The blood they want....
The room was dim, lit only by the eerie glow of candles circling the stone altar she lay on. Chains bound Amelia's wrists and ankles, cold against her skin. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but not from pain—yet. From fear.
Shadows moved in the corners, whispering in tongues that made her skin crawl.
Then they emerged.
The woman from last night, tall and regal, with obsidian hair and eyes that shimmered red—a witch, who was introduced later on.
Beside her, a man cloaked in robes, his fingers stained with ink and blood—a vampire. They circled her like predators, reverent and hungry.
"You don't know what you are yet, do you?" the vampire purred, stroking Amelia's hair.
"I'm not your lab rat," Amelia spat, struggling against her chains.
The witch chuckled, dark and hollow. "We're not here to test what you are, darling. We're here to make you."
Before she could scream, the first blade sank into her shoulder. Agony shot through her, but no blood spilled. Her skin shimmered with a strange silver sheen—and healed. She gasped.
Again, they stabbed—chest, thigh, side.
And each time, she should have died.
But she didn't.
Something inside her was shifting.
Waking up.
The witch leaned closer. "You were born of two bloods—human and something far older. You don't die because death has no claim on you anymore."
Moonblood.
That was what they had said.
The word echoed in her mind like a curse—and a promise.
A word she didn't understand.
The vampire's smile widened. "You're becoming what the werewolves fear, and what we desire."
Amelia's eyes began to glow faintly—not human, not vampire, not witch. Something in-between.
The chains shattered like brittle glass, her body surging with something wild—untamed. Power licked at her veins, ancient and unfamiliar, like a storm barely held at bay. For a breathless second, she thought she could break free.
But her legs buckled.
The altar spun.
Her strength faded as fast as it had come, leaving her gasping on the cold floor. Her body wasn't ready. Not yet.
The witch crouched beside her, his voice calm and cruel. "Did you really think you were complete? That you could harness it so soon? You're still becoming, Amelia Stones. Moonblood isn't a gift—it's a war inside your flesh."
The vampire stood over her with a satisfied smile. "We've seen enough. The transformation is starting. Your body heals. Your soul resists. That makes you... promising."
Amelia tried to speak, but her tongue was thick, her body heavy.
"You won't remember all of this," the vampire whispered. "Only fragments. But you'll feel it. The pull. The hunger. The change."
Then everything went black.
---
When she woke, she was lying on soft earth, the scent of pine and cold wind filling her lungs. The woods stretched endlessly around her, moonlight dappling the leaves.
Her clothes were torn but clean. Her wounds—gone. Not even a scar.
A mark burned faintly on her wrist: a crescent moon entwined with thorns. She didn't know what it meant, only that it was part of her now.
Voices echoed faintly in her mind—"We'll see you soon."
A chill crept up her spine.
She wasn't safe.
And she wasn't the same.
The forest was quiet, too quiet. No owls, no wind, not even the rustle of leaves. Just the sound of her own heartbeat—steady but fast.
Amelia wandered aimlessly, drawn by some instinct she couldn't name. Her limbs felt heavier than before, but stronger too. She could hear the snap of branches beneath her feet, the shift of animals in the distance… and something else. Something following.
She stumbled into a small clearing, where a crooked cottage leaned against a dying oak.
Smoke curled from the chimney.
Someone lived here.
She approached slowly.
The door creaked open before she could knock.
An old woman with pale skin and eyes the color of dried blood stood in the doorway.
Her mouth curled into a smile that didn't touch her eyes.
"Oh, my. Look what the night dragged in," she said, licking her lips. "You're ripe, child. So ripe."
Amelia stepped back.
"You reek of magic and moonlight… but more than that, your blood sings. I haven't smelled blood like yours in centuries."
The woman's nails grew as she spoke, curling into claws. Her face shifted slightly—less human now. Too smooth. Too sharp.
What the fuck?
Amelia's breath caught.
"You're not just a girl anymore," the woman hissed. "You're becoming something rare. And I—"
She lunged.
Amelia turned and ran.
Who on earth does that?
Amelia had seen enough madness to know that her life was in danger.
Branches whipped her face. Thorns clawed at her legs. But she didn't stop. Something primal pushed her forward, her instincts screaming:
Run. Find safety. Find him.
She didn't know who he was but something or someone was yelling for her to find him.
She didn't know how far she ran, only that her lungs burned and her legs wouldn't give out.
And then—howls in the distance.
Not threatening. Familiar.
She was nearing a place that smelled heavenly. She didn't know how she knew that, but every cell in her body surged toward it.
She stumbled into the border clearing, just as shadows burst from the trees ahead.
Snarls. Fur. Glowing golden eyes.
Then—
"Help" she whispered before collapsing.