Risen by the Lunar Heir: Werewolf Shifter Romance Audiobook Transcript

Prologue: The Silence Beneath the Howl

Dusk Hollow was the kind of town you’d miss if you blinked too fast on a road trip, nestled between misty hills and whispering woods, looking like a forgotten postcard. Red-bricked houses, white picket fences, and a single main road stretched from the dusty gas station to the quaint town square. Life moved slowly here—peacefully, predictably—but Dusk Hollow harbored secrets. Beneath its charm ran something older, darker, and far more primal than anyone dared admit. While townsfolk baked pies, ran hardware stores, and gossiped over garden fences, beasts and blood-drinkers walked beside them. Werewolves and vampires lived among the humans, hidden in plain sight, bound by an ancient pact that kept peace and truth buried.

For years, the balance was maintained by the Dusk Guardians—sentinels who ruled the forests with blood and loyalty. Vampires fed discreetly, hidden beneath the town’s underbelly, adhering to rules carved into stone centuries ago. As long as no human blood was spilled publicly and no human discovered too much, peace would endure.

Sheriff Torin Veyne, tall, gruff, and deeply respected, with chestnut hair and hazel eyes, wore his badge like armor—a man of justice and order. Decades ago, during an investigation that nearly cost him his life, he stumbled upon the truth. That same investigation brought him the love of his life, Selene. Instead of raising alarms, he vowed to protect the town, its people, and the secret that kept everyone safe. Only one person ever suspected his world was more complex than a small-town sheriff’s duties: his daughter, Isolde.

In the sleepy town of Dusk Hollow, where trees whispered age-old secrets and winds carried the scent of pine and forgotten magic, 17-year-old Isolde Veyne was a quiet storm. She moved through the halls of Dusk Hollow High with grace and mystery, her chestnut hair cascading like silk, her hazel eyes deep enough to drown in. Everyone noticed her—the football captain Zane, the art kids, even the teachers whispered about her potential. But Isolde never let the attention sink in. She kept her head low, her nose in books, and her heart guarded like a locked diary.

She lived with her father, Sheriff Torin Veyne, in a warm four-bedroom home on the town’s edge, hugged by birch trees and kissed by golden morning sun. The house brimmed with memories, especially of her mother, Selene, who had once made it a sanctuary. Every photo frame, every lavender-scented curtain, traced the woman Isolde barely remembered—except for the warm scent she left behind and the aching silence that followed her disappearance. They said it was an accident; her father never said more. Each time she asked, his strong jaw tightened, and he changed the subject. Isolde learned not to pry. Deep inside, she sensed the truth was too heavy for words.

Isolde had inherited her father’s quiet intensity, sharp instincts, and stubborn streak. She always knew something lurked beyond the edge of the trees, even if she couldn’t name it. For the most part, she lived like any other teen in Dusk Hollow—going to school, hanging out with Liora, sneaking sodas from the old corner store.

Liora Kael, her best friend, was everything Isolde wasn’t—outgoing, dazzling, and unapologetically bold. With sun-kissed blonde curls and green eyes that sparkled like mischief, Liora’s laugh could wake the dead. She was the fire to Isolde’s calm. They’d been inseparable since childhood, raised in parallel lives. Liora was the daughter of Mayor Darius Kael—wealthy, ambitious, always impeccably dressed, with a voice that could command a room and secrets that would silence one. Mayor Kael was one of the few humans who knew Dusk Hollow’s truth. His public persona exuded leadership and charity, but behind closed doors, he walked a narrow line with the creatures of the night, maintaining balance not out of fear but opportunity. Power in Dusk Hollow was layered, and he knew exactly where to place his hands.

Liora, however, was blissfully unaware of her father’s dealings. She believed in homework, crushes, and pool parties—not claws and fangs. She’d grown up in a world of curated perfection, never sensing the ancient eyes watching from the shadows.

But peace, like all things, is fragile, and it had been broken 17 years ago. It began with a woman, Vesper Kael, Liora’s mother. She vanished without a trace, leaving a grieving husband and a daughter too young to understand. Whispers of her fate drifted like smoke, but no one dared speak too loudly. Then came another disappearance—a high schooler named Thane. Then Torin changed—not physically, but emotionally—haunted, more cautious, watching the woods as if they whispered his name. The treaty, carved into stone and bound by blood, had begun to crack. Something ancient had awakened in Dusk Hollow—something hungry.

In the stillness of night, the barrier between the ordinary and the supernatural thinned. The wind carried growls where there should have been silence. Shadows shifted with intent. And Isolde Veyne, sharp-eyed and stubborn-hearted, was about to discover she was more than just the sheriff’s daughter—she was the spark destined to change everything.

Chapter 1: Eternal Bonds

It was a good Monday morning. Isolde Veyne stirred beneath soft floral-patterned sheets as her alarm clock blared, cutting through the tranquil haze of early dawn. The scent of sizzling bacon and strong black coffee drifted from the kitchen—warm, grounding, a familiar comfort. Her room, beautiful and personal, was decorated in shades of lavender and blush, with soft curtains fluttering in the morning breeze and shelves lined with books, trophies, and trinkets that told her story.

Stretching lazily, Isolde blinked sleep from her hazel eyes and sat up slowly. Sunlight filtering through her window painted golden shapes on the floor. For a fleeting moment, she let peace wash over her before rising to start the day. She padded to the bathroom, brushing her teeth with practiced rhythm, then stepped into a hot shower that fogged the mirrors and cleared the last remnants of sleep.

Afterward, she stood before her closet, considering her choices. School uniforms weren’t exciting, but she infused her style into them—choosing a navy skirt, a crisp white blouse, and a dusky pink cardigan. Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like home. Sheriff Torin Veyne stood by the stove, rugged and tall, his dark uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His presence could command a room, but around Isolde, he softened. This morning, like every morning, he hummed a tune as he flipped pancakes with a practiced hand.

“Morning, kid,” he said without turning.

“Morning, Dad,” Isolde replied.

They ate quietly—the sizzle of bacon, the scrape of forks, and the occasional creak of floorboards settling. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was theirs—a ritual forged by loss and love, shaped by years of learning to exist with words unsaid.

After breakfast, Torin pulled on his uniform jacket, clipped on his badge, and grabbed his hat from the counter. Before leaving, he paused to brush a strand of hair from Isolde’s forehead and kissed her just above the brow. “Be good, kid,” he said with a crooked smile.

Isolde grinned. “Aren’t I always?”

Moments later, a sleek black car rolled into the driveway with a smooth purr. Liora Kael, flashing sunglasses and confidence, hopped out, her blonde curls bouncing as she sauntered to the front steps. “Get in, loser, we’re skipping algebra,” she called with a wink, throwing open the door.

“You wish?” Isolde replied, adjusting her bag as she stepped outside.

