The air in the hidden wing of Valerius Manor turned heavy so thick it clung to the lungs like ash.
Above, the full moon pressed against the high, barred windows, flooding the room with its cold silver glare. A harsh, watchful eye. Unblinking. Unforgiving.
It wasn't just moonlight. It was force. A pull. A hum vibrating deep in the old stones, rattling in Valerius's teeth, echoing inside the ribs of the small girl writhing near the hearth.
Lyra.
She wasn't crying anymore.
She was screaming. Raw, guttural sounds that tore through her like knives.
Not words. Not even language.
Just pain.
She thrashed on the thick bedding Anya had laid down her spine arching, muscles twitching under skin that looked too tight. Bones shifted beneath the surface with audible snaps ugly, wet sounds that made Anya pale.
Lyra's voice cracked through the air, desperate and feral.
"Papa! Breaking! Make it stop!"
The last word collapsed into a snarl, something inhuman and heart-wrenching.
Valerius stood rooted to the floor, near the iron forged corner where chains hung waiting. He didn't move not yet. He couldn't. Not with this.
Anya was already beside Lyra, hands shaking, holding the padded restraints. Her face was tight with dread.
"It's here," she whispered hoarsely. "The moon won't be denied tonight."
Valerius snapped into motion fast and silent.
He knelt beside Lyra and reached for her. Her body burned like fire. She spasmed in his arms stronger than she should've been. Far too strong.
Then slash.
Her claws long, black, wrong raked across the back of his hand. Blood welled thick and slow.
He didn't flinch.
He just looked at her. Looked at what she was becoming.
"Shh, little star," he said softly, the words brittle. Hollow. "We have to move you. You're not safe here."
He tried to lift her. The strength she fought with was animal. She bucked in his arms, snarling like something cornered. Her spine bent impossibly. Her face twisted jaw stretching, eyes burning gold.
A roar deep, broken, terrified tore from her throat, shaking the furs beneath her.
"Anya. Now."
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Anya moved fast, eyes brimming. She locked the cuffs around Lyra's wrists, then ankles, tightening them with practiced speed.
Lyra howled.
"PAPA! GAMMA NO! HURTS! LET GO!"
Each word hit like a hammer.
Valerius knelt beside her, ignoring the blood on his arms, brushing sweat-drenched hair from her brow. Her skin shifted beneath his touch fur beginning to rise.
"Endure," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "Endure it, my star."
But there was no enduring this.
Then the shift began in full.
And gods, it was worse than he'd imagined.
Wet crunches. Snaps. Horrible sounds of cartilage tearing, bones grinding, reshaping. Her screams caught her throat changing shape until the sound became a high, warbled moan.
Her mouth stretched. Teeth tore through her gums. Ears elongated. Fur sprouted in jagged patches across her neck, arms, chest.
Her tunic shredded. Her limbs cracked into new forms.
This wasn't the fluid grace of a werewolf shift. It was a war inside her body the vampire in her blood resisting, snapping back as the wolf forced its way out.
Valerius had seen transformations before.
He had never seen this.
When it ended, a trembling shape lay on the ruined bedding.
Not a girl. Not a wolf.
Something between.
Fur like stormclouds. Muzzle too short. Limbs too long. Eyes glowing with fear, amber and wild but behind them, someone was still there.
Still her.
The restraints creaked. She pulled at them, growling low, constant, desperate.
Anya fell to her knees. Her face crumpled. She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from sobbing aloud.
Valerius couldn't move. Not yet. Not as he stared at this small, trembling creature—the daughter he loved.
This thing the world would call a mistake.
Kaelen's words echoed again.
Abomination. Violation.
The creature turned. Her nose lifted. She scented his blood.
She lunged.
The leather straps jerked. Iron groaned. Fangs snapped inches from his chest.
He took a step back. Reflex.
Not out of fear.
Out of heartbreak.
"Lyra?" he asked. Soft. Like calling a ghost.
She didn't answer. She couldn't.
She only saw blood. Movement. Threat. Confinement.
She lunged again. Harder.
Then the sound that shattered him.
A howl. Not hers.
From outside.
Low. Deep. Pure predator.
Then another.
And another.
Getting closer.
Valerius turned his head slightly still not blinking.
Borak's scouts.
They'd heard her.
They were coming.
Panic didn't flood him. It punctured him.
He looked at Lyra snarling, terrified. Then at Anya, her face drained of all color. Then toward the sound.
It was too late. They were nearly on them.
"They'll kill her," Anya said, barely more than breath. "They'll tear her apart and say it was justice. She's proof. Proof of everything they fear."
The hybrid creature tensed.
She heard it too. The howls. The threat.
Her growl stopped.
And then she did something that broke Valerius completely.
She whimpered.
A high, broken sound a child's fear through a beast's throat.
She was terrified.
That was all that mattered.
Valerius moved.
The silver dagger flashed in his hand.
Anya lunged forward. "Valerius NO!"
But he didn't strike Lyra.
He slashed the cuffs.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The restraints gave way.
Lyra staggered to her feet. Unsteady. Bleeding. Lost.
"GO!" Valerius roared, pointing toward the shadowed corridor behind the hearth the old crypt passage. "RUN, LYRA! DOWN! INTO THE DARK! DO NOT LOOK BACK!"
She hesitated just one breath.
Then she ran.
Dark fur, a blur in the firelight, vanished into the deep dark.
Valerius slammed the heavy crypt door behind her. The bolt dropped with a clang.
Then he turned.
The main entrance shuddered under a heavy impact.
Another.
Wood splintered.
A voice bellowed through the crack.
"OPEN, BLOODSUCKER!"
Borak.
"WE SMELL HER! WHERE IS SELENE'S CURSE?!"
Valerius didn't answer.
He just looked at Anya.
His eyes were graveyards.
"Find her."
Then he turned to the door.
Blade in hand.
Still as death.
Ready.
They'd find a monster, he knew.
But not his.
Not Lyra.
And if they wanted her, they'd have to step over what was left of him first.