finally understood how kittens felt when they were snatched up and sniffed obsessively by their human owners. I held up a finger and pressed it against his approaching lips. “Alright, three acts of defiance. You’ve more than paid yourself back in kisses.” “No more.” Alaric stopped. Then he hugged me and took another long, slow breath, so deep it felt like he was trying to inhale my very soul. I just let him. 4 Because humans, apparently, require a “sense of social value,” Alaric arranged a “job” for me. This so-called “Sanctuary” was in a small town just outside the walls of Moonshadow Keep. It was a place designed to offer temporary comfort to supernatural beings who found the eternal twilight of this realm unsettling. And I, as the only human for miles, was the most valuable soothing agent on the market. My first day, my first client was an exceedingly proud and delicate Elven noble. He clutched his chest, claiming his heart ached. “I do apologize for the intrusion, but the pain is unbearable,” he said, looking up at me weakly, his lips unnaturally pale. “I believe… I require the solace of a human’s touch to mend it.” I silently filled out his intake form, then double-checked. “Are you quite sure your heart is not located somewhere else?” The Elven noble nodded firmly. “Yes, I am certain.” I opened my arms to him and asked softly, “Would you like a hug?” He practically dove into my embrace, letting out a blissful sigh. “So content…” As he hugged me, he surreptitiously wiped off the white powder he’d used to make his lips look so pale. I understood. They were here to “get a fix” of humanity. The lord of the manor, who had been spending his days staring pensively at the sky from a 45-degree angle, stopped his brooding the day I came home with a young vampire who claimed he was “about to molt” and needed a safe place. Alaric was aghast. He stared in disbelief at Casimir, who was draped dramatically over my shoulders. “You’re going to keep him?!” I nodded. Casimir politely inclined his head toward Alaric. He just needed a safe haven to get through his vulnerable phase, and he had paid handsomely for it. “I do not approve!” Alaric’s voice cracked with emotion. “I have not yet been consumed by my bloodline, and you are already seeking your next guardian?” “I will not have this… this bloodsucking leech in my house! Impossible!”
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