The two girls couldn’t have been more different. Liora was bold, radiant, and full of sharp wit; Isolde was introspective, grounded, and quietly captivating. But their friendship worked like a well-tuned melody. They’d been best friends since age five, bonded by a birthday party in the Kael backyard and the warmth of a woman named Vesper. Vesper Kael had become a second mother to Isolde, filling a void she hadn’t known existed—bathing them in bubble-filled tubs, braiding their hair into twin pigtails, and calling them her princesses. “You’re both beautiful in your own ways,” she’d say with a velvet voice, “two sides of the same lucky coin.”

Even now, the memory of her touch lingered. Vesper never let Isolde feel the weight of her mother’s absence, filling their childhoods with music and light—until the light disappeared.

Dusk Hollow High buzzed with teenage drama. Isolde and Liora moved through the hallways like stars in different constellations—always close, always aligned. Liora’s obsessions rotated weekly; this week, it was Zane, the brooding football captain with an effortless smirk, and Joren, the bass guitarist who wouldn’t recognize her even with a name tag. “Zane looked at me today,” Liora whispered in biology, nudging Isolde. “He was asking for a pencil,” Isolde replied dryly, not looking up from her notes.

“Details,” Liora huffed, crossing her arms. “Love is in the air.”

Isolde chuckled, her smile fading as her thoughts wandered to her mother. The ache was dull most days, but sometimes, like now, it flared. Liora noticed—she always did. She leaned closer, voice low and bright. “Soda after class, my treat.”

The answer was always yes.

They made their way to Jax’s, the old corner market with dusty aisles and flickering lights. Two cherry sodas clinked from the fridge, and they plopped down on the curb outside, feet stretched into the gutter, sipping and watching cars roll past. “Tell me again why you won’t dye your hair with me?” Liora asked, twirling a golden curl.

Isolde smiled. “Because I’m the voice of reason in this friendship.”

“You’re the voice of boring,” Liora shot back playfully.

They laughed, their voices weaving into the soundtrack of a town that seemed peaceful on the surface. But all homes have cracks, and Dusk Hollow’s were beginning to show. Beneath the sidewalks and suburban normalcy, ancient shadows stretched. Isolde didn’t know it yet, but her father’s silence was more than caution—it was protection. His secrets were not just old wounds; they were maps to a truth she had yet to uncover. In the woods, something stirred. The peace forged in secrecy was fraying at the edges, and Isolde Veyne stood unknowingly at the center of it all. Soon, the veil between worlds would tear, and her life would never be the same.

Chapter 2: The Way He Caught the Ball

Dusk Hollow High buzzed with late autumn energy. The sky overhead was a uniform sheet of pale gray, casting a cool, soft light over the school grounds. Trees flanking the football field stood half-naked, their leaves scattered in rusty orange and brittle brown piles across the bleachers and pathways. A chilly breeze wound through the campus, carrying the scent of dried leaves, damp earth, and the faint metallic tang of oncoming rain.

After gym class, students lingered around the football field, reluctant to return indoors. Laughter echoed as groups clustered—some sitting on the grass, others jogging laps or tossing balls. Sneakers scuffed against pavement, voices rose and fell with adolescent exuberance—the kind of moment suspended in time, filled with youth and something close to freedom.

Liora leaned against the weathered metal of the bleachers, arms crossed loosely, sipping water from a plastic bottle. Beside her, Isolde texted absently with one hand, scanning the field with the other. Liora’s eyes followed a group of seniors casually throwing a football back and forth, their movements loose and easy with confidence. One boy, a lanky kid in a Dusk Hollow Wolves hoodie, hurled the ball too hard. It spiraled, wobbled in the air, and rocketed toward the sidelines—toward her.

Liora barely noticed until the whoosh of the ball cutting through air registered. She turned her head just as it flew at her face—too fast to dodge. There wasn’t even time to flinch, let alone move. But then—smack—a firm, sure hand shot out, catching the ball midair with a sharp, practiced snap, inches from her face. So close, she felt the wind rush past her cheek. She gasped, stumbling slightly backward, her water bottle dropping with a dull thud.

“Whoa!” came a warm voice, threaded with amusement. “That almost ruined your pretty nose.”

Thane, tall, athletic, and perpetually tousled, stood before her like he’d stepped out of a magazine ad for autumn sweaters and varsity sports. Soft brown eyes framed by lashes that didn’t seem fair, curls that never stayed in place, and an easy grin that made girls trip over their words—he held the football in one hand like it weighed less than a feather. His palm flexed slightly as he lowered it, cradling it under his arm with practiced ease. The way he’d moved, the way he’d caught it—it wasn’t just reflex; it was instinct, muscle memory, like the moment had happened before.

Liora stared, her heart pounding like it was trying to climb out of her chest. “Thanks,” she managed, breathless. “That would have hurt.”

“No big deal,” he said, shrugging like it hadn’t been a minor act of heroism. “I’ve got quick hands—perks of being a basketballer.”

Isolde, beside her, gave a sly nudge to Liora’s arm and smirked, then walked away, claiming sudden thirst and heading to the water fountain with exaggerated casualness. Her exit felt strategic, like someone slipping off stage to let the scene unfold. Thane scratched the back of his neck, a little awkward now that they were alone. The bravado of the save faded, replaced by something more vulnerable.

“Hey, um, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said.

Liora tilted her head slightly, curiosity knitting her brows. “Yeah?”

“I like you,” he said, the words raw, unfiltered. There was no buildup, no practiced speech—just honest, direct. “You’re cool and funny, and I don’t know, you make chemistry class actually fun to sit through. I was wondering if maybe you’d want to hang out sometime—just us.”

Liora blinked, taken off guard for a heartbeat. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. Thane—Dusk Hollow High’s basketball golden boy, everyone’s favorite—liked her? Not just as lab partners or classmates or hallway friends, but like that? He looked nervous now—not the kind from fear of rejection, but the kind from hoping, really hoping, that what he felt wasn’t one-sided. His gaze held hers, steady and earnest.

Her stomach did a small, giddy backflip. She hadn’t expected this—not today, not this way—but she couldn’t deny there had been moments: glances across classrooms, shared laughs during experiments, the way he always waited after class even when he didn’t have to. Nothing flashy, nothing fake—just steady.

She glanced at Isolde, who was definitely not drinking from the fountain and definitely watching from behind it. Liora turned back to Thane, her expression softening. “Maybe,” she said, letting a smile spread slowly across her lips. “If it includes you catching things before they smash my face again.”

He laughed—genuine and light, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Deal!”

The bell rang then—sharp and final—sending waves of students scrambling to grab bags and head back inside. But for a moment, the sound felt distant, unimportant. Liora bent to pick up her water bottle, brushing dried grass from the cap, and straightened to find Thane still there, waiting, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Walk you to class?” he asked, as naturally as if they’d always done this.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

As they walked off, shoulder to shoulder, Isolde shot her a triumphant look. Liora rolled her eyes playfully in return but couldn’t help the quiet warmth blooming in her chest. It wasn’t just the way he caught the ball—it was the way he’d noticed, the way he’d acted without thinking, the way he saw her, really saw her. And maybe, just maybe, she was ready to be seen.

