chapter 3

The moons vanished behind thick clouds, plunging the village into darkness. A cold breeze whispered through the air, carrying the first droplets of rain. Shadows stretched as a massive figure emerged, fangs gleaming and claws curling into the earth. Crimson eyes pierced the gloom, glowing with a feral hunger.

The men in dark hooded outfits stood rigid, their faces hidden, but the way their grips tightened on their weapons betrayed their fear of dying.

The silence shattered as the twelve-foot beast began to shrink, muscles retracting, fur receding. His body contorted, bones cracking as he slowly transformed back into a man. Torn remnants of his clothes hung from his frame, leaving him in little more than shredded pants.

"Look," he began, his voice steady but weary, "it's obvious you guys didn't really want to fight someone like me. So how about we all just go our separate ways?" He ran a hand through his hair, his crimson eyes dimming to a tired hue. "I just want to get back to my apartment. Honestly, I'm too lazy to fight."

"Wait, seriously?" one of them asked in Japanese, eyes wide beneath the hood.

"Yep." He shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Lucky for you, you didn't run into my siblings." His eyes gleamed with something wild. "They'd have eaten you for dinner." He waved a dismissive hand, already turning away.

He stepped past the boundary, the cold air biting at his bare skin. His shoulders stiffened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. His gaze dropped to the shredded remains of his pants barely hanging onto his frame. His eyes twitched. Great… just great.

A familiar voice, calm and aged, cut through the night.

"My lord, I believe a change of clothes is in order," Alfred said, gesturing smoothly toward the sleek car waiting just beyond the illusion's veil.

Michael sighed. "Alfred?" What are you doing here?" He already knew the answer.

"To take you home, sir."

Michael groaned, rubbing a hand down his face as he climbed into the car. A fresh white T-shirt and a pair of blue pants were neatly folded on the seat.

As the car rolled smoothly down the road, Michael finished changing into the clean clothes. Settling back into the seat, he glanced at Alfredo. "Alright, spill it. What's going on back home now?"

Alfred's expression remained unreadable. "Your mother has requested your presence. As for the reason… I must apologize, sir, but she did not confide in me."

Michael flopped onto the back seat, limbs sprawled as his head hit the cushion. His eyes fixed on the ceiling, a frown creasing his brow. His fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh before curling into a fist.

The car wove through airport traffic, horns blaring and voices rising above the bustle. Michael's gaze flicked to the window, watching taxis swerve and passengers rush by. But their car didn't slow. It slipped through the gates, rolling to a stop before a sleek private jet, its engines humming impatiently.

At the base of the jet's stairs, a group of werewolves stood at attention, their eyes lowered in respect. Loyal guardians of his family. Michael ascended the steps, their presence familiar yet distant.

Inside, he paused. His mother lay gracefully on the plush lounge, a gentle smile curving her lips as her eyes met his.

"Mother," he said, dropping into the seat across from her, his shoulders slumping. His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest, his gaze drifting to the window. "I was in the middle of something… wanted to kick back, play some games, maybe watch some TV. What's this about?"

"Michael, this is about your sister," his mother said, her voice cold and clipped.

Michael's shoulders went rigid, his slouched posture vanishing. His fingers dug into the armrest, knuckles whitening. "What happened this time?"

"She's in Mexico," his mother continued, her eyes narrowing. "Clubbing. Drunk off her ass. And no one can get close enough to drag her out."

His jaw tightened. "What kind of clubs?"

Her gaze darkened. "Not human ones."

Michael exhaled sharply, his eyes flicking to the window as the plane's engines roared to life. The cabin shuddered as they began to taxi. "You want me to bring her back."

His mother's expression softened, a knowing smile curving her lips. "She'll listen to you." Her eyes gleamed, the softness vanishing. "Oh, and Michael—any boy who touches her… make sure he regrets it."

The plane soared into the sky, its nose pointing toward Mexico.

"Mother, who would dare touch her?" Michael's eyes narrowed, a flash of crimson flickering beneath his lashes.

His mother's gaze turned distant, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. "We may be Nobles, but we're not immortal. We can be killed—well, at least the others can be killed more easily." Her eyes drifted to her son, a wry smile curving her lips. "You know, if you weren't so lazy, you'd probably try to take over the whole world."

Michael's shoulders relaxed, a low chuckle escaping him. "Yeah… but that sounds like too much work."