LOGINIn Berlin still haunted by the fall of the Wall and a fragile Blood Moon Pact, art student Beatrice Stahl arrives seeking a fresh start. Instead, she walks into a nightmare of blood and fangs. Bitten by both a wolf and a vampire in one chaotic night, Beatrice becomes a cursed hybrid. Her blood holds the ability to break centuries of infertility and war… but it also makes her the ultimate target of Velan, a ruthless vampire lord who believes her rare blood can resurrect his lost love and reclaim his Prussian legacy. He suspects she is the last living link to the legendary Bloodstone, an artifact powerful enough to reshape the supernatural world. Hunted through a city on the brink of war, Beatrice is drawn between a fierce werewolf Alpha and an enigmatic cursed Prince. Alpha Brandon wants to claim her. Vampire prince Velan wants to use her. And Angelica? Her “friend” may be playing the deadliest game of all. Loyalties shatter. Obsession burns. And in the shadows of Charlottenburg Palace and the glittering clubs of Berlin, one question remains: Will Beatrice’s hybrid curse save the city… or destroy everyone she loves?
View MoreBeatrice’s POV The Reichstag building stood before us, its glass dome glinting under the pale Berlin sky, today a symbol of our hardships and renewal. The stone facade bore scars of war, but the modern dome above spoke of resilience, fitting for what we were about to do. Inside, the plenary chamber buzzed with tension, its circular rows of seats empty save for our group. I stood beside Charles, his hand warm in mine, my heart pounding as I faced Brandon. His amber eyes were steady, but I could see the weight of the pack on his shoulders. The Wolves of Berlin—and the vampires were desperate for a cure to their infertility, a lingering side effect of the venom that transforms us. My hybrid blood might be the solution, but after everything I’d endured, the thought of giving it up made me unesy. “You sure about this, Beatrice?” Brandon asked with a questioning tone “Your blood—it’s a lot for you but at least this time I am asking you and not demanding things” he said with a w
Niklas Adler’s POV The air in Gendarmenmarkt crackled with old magic, the twin cathedrals looming over the square. My blue magic flickered at my fingertips, steady as ever, though my bones ached from centuries of use. I adjusted my black tuxedo, glancing at Walda beside me, her emerald cloak billowed in the night breeze, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. Across from us stood Erasmus Bluthexer, Velan’s pompous royal warlock, his gray hair slicked back, his crimson robes screaming arrogance. Behind him, the five witches—Brunhilde, Hildegard, Ingeborg, Gretchen, and Ursula—lounged on conjured chairs, their cackles already echoing. “Ready to spank this overgrown toddler, Niklas?” Walda grinned, twirling her crooked cane. I inclined my head, a faint smile tugging my lips. “A gentleman never shies from duty, Walda. Though I suspect you’ll enjoy this more than I will.” “Damn right I will,” she snorted. “Been itching to hex this peacock since he crawled out of Velan’s shadow.
Amanda’s POV The ranch smelled of damp earth, pine, and the unmistakable scent of Mondfleisch Cattle. The moon cast long, ghostly shadows over the barn where we waited, shadows that seemed to whisper of past betrayals and promises broken. Every breath tasted of cold resolve and simmering fury. My claws itched as if they sensed the moment before it even arrived. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a war drum calling me to action. This night was not just about bloodshed, it was about reclaiming our honor from those who had betrayed it. Marc, Jake, and Paul, the traitors who’d sold us out to Velan for his promise of endless female conquests were about to walk into their graves. Their treachery had tainted everything we had built, and tonight, retribution would be served cold. Luke had set the trap, his voice low and steady as he leaned casually against one of the recently restored posts. His brown eyes, usually warm with mischief, now shone with a fierce glint of hat
Beatrice’s POV The necropolis beneath Charlottenburg was a tomb of shadows, the air thick with the stench of moldy stone and old blood. I lay chained to a cold slab, my wrists raw from the iron cuffs, my hybrid blood sluggish from Velan’s latest syringe. Each breath felt like a countdown and I was going to die here, drained dry for his twisted cure. The bloodstone glowed on the altar, its ruby light pulsing like a heartbeat as I tried to steady my stuttering pulse. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the terror clawing at my chest. This was it. My end. I was going to die here. Nobody was coming to save me and Charles was dead. If nobody wanted me, what was the point in living anyway? Velan stood at the altar, his platinum hair gleaming in the flickering torchlight, his dark eyes feverish with triumph. He held Angelica like a steel cuff around her tiny waist, her silk dress clinging to her perfect frame, her blue eyes wide with pleasure, a stark contrast that wasn’t se
Marc’s POVThe night had swallowed my sins, but I wasn’t done yet.My pulse throbbed in my ears like a war drum, loud and relentless.Why did they have to hurt Amanda? Her sister Linda, I didn’t give a fuck about her, that mute and cold bitch could rot. But Amanda? She was supposed to be mine. Mine
Brandon’s POVI stood in front of the large window, where Walda had conjured the enchanted pond. The two swans, Edmund and Rodalind one black, one white glided across the turqouise water as if they had no worries in the world.From here, I had a perfect view of Berlin. The city stretched before m
Angelica’s POVThe air was damp, thick with the scent of mildew and old and mossy stone. The dungeon beneath Charlottenburg Palace was no ordinary prison—it was a tomb of forgotten souls, a place swallowed by history itself. And yet, here I was.Somewhere above, the palace stood in all its grande
Brandon’s POV Disappointment settled heavy in my chest, my heart sinking as I looked at Beatrice. Her eyelids fluttered for only a moment before closing again, her body writhing as if her blood was boiling inside her veins. On closer thought… it probably was. Being turned into a werewolf was p
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