Chapter 3: Cherry Soda and Cold Stairs

It was a rainy, damp weekend morning in Dusk Hollow—the kind woven from mist and whispers. Clouds hung low, brooding and heavy, swollen with unspoken secrets. The wind curling through narrow streets didn’t just chill the skin; it hummed warnings in the language of storms.

Isolde Veyne stirred beneath her quilt, cocooned in warmth. Her room, dimly lit by gray light outside, felt insulated from the world. Yet a strange tightness gripped her chest—a weight in the air that settled into her bones. It wasn’t fear exactly; it was a sense, a shift, like her breath knew something before her brain did.

She sat up slowly, her heart thudding a little too fast. Her room—with its soft pastel walls, shelves filled with storybooks and music boxes collected since childhood—looked the same. The lavender candle glowed faintly from her dresser, releasing a thin ribbon of scent into the cool air. Yet something outside her window had changed.

Padding downstairs barefoot, she rubbed her arms against the chill clinging to the old wooden staircase. Each step creaked, as if the house itself was wary. In the kitchen, a plate of scrambled eggs and avocado toast waited patiently on the island, steam curling upward like a ghost. A note lay beside it: Had to leave early. Urgent call. Be safe. Eat your breakfast. Dad.

Isolde sighed, smoothing her fingers over the familiar handwriting. Sheriff Torin never elaborated in his notes—always short, always calm, always hiding something. She nibbled half-heartedly at the toast, eyes flicking to the window where rain tapped against the glass. The world outside looked like a washed-out painting—muted grays and blues blurring into one another. Still, she felt the need to move, to shake the strange tension threading through her limbs.

She pulled on a hoodie, tied her sneakers, and stepped into the morning. Dusk Hollow was quiet—unnaturally so. Streets were slick and glistening as she jogged past manicured lawns and empty porches. No sign of Mrs. Elira tending her roses, no grunts of exertion from Dr. Phineas and his perfect mower lines. Even the birds seemed absent, gone silent or hiding from something nameless.

She ran until the park came into view, its swing set swaying slightly in the breeze. By the time she finished her loop, her limbs were damp and chilled. The stillness set her nerves on edge. The shower at home felt like sanctuary—steam rising in clouds as she let hot water wash away the tension. She changed into a soft pink knit outfit, pulled her hair into a messy bun, and collapsed onto her bed with a long exhale. Her fingers reached for her phone on instinct; it buzzed.

“Hey,” Isolde answered, grateful for Liora’s voice.

“I feel like a dead tomato,” Liora groaned theatrically.

“You’re not dying.”

“Well, not dying-dying—just feverish and emotionally weak. Come see me. Bring love and cherry soda.”

Isolde laughed. “I’ll be there soon.”

She reached for her coat but paused. A sound upstairs—soft, almost a whisper—made her freeze. It was faint: a creak, a drawer sliding shut. She moved carefully, footsteps light on the stairs, approaching her father’s study. The door was half-open, and inside, the room was in disarray—papers scattered across the desk, the window cracked, rain dripping slowly onto the sill. Atop the mess lay a thick, leatherbound book, its cover embossed and worn.

She opened it with hesitant fingers. Inside were sketches of wolves, clan trees, names circled and underlined, notes scribbled in her father’s blocky handwriting: Alpha bloodline, Dusk Hollow clans, Blackthorn descendants, the treaty. Her hands trembled. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew it was important—too important to ignore. She slid the book back into the drawer, realigned the papers, and backed out, her mind racing. The air felt heavier, like something was watching.

She pulled her hoodie tighter and set out toward Jax’s corner store. The short walk’s rhythm helped quiet the storm of thought swirling in her head. Rain had softened into a silvery drizzle; Dusk Hollow shimmered under it like a dream frozen in time. Inside Jax’s, old fluorescent lights buzzed, the scent of aged linoleum and penny candy clinging to the air. She waved. “Hi, George.”

The cashier, a college kid with a soft spot for regulars, looked up and smiled. “Hi, Isolde. Cherry soda today?”

“You know me.”

She wandered to the back where coolers hummed steadily. Her fingers brushed a can, and that’s when she felt it—a presence. She turned slowly, breath catching. A man stood on the opposite side of the aisle, half-shrouded by shadows cast from overhead lights. Tall and lean, his leather jacket clung like a second skin, damp hair curling slightly at the ends. His eyes—icy blue and piercing—locked on hers, like he’d been waiting. Next to him stood a beautiful girl, regal, raven-haired, her expression sharp as glass and twice as cold, her gaze slicing through Isolde like she didn’t belong.

Isolde’s pulse surged. She fumbled with the soda can, paid in a daze, and muttered a quick goodbye to George. She felt their eyes on her all the way to the door. The drizzle had thickened into rain again as she walked to the Kael mansion, nestled in its grand cul-de-sac like a manor from a storybook. Warm light glowed through the windows; the scent of rain on old stone filled her nose.

Vesper Kael opened the door with her usual grace, auburn hair pinned elegantly, eyes soft with concern. “Isolde, darling, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just the weather,” Isolde murmured, managing a smile as she handed over the sodas.

“You’re too kind,” Vesper said warmly. “I’ve got a casserole in the oven if you’re hungry.”

“I’ll grab a bite in a minute,” Isolde said. “Let me check on the patient.”

Vesper chuckled. “Tell her to rest. Book club’s still happening.”

Liora leapt up the second she heard Isolde’s footsteps. “My savior!” she cried, flinging her arms around her. “You don’t look sick,” Isolde said, eyebrows raised.

“I was emotionally sure.”

Liora’s room was palatial, filled with lush velvet, glinting accessories, and rows of designer everything. It smelled faintly of peonies and secrets. “So, what’s the real plan?” Isolde asked.

“I’m skipping book club because Thane’s going to the arcade,” Liora said. “You, however, are going in my place.”

“Nope, you’re doing this for love—mine, obviously.”

Minutes later, Isolde was glammed up in a powder-blue cardigan, hair in soft curls, a faint shimmer on her cheeks. She barely recognized herself. Liora beamed behind her as they stood before an ornate mirror. “You look like the main character,” she whispered. “Go slay.”

Downstairs, Vesper gave Liora a knowing glance. “Your cough’s gone. Miracles happen,” Liora replied with a grin.

“You’re a good sport,” Vesper said, smiling at Isolde, all dolled up. She sighed, handed Isolde her purse, and kissed Liora’s forehead. “Take care of yourself, dear. Try the casserole.”

They walked to the garage, filled with sleek cars, and chose Vesper’s SUV for the short drive. They drove through dripping hills and winding roads until they reached the Dusk Hollow Country Club—a grand, ivy-clad estate wrapped in opulence. Inside, women in pearls and glossy heels murmured over china cups, books scattered across tables like relics of a quieter time.

