The Border Between Love and War Kenzo didn't return to the apartment right away. He couldn't. The blood in his veins was buzzing with rage, his wolf pacing, but there was no stimulus to let all that rage out. He walked the shadowy streets, past the dank alleys----you could smell the damp, crumbling concrete--, and the sputtering neon signs barely illuminating the way. Every muscle in his body was wound tight, his hands itching to hit something, anything, but there was nothing he could hit. Since that battle had been lost the instant Victoria cut that deal. You turn the corner, you go into an old bar -smelling like cigarettes and sweat and fucking regret. He squeezed inside, shoulders tight, the warmth of too many bodies crowding around him, the low hum of conversation by the floor shaking the air. A few gazes lifted to him, realizing who he was, still no one approached. Good. He wasn't very sociable at this time. Kenzo marched straight to the counter and banged a hand down. "Whiskey. Neat." The bartender didn't ask why, just poured it and slid it over. Kenzo snatched it up, drank half in a gulp, the burn doing nothing to relieve the fire burning through him. She didn't even know what she had done. Or maybe she did. Perhaps that was the worst of it. Maybe she knew precisely what she was risking - knew precisely what she had given Damon - and did it anyway. A chair scraped next to him, and even before he registered and looked up, he knew who it was. Caleb. "I knew I'd find you here," Caleb said, signaling for his own drink. Kenzo exhaled sharply. "Did she send you?" Caleb snorted. "Please. She knows better." He reclined back, inspecting Kenzo closely. "I came because I thought somebody should be here to keep you from doing something stupid." Kenzo turned the glass around between his fingers. "She played us." "Nope," Caleb said, shaking his head. "She played herself." Kenzo frowned. "What does that mean?" Caleb sighed in frustration, dragging a hand down his face. "You think Victoria wanted to strike that deal? You think she's all happy about that?" He shook his head. "No, man. She's trapped. Just like the rest of us." Kenzo clenched his jaw. "She didn't need to present herself." "No," Caleb agreed. "But she did. And now she has to deal with it. Just like you do." Kenzo squeezed the glass tight. "You think I'm just going to sit back and let Damon take her?" Caleb met his gaze. "No. But you need to figure out what the hell you're gonna do about before you storm the hell out like some reckless fool." Kenzo didn't answer. Because he lacked a plan. He just had rage. Caleb sighed. "Look, I get it. You care about her. More than you would want to admit to." Kenzo's fingers twitched, but he denied it. Caleb smirked. "That's what I thought." Kenzo let out a low growl. "It doesn't matter. She's not mine to protect." Caleb considered him for a long moment, then drained his drink. "Yeah? I love you, so why are you so damn mad?" Kenzo also didn't have an answer for that. Victoria sat on the bed edge, staring blankly at the wall, her fingers tensing and relaxing in her lap. The apartment was too quiet. Too still. She felt Kenzo's absence like a physical thing, as if a part of her had been torn out. She had known he would be angry. She had prepared for it. But she hadn't anticipated how he would have looked at her. Like she had betrayed him. Like she had broken something between them that would never be fixed. She forced herself to breathe and swallowed hot air. This was the only way. It had to be. The alternative was worse. A knock on the door jolted her, and for an instant she thought it was Kenzo, that he had returned, that he had figured out a way to forgive her. But when she opened it, it wasn't Kenzo who was there. It was Damon. Her heart clenched. "What are you doing here?" Damon grinned as he pushed through the door without waiting to be let in. "What, no warm welcome? I'm wounded." Victoria folded her arms, refusing to back down. "I told you I'd come back to you when the time was right." Damon cocked his head, observing her. "Yes. But I'm impatient." Victoria swallowed. "That wasn't the deal." Damon touched her, sweeping hair from her face. "No, sweetheart. You were the deal." Her stomach curled, but she didn't flinch. "That doesn't mean you get to choose when." Damon's eyes darkened. "Are you sure about that?" Victoria's heart raced, but she made herself meet his gaze, to not back down. "Yes." And for a moment neither of them moved. The air in the room grew taut, a thread between them pulled so tight that it could break. Then, finally, Damon laughed, retreating. "I like you, Victoria," he said, silky, dangerous. "You've got bite." Victoria didn't respond. Damon smirked. "Enjoy your freedom while you have it. Because when I call for you..." His eyes glimmered. "You will come." And then he was gone, just like that, leaving nothing but the ghost of his presence behind.
