THE BLACK DOOR
That night was still hours away, but Emma already felt like she was walking into a war. She needed air. Space.
The penthouse was massive—more of a fortress than a home. It felt like here the hallway was twisted like a serpent through the penthouse, but Emma didn't get lost. Not because she knew the way, but because her instincts never allowed her to. As she wandered, she found a hallway she hadn't noticed before. The carpet was thicker here. The light dimmer.
At the end was a single black door. Unlike the rest of the open spaces, this one was locked. Thick. Cold. the Black wood had no handle. No frame. Like it didn't belong.
A shiver raced down her spine.
She stepped closer, drawn to it by instinct alone. The silence around it wasn't empty—it was breathing.
She touched the door.
And something on the other side growled.
Not loud. But deep. Low. Subtle. Predatory.
It came from the other side.
Emma's pulse didn't quicken.
She pressed her hand flat against the door.
Warm. Alive!
Her breath hitched.
The air around the door now felt colder, heavier.
And before she could press her ear to it, the housekeeper's voice called from down the hall.
"Luna Emma, your dress for the council meeting is ready."
Emma didn't move. Her hand still, on the door. The door now silent.
But something inside her whispered,
This house has secrets, and you've just touched the first one.
Emma didn't turn right away.
The housekeeper's voice still lingered down the corridor, trailing off into the hush like a whispered warning. But Emma's eyes were fixed—locked—on the black door before her.
It wasn't the kind of door one walked away from lightly.
There was no handle. No frame. The wood looked centuries old, unnaturally cold even in the filtered light of the hallway sconces. And it didn't just stand there.
It waited.
The air around it was thick—like breath fogging glass, invisible but clinging. The silence wasn't emptiness. It was a heartbeat held too long. It was breathing.
The growl that came from within had stopped minutes ago, but its echo wrapped around her like phantom claws, pressing lightly against her spine.
Still, she lingered.
She didn't know why.
Her hand still tingled. The place on her palm where the door had pulsed—warm. Alive.
Emma's inner voice wasn't screaming in fear. It was whispering in intrigue.
"Why did it feel like it wasn't locked to keep me out—but to keep something in?"
The thought sank teeth into her.
The breath she released wasn't shaky—but slow. Controlled. As if her body was calculating.
Finally, Emma turned, glancing once more over her shoulder.
The door didn't move. But somehow… it felt like it was watching her walk away.
Dressing for War
Her bedroom was flooded with golden lamplight and the scent of jasmine.
On the bed, the council dress waited like an open dare.
Deep crimson. Velvet. Dipped in elegance and trimmed in sin. It was the kind of dress that didn't whisper luxury—it commanded it. Cut to cling to every curve, with a slit high enough to hint at rebellion and a neckline that promised she didn't play safe.
The maid entered quietly behind her, head bowed.
Emma said nothing as she stepped out of her robe and allowed herself to be zipped in.
The fabric hissed as it hugged her skin.
Each inch felt heavier than the last—like armor, tailored in silk and stitched with unspoken defiance.
She didn't belong here.
They made sure she never forgot that.
But she wasn't here to belong. She was here to rewrite bloodlines.
In the mirror, she looked lethal. Every line of the dress kissed her skin like a blade disguised in beauty.
And then—
She paused.
Leaning forward toward the mirror, her eyes narrowed.
There.
Just beneath her collarbone. Faint. Almost invisible unless you looked closely.
Three shallow marks—thin claw-like lines. Barely red. Like something had touched her… without ever actually touching.
Her fingers hovered over the spot.
She didn't remember them being there.
Didn't feel pain.
And yet, when her skin brushed against them, something inside her stirred. Not fear. Something older. Something instinctual.
The growl behind the black door hadn't been wolf.
It had been something else.
Deeper. Wilder. As if the house itself exhaled through its teeth.
Emma's heart didn't race.
But her instincts whispered.
Not everything inside this house is what it seems.
She turned from the mirror with her chin held high.
The crimson dress shimmered as she moved, catching the low lamplight like blood under moonlight.
"Is the Alpha ready for the council?" she asked the maid, voice like cool silver.
The girl nodded, nervously avoiding her eyes. "Yes, Luna."
Emma smiled. Not kind. Not cruel. Just enough to unsettle.
"Then let them see the war they invited."