Near the hearth stood a woman Isolde hadn’t seen before—tall, elegant, pale. She introduced herself as Seraphina, author of the group’s new read. Poised, her voice like smooth wine, her dark curls swept back, she caught Isolde’s attention. Seraphina resembled the man she’d seen at Jax’s—the same intensity, the same chill. Isolde sipped her tea, nodded at the right moments, and listened, but her thoughts spiraled—to the book in her father’s drawer, to the word alpha, to the man’s eyes, and to the growing certainty that the world she knew was about to shatter.

Chapter 4: Moonlight Echoes

The country club’s golden chandeliers sparkled like starlight over velvet carpets, casting a soft, glimmering sheen across a crowd of well-dressed women clustered around linen-covered tables. China cups clinked gently, laughter rang out, and restrained, practiced notes filled the air. But Isolde Veyne couldn’t take her eyes off the woman seated at the room’s front—Seraphina.

She sat poised, with the grace of someone born under a silver moon. Her voice, rich, calm, and commanding, floated across the room like music from another time. She discussed her newly published book, The Moon Goddess and Her Fates, her tone poised and confident as she spoke of myth, magic, fate, and—most notably—supernaturals. At first, Isolde thought it was just another mystical metaphor, but Seraphina’s eyes told a different story—sharp, knowing. Her glances across the room occasionally rested on Isolde, not threateningly, but as if watching something sacred unfold.

Isolde shifted in her seat, tension crackling under her skin. She turned slightly toward Vesper, who scribbled notes with the enthusiasm of a woman on her third espresso. “Vesper, who is Seraphina really? She looks so familiar.”

Vesper beamed. “Seraphina’s from one of Dusk Hollow’s oldest families—a lineage rooted deep in the town’s soil, very prestigious. Her ancestors were the township’s founders. I think…” She paused, a dreamy look in her eyes. “She’s always been elegant and mysterious, a true Dusk Hollow icon.”

But neither knew the full truth. Seraphina wasn’t just an enigmatic literary star; she was the Luna of the Blackthorn Pack, the ruling werewolf clan in Dusk Hollow. Her only son, Kael—the same enigmatic alpha heir Isolde had encountered earlier at Jax’s—was her bloodline’s future.

As Seraphina wove spellbinding tales, Isolde’s mind wandered. She imagined wolves under moonlight, bloodlines etched into the land, the drawings and notes in her father’s secret book, and the man from the store—stare cold, electric, magnetic. When the event ended, polite claps and admiring chatter dissolved the audience. Vesper darted off to congratulate a friend, leaving Isolde awkwardly near a potted fern, unsure whether to stay or vanish into the rain.

Then Seraphina approached. She moved like someone who had danced with the stars, her heels clicking softly on polished wood, her presence hitting like thunder. “Isolde,” she said, her voice gentle, lyrical. “You’ve grown beautifully.”

Isolde blinked, lips parting. “I’m sorry, do I know you? Do you know me?”

Seraphina gave a sad, knowing smile. “I was a close friend of your mother, Selene.” Her voice softened, almost breaking. “Actually, we were very close.”

Isolde’s world shifted, her heart stammering. “But Mom… no one ever really talks about her.”

Seraphina nodded slowly. “She was special, so much more than people realized. What happened to her was a tragedy.”

“She never spoke of her origins or how she died,” Isolde whispered, the words dragging from a hidden well inside her.

Seraphina’s eyes darkened with an emotion Isolde couldn’t name—grief, maybe guilt, reverence. “Some truths are heavy, Isolde. But you’re not alone in your curiosity.” She reached into her coat and handed over a sleek black card, its lettering etched in silver. “Whenever you need someone to talk to, come visit me. My estate is in the western woods, just past the edge of the riverbend.”

Before Isolde could respond, Vesper reappeared, cheeks flushed from laughter. “Seraphina, thank you again. You were amazing as always.”

Seraphina inclined her head gracefully, her eyes lingering on Isolde one last time, then turned, her silhouette blending into the evening light as she disappeared through the crowd. Her heels tapped like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence Isolde didn’t yet understand.

The drive back was quiet. Vesper hummed softly to an old ballad on the radio as the SUV carved through misty roads. The hills of Dusk Hollow rose and fell like waves, trees whispering secrets through the fog. Isolde stared out the window, Seraphina’s words and her mother’s shadowy past circling her mind like ravens. She remembered fragments—a warm laugh, a lullaby sung on stormy nights, the scent of rain and rosemary—but then silence, absence, a father who never spoke of the past.

When they pulled into Isolde’s driveway, night had settled firmly across Dusk Hollow. The mist thickened into a soft curtain, and the air held a peculiar energy, like the breath of something ancient had stirred. “Thanks for coming with me,” Vesper said kindly. “It meant a lot. Say hi to Torin for me.”

Isolde nodded, clutching Seraphina’s card tightly in her coat pocket. As Vesper turned on the SUV and took a short turn, everything went dark. Something deep inside her—in a place older than memory—awakened: a question with no words, a howl that hadn’t yet formed, and the first true echo of moonlight across her soul.

Chapter 5: The Fog That Never Lifted

Morning came heavy with dread. Dusk Hollow was shrouded in dense fog, as if the town itself mourned. Clouds, thick and unmoving, turned the world into a pale gray canvas. Street lamps glowed like dying embers against the mist, and bird song was swallowed in silence. It was the kind of morning that felt like a prelude to something irreversible.

Isolde stirred in her pajamas, sheets tangled around her limbs. Her head pounded with a dull, pulsing ache, as if something inside had tried to claw its way out during the night. She groaned and sat up slowly, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. That’s when she saw it—a bruise, dark and angry, stretching along her hand and forearm, like something had slashed and scratched her—or like she’d fought her way out of something. It throbbed faintly, not just with pain but with memory, or the absence of it.

Her heart stuttered. What happened last night? How did I get this bruise? The last thing she remembered was Vesper’s soft goodbye as she stepped out of the SUV after the book review with Seraphina. Everything after was a void—no memory of unlocking the door, changing clothes, or going to bed—just darkness.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand and nearly dropped it: 23 missed calls from Liora, from Mayor Darius. Her stomach dropped, fingers shaking as she unlocked the screen. Then—bang—her bedroom door flung open with a force that rattled the windows. Isolde shot upright, adrenaline igniting in her chest.

“Liora,” she croaked, stunned.

Liora stood in the doorway, eyes red and puffy, lips trembling, face streaked with silent tears. Her arms hung limply, fingers curled into fists like she didn’t know what else to do. She looked like someone who had aged years overnight. Without a word, she rushed to Isolde’s bed and collapsed into her arms. Sobs erupted, raw and unfiltered.

“Clio, what’s wrong?” Isolde whispered, wrapping her arms around her friend instinctively.

But Liora only cried harder, her entire body shaking. Isolde blinked back her own tears, the bruise on her arm burning beneath her sleeve. She pulled the fabric down to cover it—not the time. Finally, in a breathless whisper between hiccupping sobs, Liora said, “Mom… she didn’t come home last night. I called you like a thousand times, and you didn’t pick up.”