Chapter 1 The mark of the Alpha
In the Shadowfang Forest, the howling wind brought the scent of blood and burning wood. Ivan's world whirled as the carriage careened, rolling over and over before, finally, it settled in a crunch of splintered wood and mangled metal. So get ready to enter into the Passel woods, and join Grann with this next part.
A groan.
Despite the gash on his forehead, Duke Henry IV pushed himself up. His vision became blurry, but he willed himself to keep going. His son. He had to get to his son.
"Oh, God..." he rasped, shaking the boy's shoulders.
Ivan woke, his once-immaculate suit torn and drenched in blood-his mother's blood. He looked up, eyes full of fear. "Papa... you're hurt." His voice trembled. "And Mama... she ain't waking up."
The Duke felt his heart drop at the sight of his mate's dead body and his jaw tightened There was no time to grieve. He tore the silver medallion from his neck - the crest of House Etrama, the legacy of their bloodline - and shoved it into Ivan's palm.
"Listen to me," he ordered urgently. "You have to run. Now."
"But-"
"No arguments!" The Duke drew a dagger from his belt and slashed at the wreckage, forcing open a passage. "Here, take this," shoving a small, rune-inscribed phone into Ivan's hands. "Call your grandfather. Run and do not stop until you find him.'"
Squealing tires echoed in the distance. Then came a low, menacing growl.
A dark vehicle appeared, headlights slicing through the trees. Iron and wolfsbane hung in the air-hunters.
Ivan felt fear gripping his heart and struggled to stay with his dad."
"Go!" The Duke roared, the very last ounce of his strength enabling him to push his son toward the trees. "Run, Ivan!"
The child recoiled before his instincts took over. Then he turned and ran into the dark, his father's last stand ringing in his ears.
The Hunt Begins
Ivan ran through the bush, breath already starting to come in ragged gasps. The gnarled roots and thorns clawed at his flesh, but he pressed on. All that mattered was to survive.
A gunshot.
His shoulder exploded with pain. He bit back a sob as his legs wobbled, before he pushed himself through. His blood stained the leaves-just the route that would take them right to him.
"Hey," a deep voice called out behind him.
"Lord Ivan ... you don't need to run."
The boy's heart pounded. That voice - it was eerily calm, almost too familiar. He pressed his back against a tree, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle his quickening breaths.
They won't take me. I won't let them.
A shadow moved.
Then - a hand clamped over his mouth.
Ivan struggled, thrashing; then a quiet voice came up to his ear.
"It's me."
Suddenly it hit me like a bolt of lightning. He stopped struggling. This was someone he could trust.
The man hoisted him up and, without pause, ran just as another shot rang out, piercing the stillness. Ivan had a thousand thoughts in his mind and controlling them was becoming exhausting as the darkness swallowed the chaos of the night.
The last sound that reached his ears was the desperate howls of his pack demanding justice.
The Blood Moon's Curse
Ivan found himself in an unknown room. Restraints. He was strapped to a bed by a thick leather belt, an IV line sending something into his veins. His head throbbed, memories rushing back in stark flashes - his mother's corpse, his father's final words, the flaming wreckage.
"Papa...? Mama...?" His voice cracked.
A figure loomed over him. His grandfather. The Alpha of House Etrama.
"You're awake," the old man said in a grave tone.
The boy named Ivan started fighting against the restraints, his young mind not able to understand what was going on. "Where am I? What's going on?"
A heavy pause. Then, his grandfather put something into his hand.
The silver medallion. His father's crest.
"You're the last heir," said the Alpha gravely. "And now, they're coming for you."
Tears burned Ivan's eyes. "No... No, they can't be-"
""They are gone, Ivan."
The voice of his grandfather, usually steady and unrelenting, cracked just for the briefest moment. Long enough for Ivan to have a sense of what he had lost.
And then, as a knife snaps back in, it turned sharp again.
"Which is why we need to send you away."
The words landed like a gut punch. Air left his lungs. His body went cold.
"No," Ivan gasped, shaking his head violently. "I don't wanna leave," he gasped, his voice hoarse from grief, from desperation. "This is my home."
"You must." His grandfather tightened his grip on his shoulder, fingers digging in like iron. "You are heir to the throne of Etrama. And then when the time comes..." His golden eyes glowed with a strange fire. "You are going to come back and claim it."
His heart hammered as Ivan tightened his fists. "I don't care about the throne! I care about-"
His head was splitting with pain. His knees buckled.
His vision swam as the world violently threatened to spiral into darkness. Heat coursed through his veins, something old, something powerful rising inside him.
He had barely heard the whisper of his grandfather's last words before the darkness devoured him whole.
"Keep your head down, my boy... until the Blood Moon comes to call you home."