The ride lasted three hours before the car finally pulled up in front of a building. The journey had been long, silent, and suffocating, with only the occasional murmured command or sigh breaking the stillness. Guards opened the wide gate as they entered the vicinity, the tires crunching softly over the smooth gravel.
The place was calm and beautiful—like a castle. Tall, elegant towers loomed in the distance, framed by perfectly trimmed hedges and marble statues standing like silent sentinels along the driveway. The air smelled faintly of roses and something metallic. The car slowed to a stop in front of a massive mansion painted in deep, striking red. Its gothic architecture gave off a regal yet intimidating aura.
Two men dressed in pure black appeared immediately, stepping forward in sync with the car's final halt.
"Welcome, your highness," they greeted Ezekiel in unison, bowing slightly.
"Hmm. What is so welcoming? We brought a dog! Just take it and go kill it for all I care!" Shane snapped, his tone thick with disgust.
Shane was a pureblooded vampire, only four decades old—young and fiery. His elder brother, Simon, the redhead, was seven centuries older. The difference was laughable. Shane might be impulsive and brash, but Simon had experience, wit, and patience like a coiled serpent. He was cunning, sneaky, and playful, but never mistaken for harmless. When Shane messed up, Simon didn't hesitate to remind him of his place.
"Yes," the men responded, preparing to check the boot, assuming the 'dog' Shane spoke of was inside.
"Stop!" Zeke's voice cut through the air like a whip. The men froze, not even daring to breathe.
"She's inside the passenger seat here," He informed as he stepped out of the car and moved aside.
"Yes, your highness," they exhaled. Opening the door, they leaned in and carefully lifted Luna like a sack of weightless sand. Her body was limp, fragile. She didn't even flinch. She had no strength to move, no energy to resist. Her eyes fluttered open halfway but closed again just as quickly.
'Where am I?' she thought vaguely, her mind foggy. She could feel movement, the shift of arms beneath her, but everything else was a blur.
Shane rushed out of the car, trailing behind the men with a strange glint in his eyes. He looked like a child too eager to watch a punishment unfold—until he was stopped by a firm hand.
"Shane? Where the hell do you think you're going?" Simon's voice was low and sharp.
"Brother, I need to make sure she doesn't escape! This Luna of a girl is no good," Shane replied, his footsteps not slowing.
"Shane! You have to go to the academy!" Simon snapped, halting him in place.
"Why?" he asked, visibly frustrated, almost whining.
"Because you need to train. So as you're entering that mansion, I expect you to pack up. I'll drop you off myself," Simon said, crossing his arms.
Shane groaned but knew better than to argue. His brother's word was final—even when it ruined his fun.
"I'll do that another time. I just want to rest?" he said, clearly frustrated. His shoulders sagged as if the weight of the entire day had drained every ounce of energy from him.
Simon clenched his fists, his jaw tightening in irritation. He wanted to scold him—again. But then...
"Let him do what he wants. To train is not by force. Moreover, he's already a good fighter," Zeke spoke nonchalantly, leaning against the wall with an unreadable expression. His tone held no concern, just a simple observation.
Simon turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "All this is for his own good! I still don't understand why he's so stupid!" he fumed, voice rising with every word.
"I'm not stupid!" Shane retorted before the last syllable of Simon's outburst had settled in the air. In the blink of an eye, he was gone—just a flicker of movement and a rush of displaced air. He had already used his vampiric speed to leap into the mansion, disappearing behind the doors.
Simon reached for something nearby—a decorative vase, maybe—but his hand hovered uselessly in the air before slowly dropping to his side. He didn't bother going after him. It wasn't worth it.
"The both of you act like kids," Ezekiel confessed nonchalantly, barely glancing at Simon. He sounded more amused than annoyed, like someone commenting on a petty quarrel.
"Kids?" Simon was taken aback. His voice lost its edge for a moment, replaced by confusion.
"You're childish. You and that brother of yours," Ezekiel said, pushing off the wall and beginning to walk past him. "But I'll thank Shane later. Because of his childishness, we got Luna. So he's a smart kid now," he smirked devilishly, his voice low and deliberate.
Simon stared after him for a second, then sighed. "Indeed," he replied, the fire in his tone dimming into reluctant agreement.
Luna woke up in an underground dungeon, black and suffocating, with not a single ray of light piercing the thick darkness. The air was damp and cold, making her skin crawl. Her limbs felt like dead weight, and she was too weak to even open her eyes properly. A dull ache throbbed in her head, and every breath she took came out ragged and shallow.