Isolde froze. “What? She’s missing? Her phone’s off. We waited all night. Dad’s been calling every hour. He even drove her usual route eight times.”

Isolde felt the ground sway beneath her. “Oh my god, Liora, I’m so sorry.” The words felt hollow, insufficient, but they were all she had. She clutched Liora tighter, both trembling in shared fear.

Eventually, they descended the stairs together. The house felt different—thick with silence and shadows, the air too still. From the kitchen came the low murmur of voices. Mayor Darius stood by the counter, sleek blonde hair neatly combed, dressed not in his usual tailored suit but in jeans and a pullover. He looked older, shoulders slumped, eyes bloodshot, lines on his face deeper somehow. He spoke in hushed tones with Torin, whose usual calm demeanor had cracked—brow furrowed, rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm himself from within.

They turned when they saw the girls. Isolde didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Darius, tears breaking free. “If I had known she wasn’t going to make it home, I would have begged her to stay,” she said, voice breaking. “I didn’t even know something was wrong until just now.”

Liora joined them, slipping her arms around both from behind. The three stood there—a fragile cocoon of grief and desperation held together by love and fear. Torin looked away, jaw clenched. “We searched all night,” he said quietly. “There’s no sign of her car, and no one’s heard from her since she left the club. It’s like she vanished into the mist.”

Darius sighed, the sound heavy and brittle. “This isn’t just about Vesper anymore. Something’s happening in Dusk Hollow—first those strange reports in the woods, now this. We need to act fast.”

“We’re organizing a search party,” Torin added, his eyes locking onto Isolde’s. “We won’t stop until we find her.”

Isolde nodded, but her mind was miles away. A whisper curled at the edges of her thoughts—a bruise she couldn’t explain, a night she couldn’t remember, and an ache deep in her bones like something ancient had stirred during the night and hadn’t gone back to sleep. She touched the card in her coat pocket—Seraphina’s card. Was this connected? She didn’t know, but as the fog outside thickened, curling through the trees like something alive, Isolde couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened to Vesper was only the beginning.

Chapter 6: Into the Fog

Torin’s voice broke through the quiet like thunder. “We don’t have time to sit around. Get ready—you’re joining the search party.”

The words hit the room like a spark thrown onto dry leaves. Isolde, still wrapped in a cocoon of disbelief, blinked at him. The early morning chill seeped through the window panes, clinging to her skin. Her eyes were swollen from a restless night, her mind a fog of worry and fear. Liora looked up from the dining table, tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the weak morning light that barely filtered through fog-drenched windows. Her fingers trembled around the edge of her cocoa mug, long since gone cold.

Torin stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the grayness beyond, a flashlight tucked under one arm, a worn backpack slung over the other. His face was drawn and pale, lines around his eyes deeper than usual. He looked like he hadn’t slept, but his voice was firm, unyielding—he was trying to be the anchor for them, for Darius, for Dusk Hollow.

“Mayor Darius is rallying the townsfolk,” he continued. “We need every able hand in Dusk Hollow out there—no exceptions.”

Isolde hesitated for only a moment. Her gaze slid toward Liora, who wiped at her face with the back of her hand, swallowed hard, and gave a shaky nod. Upstairs, the two girls moved without words, their silence heavy but not empty. They pulled on layers of warm clothes—heavy jackets, woolen sweaters, thick socks. Isolde double-laced her boots, her hands moving automatically. Liora checked her flashlight three times, unscrewing the bottom and testing the batteries with a flick.

They packed small backpacks with essentials—flashlights, batteries, snacks, whistles, bottled water, a compass neither really knew how to use. Suddenly, Liora’s phone buzzed. “Thane,” she grabbed it and pressed it to her ear, her voice trembling as she answered. She managed only a few words before breaking into fresh sobs. Isolde rushed to her side, wrapping her arms around her. Thane’s voice, though distant through the speaker, was calm and reassuring—he promised he’d help find her mother, promised they wouldn’t stop until they did.

Outside, Dusk Hollow had transformed into something almost unrecognizable. The town square, usually sleepy and sun-dappled, was wrapped in an eerie silence. Thick fog rolled in heavy curtains through the streets, turning familiar landmarks into shapeless shadows. Street lights flickered, casting brief pools of amber light before retreating into gloom. Flyers with Vesper Kael’s face fluttered in the cold breeze—plastered on shop windows, nailed to tree trunks, pinned to telephone poles—her smile warm and radiant, staring out like a silent plea.

Mayor Darius stood at the center of it all. Despite exhaustion written across his face, he stood tall, voice carrying through the mist as he directed search parties—sending them into the woods, toward the riverbend, along the ravines. His eyes, though bloodshot, held the steady resolve of someone who had organized a search before.

Isolde and Liora joined one of the search clusters near the edge of the Dusk Hollow Woods. Thane arrived moments later, approaching quickly with flashlight and gear in hand. Liora rushed into his arms, her relief palpable. He whispered something into her hair, and she nodded, steadier now.

The forest loomed before them—dark and dense, its edges blurred by creeping fog. The trees, twisted and bare, seemed to lean in toward them. It had always been a place of childhood dares and ghost stories, but now it felt alive, like something ancient had awakened and was watching. They pressed in, boots crunching on underbrush. Isolde’s flashlight beam danced between branches and tangled roots; Liora’s whistle clinked softly against her jacket zipper. Every noise was amplified—the snap of twigs, the distant hoot of an owl, the sharp bark of a dog echoing somewhere beyond sight—but there was no sign of Vesper. No tire tracks, no footprints, no broken branches or clues. It was like she had simply ceased to exist.

Isolde walked beside Liora, white-knuckled fingers gripping her flashlight. Her thoughts drifted—not just to Vesper, but to herself. The unexplained bruise beneath her sleeve still throbbed faintly. There was a sense that something had happened recently—something strange, something that couldn’t be explained by logic or coincidence. Seraphina’s voice echoed in her mind.

Then suddenly, Liora was gone. The fog had thickened; Isolde’s outstretched hand no longer touched her shoulder. She spun around. “Liora!” Nothing. Only silence—even the wind had stopped. Panic surged in her chest. She turned in a slow, desperate circle, her flashlight slicing through the mist but revealing only trees, twisted gnarled limbs clawing toward the sky. Shadows danced where her light faltered.

She took a step forward, then another. The forest pressed in around her. A sound—low, a growl, not human—made her freeze, breath catching. Her flashlight trembled in her grip. Then it stepped from the trees—a wolf. No, not just a wolf—a massive creature, silver-gray fur rippling like liquid moonlight. Larger than any wolf she’d seen in books or films, its body lean and muscular, built for speed and strength, it stood on four legs but carried a presence that felt almost human. Its eyes—glacial blue—glowed with an intelligence ancient and strange.

It didn’t snarl, didn’t charge. It stared, and Isolde stared back. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t look away. The wolf blinked once, then, without a sound, turned and walked deeper into the woods.

