Chapter 5

Maera watched as Kael’s car drove away. Unconsciously, she rubbed the arm he had grabbed earlier. There was no warmth or strange sensation like what she had felt before. Everything seemed normal now, so why had she felt something so odd back then?

Maera entered her grandmother’s room, just to make sure the elderly woman was resting comfortably. After placing a gentle kiss on her grandmother’s forehead, Maera went up to the second floor where her bedroom was located.

“Aren’t you afraid of a werewolf attacking you?”

That question echoed in her mind. She gazed out at the dark expanse of trees before her. The crescent moon cast a faint light, and in the distance, Maera could vaguely see a tall-towered castle that she knew belonged to the Drenvarr family.

"Werewolves?" she murmured, smiling and shaking her head. Maera climbed into bed and chose to rest her weary body.

"It’s time."

A deep voice made Maera open her eyes. Her body felt utterly crushed, and as she tried to move, a sharp pain like being stabbed by a thousand needles shot through her.

"Take her," said another voice, and Maera saw a flash of light, followed by two unfamiliar men approaching. They bent down on either side of her body and grabbed her arms roughly, lifting and dragging her without care.

“Who are you?” Her voice sounded faint, even to her own ears. “What do you want from me?” she asked again when the men gave no answer.

Her body was thrown harshly onto a large stone altar. Several strangers then turned her over roughly from her stomach to her back. Maera tried to fight back, but her body was too weak—as if all her strength had drained away. All she could do was surrender.

The sky above her seemed so close. The moon looked full and perfect, but its color wasn’t white—it was red.

Chants around her echoed faintly but in harmony. Maera didn’t resist when her hands and feet were bound by the strangers. Her eyes suddenly grew heavy, and all she could do now was give in to her exhaustion.

In the last traces of her consciousness, she saw an old man standing beside her body. His gaze was cold, and he said, “It’s time,” without a hint of emotion. Maera saw something gleaming in his hand, and in an instant, the object was swiftly brought toward her chest, and—

Maera gasped for air and coughed as a tightness seized her chest. Her hand clenched into a fist, knocking on the area that felt like it had been pierced by something, though there was nothing there—because now, she had awoken in her own room.

‘What just happened? What kind of dream was that?’ Maera asked herself in confusion. ‘This must be because I’ve been listening to Crystal’s bedtime stories too much,’ she grumbled inwardly in annoyance.

Maera sat up in bed and reached for her water bottle, gulping it down quickly. Her gaze drifted to the window, which was wide open. The shutters creaked softly as the wind blew them, their hinges rusty from age.

‘Did I forget to close it last night?’ she wondered.

The sky was still veiled in the remnants of night as the first rays of dawn began to dance along the horizon. Soft orange hues crept in slowly, replacing the fading navy of the night. Maera loved the scent of damp earth mixed with morning dew—it was as if the wind had brushed through the distant pine trees and carried their fragrance to her.

She was about to close the window when her eyes locked onto a point dozens of meters away. A creature with pitch-black fur stood on all fours, its head raised as if it were staring directly at her.

Maera's eyes widened, her body freezing in shock.

‘No, this isn’t real,’ she murmured to herself.

“Grim, or the Black Shuck—an omen of death.” Maera recalled her best friend's words from the other day.

‘No. That’s just a wild dog, not Grim,’ she whispered to herself and hastily slammed the window shut.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me or Grandma. Everything’s going to be fine. It was just a wild dog, not Grim,” Maera whispered again, trying to convince herself.

Trying to calm herself down, Maera pulled a change of clothes from the wardrobe and stepped into the bathroom. Everything would happen just like any other day. She would start by helping her grandmother prepare breakfast and a packed lunch, then walk together toward the main road where the shopping area was located. They would part ways at the intersection—Maera heading to her campus, and her grandmother going to the grocery store where she worked until evening.

Maera had just waved goodbye and was watching her grandmother cross the street when she saw the same car from the night before, speeding erratically and swerving as if the driver didn’t know how to handle the vehicle. In the blink of an eye, she saw her grandmother’s body flung far, slamming into a traffic light pole before collapsing between the sidewalk and the asphalt, blood beginning to pool around her.

“Grandma!” Maera screamed. She ran toward her grandmother with all the strength she had, along with several bystanders who had rushed over to help.

“Don’t touch her.”

A cold, commanding voice halted the crowd in their tracks—but not Maera.

“If you dare move her body, instead of saving her, you might be putting her in more danger.” The man continued, making Maera freeze on the spot. Yet he quickly knelt and examined her grandmother’s condition, as if forgetting his own warning from seconds earlier. After performing several checks Maera couldn’t understand, the man pulled out his phone and called someone.

“Hit-and-run victim. Female, approximately fifty years old. Slow response, laceration on the right temple. Moderate active bleeding, hematoma on the forehead. Suspected minor skull fracture. Open wound on the left arm. Rapid breathing—twenty-six breaths per minute, shallow.”

There was a pause before he spoke again.

“Damon Vargrave,” he said quietly, then ended the call.

“Is my grandma going to be okay?”

The pale-skinned man with jet-black hair looked up at Maera coldly.

“She’s not okay. If treatment is delayed, she might…”

“Please, save my grandmother.”

Maera grabbed the sleeve of the man’s black shirt with a pleading look on her face.

“Please, save her. I’m begging you.”

The ambulance arrived, and several medical personnel immediately rushed in to attend to Maera's grandmother. Maera quickly got into the ambulance and held her grandmother’s hand, paying no mind to the medics who were administering first aid.

"This wasn’t part of my plan. But if this can help me get her, then I’ll use it as a tool."

A voice made the man in the black shirt—who had just been helping Maera's grandmother—turn his head. A tall, well-built man with styled hair stood casually with both hands in his pockets. He was none other than Kael Drenvarr.

“You really plan to play dirty by gambling with their fate, huh?” the man who had previously introduced himself as Damon Vargrave growled, eyes narrowing. “Do you want to become a devil’s replica?” he scoffed.

“Calling me, Brother?”

Another voice echoed, though there was no physical figure present—only a hologram displaying the upper body of a man who seemed to be sitting on his throne.

“No matter what it takes, she must surrender herself to me. Even if it means endangering her grandmother’s life, I don’t care. I only have one desire: that she comes to me, kneels, and begs for my help.”

That way, his plan to conquer Maera would become all the more effortless.