The silence around her was haunting, pressing in like invisible hands around her throat. Her body bled from several wounds—sharp stings that marked every inch of her skin. She lay there, lifeless, like a dry leaf battered by the wind and discarded by the world. Her thoughts were foggy, and even the effort to understand where she was seemed too much. She wanted to move, to scream, but not a sound left her lips.
*******
Emma returned to the mansion that night, her heels echoing sharply against the marble floor. Something felt off the moment she stepped in. The silence wasn't just quiet—it was heavy, unnatural. She searched the rooms in haste, calling out for Luna, but there was no answer. Her throat tightened with dread.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Luna's number, but the line didn't connect. The disconnection was like a punch in the gut. Panic began to creep in, coiling in her chest. With trembling fingers, she scrolled through her contacts and dialed Teresa's number.
"What?" Teresa's voice snapped from the other end. She didn't like being called late—unless it was serious. As the leader of the Alpha Mega team, she always handled crisis, but rarely heard panic in Emma's voice.
"Boss is missing. Please—we need to do something!" Emma's voice cracked with desperation.
Teresa hung up immediately. Within minutes, the roar of her black motorbike echoed outside the mansion gates. She stormed in.
"Emma?" she called, her voice firm.
"Teresa, it's late, and Boss isn't back yet."
"What happened? You were with her, right? So how did she disappear?" Teresa's expression darkened as she spoke.
Emma swallowed hard, then explained everything that had happened—every detail she could remember. Teresa listened silently, jaw tightening with each word.
"Who else could it be? That Shane. That stupid vampire!" Her voice sharpened with anger. "I'm sure he's the only one who could pull shit like this."
She turned, already moving. "I'll get my team ready. For now, call the Omega Black team immediately and inform them. If Boss is with Shane, then I'm sure she's already in Ezekiel's hands."
Emma just nodded, the weight of Teresa's words hitting her like a storm.
*******
Ezekiel was on top of the tower, watching as vampires moved up and down. The place below was alive with movement—shadows darting through corridors, cloaks fluttering, whispers trailing in the breeze. It was lively, though not like the palace. The palace had order, elegance, rules. This tower, this stronghold, had chaos laced with danger. But he still preferred it here. The messiness suited him now.
Every time he came up, he found himself wondering—what kind of spell was protecting Luna? Why was it so impossible for her to die? No matter how many ways they tried, how many dark paths they walked, she always survived. If she could die right now, it would be a dream come true—not just for him, but for both the humans and supernatural beings who hated her existence.
Though humans and supernaturals coexisted under uneasy treaties, peace was relative. Vampires fed on humans—some discreetly, some openly. The humans tolerated it for survival, but resentment simmered beneath the surface. Werewolves, on the other hand, didn't need blood, and for that, they earned human trust. Not love—never love—but tolerance. Enough to stand beside each other in public.
"Your Highness," someone called from behind. "I'm afraid she's still alive." Just that one sentence. And then the person vanished.
Ezekiel sighed, long and slow. Of course she was still alive. Luna always was. She clung to life like a curse. They just had to wait—for the prophecy, and for whoever fate had chosen to kill her. Until then, they were powerless.
The morning light had already broken through the thick clouds. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, pressing the screen with calculated impatience. Teresa picked up.
"Come pick up your garbage from the street," he said flatly, and hung up without waiting for a reply.
What was the need of keeping her here if he knew she wouldn't die? She disgusted him. Her existence was a constant thorn in his side, a reminder of the one thing he couldn't control.
With a cold breath, he stepped off the tower's edge. His coat fluttered behind him as he leapt, landing on the ground with the ease of a predator. Lilies swayed around him, their pale petals brushing the wind like they were trying to soothe the ground from what it had witnessed.
He sent word. A short command—no emotions, no hesitation. Soon after, his men emerged, dragging Luna's limp body into a waiting SUV. No ceremony. No care.
They drove far, the mansion vanishing behind them, swallowed by distance and shadow. The deeper they went, the thicker the trees became. When the road narrowed into nothing but dirt and silence, they stopped.
Without a word, they threw her into the bush like discarded, condemned food. Her body tumbled down the slope, scraping against roots and stones, and came to rest in the thick weeds.
Teresa had been searching all night. Guided by intuition—or maybe guilt—she pushed through the forest until she found her. Her breath caught at the sight. Bruised, battered, but still breathing. Still clinging to life.
They brought her back in silence. The mansion was dim and quiet when they arrived. Rituals were performed hastily, desperation in every chant. Emma worked quietly, wiping the blood from Luna's face, smoothing her hair back, tucking her into clean sheets like she was a child.
"If I find Shane, I won't forgive him," Teresa muttered under her breath, voice trembling with anger—and something more fragile beneath it.