Confused, heart hammering, Isolde stood frozen. Had it spared her? Had it led her somewhere? Something deep within her pulsed—a thrum in her blood, instinct or madness, she didn’t know—but she followed. Branches scraped her coat, roots tangled at her boots. The fog parted as if making way. The wolf’s silver trail shimmered faintly in the mist like starlight on snow. She didn’t need her flashlight anymore.

The air thickened, the trees leaned in. She wasn’t afraid—not of the dark, not of the wolf. It wasn’t leading her to danger; it was guiding her to truth, to something long buried, to something waiting. Vesper’s disappearance was not random, not a mistake. And the bruise on Isolde’s arm—it wasn’t just a wound. It was a message, a sign. Something ancient had stirred in Dusk Hollow, and Isolde Veyne was walking straight into its heart.

Chapter 7: The Dream That Was Memory

The massive silver-gray wolf moved with silent purpose, its paws sinking softly into the damp earth yet making no sound. Each step was deliberate, almost reverent, as though it navigated a forgotten story. The mist curled around its legs like threads of memory, rising in wisps that seemed to whisper secrets in the chill night air. Isolde followed, her limbs heavy but her heart pulled forward by something she couldn’t name. This wasn’t courage—it was deeper, older. Something primal unfurled within her, a connection humming beneath her skin, a thread tying her to this wolf, to this moment, to a truth buried beyond reason.

The deeper they went, the thicker the air became. Fog twisted through the trees like pale fingers reaching for warmth, clinging to branches, veiling the moon, and muffling sound until the forest was a cathedral of shadows and silence. The scent of wet moss, pine, and something faintly metallic thickened with each step. Isolde’s breath misted before her, her fingers cold, but the chill no longer mattered. Her senses had sharpened, her focus singular. The questions burning inside her were louder than fear.

Then the forest broke open. The trail led to the edge of Dusk Hollow’s largest lake—still, black under the low-hanging mist. The silver-gray wolf stopped and sat with regal stillness. There it was—Vesper’s SUV, parked just off the gravel path. It sat like an abandoned monument, windows fogged, silver frame damp with dew. No tire marks, no footprints, not even the broken press of grass—as if it had materialized rather than arrived by road.

Isolde stopped, pulse surging, breath caught in her throat. Her mouth opened, but no words came. The SUV looked untouched, preserved in time. The wolf turned its head toward her, its luminous blue eyes locking with hers—intelligent, solemn, knowing, not a hint of threat, only recognition. A heartbeat passed, then it turned and bolted, vanishing into the forest as silently as it had come, like a ghost dismissed by dawn.

“Thank you,” Isolde whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. Her fingers found the whistle hanging around her neck. She lifted it to her lips and blew; the sharp, shrill note sliced through the muffled stillness.

Minutes later, the forest stirred. Flashlights bobbed in the mist like fireflies. Sheriff Torin’s voice barked orders through the trees. Mayor Darius arrived, panting and pale, flanked by deputies. Liora burst into the clearing, eyes wild, Thane close behind. When they saw the SUV, a heavy silence descended, the fog thickening with dread. Liora broke first, sprinting to the vehicle, fingers fumbling at the locked doors. “Mom! Mom!” she cried, voice ragged, pounding the windows, panic twisting her features.

“She’s not in there,” Isolde said softly, stepping behind her. Her arms wrapped around Liora, anchoring her. Her voice trembled, but her hold was steady. “But we’ll find her. I promise.”

Thane lingered nearby, helpless sorrow on his face. From that night on, Isolde stayed with the Kael family—not just for Liora, but because something inside her had shifted after what she’d seen, what she felt. She couldn’t be alone.

Weeks passed like fog slipping through fingers. Dusk Hollow changed—curfews were issued, shops closed early, school canceled classes indefinitely. More people vanished without pattern, without reason: a grocery clerk, a teacher, a farmer. No blood, no signs of struggle—just gone. Fear soaked the town like rain into soil. People spoke of the woods only in whispers, even during daylight. Trails were abandoned, doors bolted, candles burned through the night.

One stormy evening, thunder groaned like something restless. Isolde twisted in bed, trapped in a feverish sleep. Then she dreamed—only it wasn’t a dream. She stood on the gravel path in front of her house. Vesper’s SUV idled nearby, red tail lights glowing dim through the fog. Isolde had just stepped out, keys in hand, when she dropped them. The air sparked with tension; a foul smell—putrid, like decay—hit her nose. A shift in the wind, a pressure in her chest. The SUV braked hard.

From the fog stepped a figure—tall, cloaked in darkness. It stood utterly still before the vehicle, unmoving, unreal. Instinct roared; her entire being screamed to protect Vesper. Then pain exploded through her body. She collapsed, screaming—bones cracked, twisted, her hands became paws, her spine lengthened, fur erupted from her skin. Her senses exploded; she could hear the blood in the figure’s veins, smell the iron in its breath. She was shifting into a wolf, but her body wasn’t ready, her soul wasn’t.

With a guttural snarl, she leapt at the figure. It wasn’t human—it was a vampire, its sunken red eyes glinting in the fog, claws gleaming like obsidian. They clashed violently. Isolde attacked with raw instinct, lunging, but the vampire dodged—he was fast, blindingly fast. When he tired, he slashed her forearm—the bruise, the wound, pain so much pain—venom laced into her bloodstream. Her limbs faltered, vision blurred. She staggered; the vampire loomed, ready to strike the final blow.

But then—a loud, guttural growl. The massive silver-gray wolf she’d seen earlier during the search crashed into the vampire with earth-shaking force. They fought—claws raking, teeth snapping. Isolde, barely conscious, writhed in the dirt, the venom burning through her veins like fire. She cried out; the wolf heard her, his fury growing. He howled—a sound so deep it shook the fog itself. From the forest came more wolves—dozens, large, silent—surrounding the scene.

The vampire snarled but backed away, outnumbered. He looked once more at Isolde—weak, shifting, bleeding—then disappeared into the shadows. Vesper fainted in the SUV after witnessing everything, her head against the wheel. Isolde caught movement in the trees—a figure of a woman, Seraphina, watching. She slipped away as men emerged—quiet, strong, practiced. They moved to the SUV and gently carried Vesper away.

Then the silver-gray wolf shifted. He became a man—the man from the grocery store, with quiet strength and sharp icy-blue gaze. Isolde started shifting into her human form—naked, trembling. He glared at the pack with instinct; all averted their eyes. He moved to Isolde, now collapsed in her human form, cold and shivering. He wrapped her in a fur blanket, his hands warm, his voice a whisper. He carried her in his strong, muscular arms. She hesitated, but he took her, picked up the key she’d dropped before the fight, and opened the door.

He moved as if he’d known the house for years, heading straight to her room. He opened the bathroom door, kept her beside the bathtub, turned on hot water, filled it, and added shower gel. He removed a vial of silvery antidote to the venom the vampire had struck her with and poured a sufficient amount into the hot water. Then he knelt before her as she shivered from the pain, brushed back a strand of hair from her face, and kissed her forehead protectively. “I’ll never let anyone harm you again—never.”

With those words, he scooped her off the floor and lowered her gently into the tub. At first, she groaned in pain; the warmth soothed her, and later, she relaxed, still half-conscious. He bathed her gently, with reverence, cleansing the bruise carefully and adding more antidote. She wasn’t comfortable at first but gave in because of the pull toward him. He washed her hair and rinsed it with rose water and lavender oil. After, he picked her up, wrapped a towel around her, and placed her gently on the bed. By then, the poison had started fading; she felt better with fewer groans. He emptied the tub, picked pajamas from the closet, dressed her neatly, braided her hair, and tucked her into bed. His eyes never left her, watching her sleep with something like love and sorrow.

Suddenly, she heard her alarm blaring. Isolde gasped awake, back in the Kael mansion, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. Liora stared beside her but didn’t wake. Isolde stared at the ceiling, heart thundering. That hadn’t been a dream—it was a memory. The night Vesper vanished, Isolde had shifted for the first time. And now she knew something else—something had followed them from the woods, something ancient, something hungry, and it was far from done.

Chapter 8: Shadows and Revelations

Isolde couldn’t bring herself to tell Liora about the dream—not because she didn’t trust her, but because she wasn’t sure it was a dream. The memory still clung to her bones—vivid, too detailed to dismiss, too strange to believe. Her bruised arm, the wolf, the vampire, the man with icy-blue eyes—it all swirled in her mind like smoke. The bruises had started to fade, but the weight of the vision remained, as if her soul had been marked in some unseen way.

That morning, while making breakfast for Mayor Darius, thoughts drifted again. The sound of sizzling eggs faded into the background as she remembered the book in her father’s study—cryptic findings about the supernaturals of Dusk Hollow. It felt like a key to everything unraveling around her.

“Isolde,” Liora’s voice snapped her back. She had dozed off, spatula midair, eggs starting to crisp too much on the edges. “Oh, sorry,” Isolde chuckled, brushing off her daze. “I was just lost in thought.”

Liora didn’t push. She looked hollow, as though her own grief had drained the light from her skin. After eating in silence, Isolde plated Darius’s food on the large kitchen island—eggs, toast, and black coffee, always the same—then turned to Liora with newfound resolve. “Let’s go to my place today,” she said gently. “You could use a change of scenery. Nap a little. I’ll make you something warm.”

Liora nodded, silent but willing, her eyes flickering with fragile gratitude. The two girls packed lightly and made their way across Dusk Hollow. The streets were unusually quiet, as if the whole town watched from behind drawn curtains. The wind carried whispers through the trees—it was strange returning to a place that once felt so familiar, now dim with tension and quiet dread.

Before they entered, Isolde glanced at the path to the door and had a flash of the memory again but dismissed it. She brought out her keys and opened the door. Her dad wasn’t home—probably at the sheriff’s office, buried in files, trying to make sense of the town’s vanishing residents. The air inside was stale with silence—the kind that filled the space after too many unanswered questions. The house was untidy; Torin had been working day and night.

“Go upstairs and rest a bit,” Isolde told Liora. “I’ll take care of things down here.”

Liora trudged up without a word. Isolde tidied the living room, swept the kitchen, did the laundry, and made a warm pot of stew for her father. She stocked the fridge with microwavable dishes, busying herself to quiet the hum of her thoughts. But it didn’t help. She lingered in the silence, the weight of curiosity pressing on her chest. Her eyes drifted toward the door at the end of the upstairs hallway—her father’s study. She’d never spent much time there; it had always been a private, almost sacred space. But now it felt like the one place where answers might still live.

Opening the door, the scent of aged paper and dust filled her nose. The desk was a chaos of notes, maps, and red string—crime scene sketches amid the mess. A framed photograph caught her eye: her mother, Selene, smiling softly. The ache in her heart grew sharp. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the frame. Behind it, tucked carelessly among the papers, she found documents on vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters—creatures of lore, compiled with care and obsession, as if her father had been preparing for something for years.

Then her breath caught—a photo, a family portrait. Seraphina stood at the center, holding a young boy, his blue eyes unmistakable—he was the same man from her dream, the one she’d seen at Jax’s. Beside Seraphina was a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver-gray hair, and on the other side, her mother, Selene. “What is this?” Isolde whispered, shaking. She yanked open a second drawer, retrieved the supernatural research book and the photo, stuffing both into her bag with frantic hands.

Returning to the kitchen, she stood frozen, heart pounding with questions and no answers. Then a strange chill swept over her. She smelled something foul—putrid, like decay—just like that night. “Liora,” she whispered and raced upstairs, heartbeat loud in her ears. She burst through the door to her room and froze.

There it was—a tall, shadowed figure, its skin pale and hollow, leaning over the sleeping Liora with a wicked smirk curled across its lips. Another vampire, its eyes glinting red in the dim light. “No!” Isolde screamed, the word ripping from her lungs, waking Liora up.

The figure snarled and vanished out the window in a blur of shadow, disappearing into the evening air. Liora bolted upright in a panic, eyes wide, breath gasping. “Run!” Isolde shouted, grabbing her friend. She snatched her bag—the book and photo still tucked inside—and the two sprinted down the stairs, bursting through the front door into the cloudy dusk. They didn’t stop running until they reached the Kael mansion, collapsing on the porch in a heap of breathless gasps and panic.

Then something rare happened—Liora laughed, really laughed. It wasn’t loud or long, but it was real, cracking through the tension like sunlight after a storm. “I thought you were dragging me out to clean your house for Torin,” Liora said between breaths, giggling.

Isolde smiled, chest still heaving. She pulled Liora into a tight hug. “Turns out we need each other more than I thought.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, the wind rustling the trees around them, then stood and went inside, locking the door behind them. Dusk Hollow was no longer just the sleepy little town they thought it was. Something ancient was waking in the woods, and both girls were beginning to understand the storm wasn’t just outside—it had always been inside them. The only way to stop it might be hidden in Isolde’s bloodline.

Chapter 9: The Truth Beneath the Rain

The Kael mansion stood eerily quiet as the girls stepped inside. The warmth of safety quickly gave way to an uncomfortable stillness. Mayor Darius wasn’t home; the usual scent of his aftershave and the crinkle of fresh newspapers were absent, replaced by the cold scent of rain seeping through old windows and the soft creak of wooden floorboards beneath their feet. Thunder murmured somewhere in the distance—distant but drawing closer.

“I’m calling my dad,” Isolde said, pulling out her phone, fingers trembling slightly, the ghost of fear clinging to her skin like humidity. She pressed dial with urgency, breath caught in her throat. Sheriff Torin Harper answered on the second ring.

“Evelyn—Dad,” she said quickly, panic lacing her words. “Something happened at our house. There was someone—a vampire—in my room watching Liora.”

There was a pause, silence on the line so dense she thought the call had dropped. Then, finally: “I’ll be there tonight. Don’t let anyone in. Lock the doors.”

Isolde hung up and turned to Liora, who looked pale, dazed, as if her spirit were halfway between reality and nightmare. They climbed the stairs without speaking, each step a drumbeat in the quiet house. The rain began to tap harder against the windows—a steady rhythm of dread.

In Liora’s room, soft pink lights glowed like distant embers. Isolde shut the door behind them, grounding herself on the edge of the bed. She pulled the worn leatherbound book and the old family photo from her bag, handing them to Liora without a word.

“What’s this?” Liora asked, flipping the photo in her hand.

“That’s my mom, Selene,” Isolde said softly, “and beside her, that’s Seraphina. The man with silver-gray hair, I think that’s Seraphina’s husband. And the boy—he’s all grown up now. I even dreamt about him, although it might not have been a dream but a memory. I saw him once at Jax’s supermarket.”

Liora sat down slowly, studying the photo. “But your dad never told you about any of this?”

Isolde shook her head. “No, but this book—” she held it up, its spine cracked and etched with faded gold lettering—“was in my dad’s study. He knew. He’s been researching them for years now.”

Liora exhaled shakily. “So that thing in your room—it really was a vampire?”

“Yes, he probably came for something,” Isolde said, the thought chilling her more than the rain outside. “And I think Seraphina and her men took your mom. Maybe Vesper saw something she wasn’t supposed to—or maybe…” Her voice faltered, the words like thorns in her throat. “She saw too much.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Outside, the sky darkened, thunder rumbled, and rain cascaded down the windows in silver rivulets. The whole of Dusk Hollow seemed to hold its breath. Hours passed; the girls stayed close, drawn together by uncertainty and fear. Then headlights swept across the driveway—the familiar low growl of Torin’s sheriff cruiser pierced the stillness.

Isolde rushed downstairs, Liora a step behind. Sheriff Torin entered, rain dripping from his coat, face set in hard lines of exhaustion and concern. He looked like a man who had run out of time. “Girls,” he said, voice low, “lock the door behind me. Darius isn’t coming home tonight.”

The three gathered in the living room. The fireplace crackled softly, casting shadows on the walls, making old family portraits twitch with flickering light. “We need to talk,” Isolde said, voice steady despite the storm raging in her chest. “All of it. I need the truth.”

She told him about the dream and the incident with the vampire. He let out a breath and sat heavily in an armchair. “I was hoping to wait until you were older, but it looks like the world made that choice for me.” He looked at Isolde, really looked, and saw her mother in her eyes. Then he began:

“Your mother, Selene, wasn’t just my wife. She was born into a bloodline of protectors called the Dusk Guardians—guardians of balance between humans and supernaturals in Dusk Hollow, descendants of an ancient race of shapeshifters who made a pact with royal vampires long ago in a realm called Cra.”

Isolde sat motionless, heart hammering. “When supernaturals discovered humans in Cra,” Torin continued, “they had to create a law that protected all three species. Vampires started feeding on humans, nearly wiping humanity out. The moon goddess’s descendants blessed werewolves with the ability to ward off vampires and protect humans. The Dusk Guardians led the effort to enforce peace.” He paused, swallowing. “But the Scarlet Dynasty, a powerful vampire sect, rose in rebellion. They waged war against the Guardians because they liked human blood. It was a bloody, brutal time. The Guardians won, but barely. The Scarlet Dynasty only agreed to surrender if humans were never allowed to mix with supernaturals. It became law, and peace returned—for a while.”

Isolde’s voice cracked. “What does this have to do with me?”

Torin’s eyes softened. “Your mother, Selene, broke the law. She fell in love with a human—me. We had you, Isolde—a child born of both human and werewolf shifter blood, a miracle. But it put you in danger. We used protection spells to hide you, but they’ve begun to wear off.” His voice caught. “Selene didn’t die. She left to protect you. Her presence would have drawn attention. She’s one of the last living descendants of the Dusk Guardians, and you’re her kin, next in line. That explains why they appear whenever you’re near.”

Isolde’s heart dropped, her world tilting. The dreams, the visions—they were memories. “You didn’t just dream, Isolde,” Torin said. “You remembered a fragment of your memory. Your body wanted you to forget because of the spell. Something dark is rising. The Scarlet Dynasty has sensed your presence. They’re waking up. They’re hunting—because your mother mixed her blood with humans, and you’re the living symbol of the broken law. But I love you, and I’d protect you till the day I die.”

Isolde got up, sat beside him, and hugged him, eyes glistening with tears. It was too much to take in—her life had been normal, like any other teenager, but what Torin said was a lot for her.

Liora’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Isolde, and I do hope this supernatural mystery gets sorted out, but where is my mother? Why take her when she’s not even a threat?”

Torin’s face darkened. “Because Vesper saw Isolde shift that night. And Seraphina—she’s not your enemy. She’s trying to remind you of your origins. That explains why she wrote that book, and fate eventually brought you to the book club. They took Vesper away to protect her—and themselves—from the Scarlet Dynasty.”

Outside, the storm lashed against the windows. Isolde whispered, “What now?”

Torin looked at both of them—his daughter and Liora, the girl who had become like family. “Now you both need to be ready. The Scarlet Dynasty is back. Dusk Hollow is not safe anymore. Dusk Guardians will rise, and you, Isolde—you’re not just Selene’s daughter. You’re her legacy.”

As the fireplace hissed and the wind howled through the trees, the storm outside finally had its answer. It would not be the last. War was coming to Dusk Hollow, and it was to protect a broken law.

Chapter 10: Secrets in the Mansion

The rain fell heavily. The Kael mansion was warm—the kind of warmth that makes your bones sigh in relief. Torin Harper had already fallen asleep, overwhelmed by stress lately. Liora wrapped a knitted blanket tighter around her shoulders, feet tucked beneath her. Isolde was in the kitchen, stirring hot cocoa on the stove, thoughts caught between memories and emotions too big for her chest.

Once the mugs were steaming, Isolde sat beside Liora on the grand couch, their knees brushing. The fire in the hearth crackled in front of them. “I didn’t tell you everything a while ago,” Isolde began softly. Her fingers grazed her upper arm where a faint purplish mark was fading beneath her skin. She pulled up her sleeve and showed Liora the almost-healed bruise. “This is what I got that night when your mom dropped me off after the book club.”

Liora’s eyes widened. “Wait—Mom? What happened?”

Isolde nodded. “It was right after we waved goodbye. She was reversing when he appeared—a vampire, just standing there like a nightmare carved out of shadow, with a foul, putrid smell like decay. Your mom froze, and something in me—it snapped. I wanted to protect her, Liora. I needed to.” She looked down, breath catching. “My bones started cracking and reforming. Pain washed through me, and I shifted into a wolf and lunged at the creature in front of her car. It just happened—no control, no thought, just instinct.