The Howl of the Blood Moon

The night air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as Magnus Varik stood alone in the shadowed courtyard of his estate. The moon hung low, bloated and red, casting an eerie glow over the stone walls that had stood for centuries. It was no ordinary night—something primal stirred in the air, a restlessness that clawed at his chest. The empire he ruled was a fortress of steel and blood, but tonight, it felt fragile, as if the shadows themselves were conspiring against him.Jakob's words about Isabella lingered in his mind, but they were drowned out by a deeper, more visceral sensation. His skin prickled, his senses sharpened, and a low growl rumbled in his throat—unbidden, unnatural. Magnus clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until blood welled up, dark and glistening in the moonlight. He had felt this before, though never so strongly. The curse of his bloodline, the one his father had warned him of, was no longer a whisper. It was a roar.Inside the estate, the servants moved silently, their eyes darting nervously toward the windows. They had heard the rumors—tales of their lord's strange behavior under the full moon, of howls echoing from the forests beyond the walls. None dared speak of it, but fear hung heavy in their glances. Magnus cared little for their superstitions. He had battles to fight, an empire to hold, and a noblewoman to crush if she dared overstep. Yet tonight, something else demanded his attention.A sharp, guttural howl split the silence, reverberating through the courtyard and into the marrow of his bones. His head snapped toward the sound, eyes narrowing as they gleamed faintly yellow in the dark. It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It was something else. Something he recognized on an instinctual level he couldn't explain."Magnus!" Jakob's voice cut through the haze, urgent and strained. The older man emerged from the arched doorway, his face pale, a longsword gripped tightly in his hands. "The scouts—they've returned. Something attacked them in the woods. Only one made it back, and he's… not right."Magnus turned, his movements fluid, predatory. "Show me."Jakob led him through the winding corridors, the torchlight flickering as if afraid to linger too long in Magnus's presence. They descended into the lower levels of the estate, where the air grew colder and the walls were rough-hewn stone. In a small chamber, lit only by a single candle, lay the scout—a man named Gavrin, young and wiry, now trembling on a cot. His armor was shredded, claw marks raking across the steel as if it were parchment. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and his breath came in ragged gasps."What happened?" Magnus demanded, his voice low and commanding, though it carried an edge of something feral.Gavrin's gaze darted to him, then away, as if he couldn't bear to meet his lord's eyes. "It… it came from the trees," he rasped, his voice barely audible. "Big. Fast. Like a wolf, but… wrong. Standing like a man. Eyes like fire. It tore through us—ripped Toren apart like he was nothing. I ran. Gods help me, I ran."Magnus's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, towering over the trembling man. "Did it speak?"Gavrin shook his head, then froze, his face contorting in terror. "No… but it knew. It looked at me, and I felt it—inside my head. Like it was laughing."Magnus straightened, his mind racing. He had read the old texts, the forbidden tomes his father had kept locked away. Tales of the Varik bloodline, of a curse tied to the moon, of men who became beasts. He had dismissed them as myth, the ravings of mad scholars. But now, with the red moon glaring down and the howl still echoing in his ears, doubt gnawed at him."Lock the gates," he ordered Jakob. "Double the guard. No one leaves the estate tonight."Jakob hesitated, his eyes searching Magnus's face. "My lord… what is this?"Magnus didn't answer. He turned and strode from the chamber, his boots striking the stone with purpose. He needed answers, and he knew where to find them—his father's study, a room sealed since the old man's death. If the curse was real, if it was awakening within him, the truth would be there.The study was a cavern of dust and shadow, untouched for years. Shelves lined the walls, groaning under the weight of ancient books and scrolls. A massive oak desk dominated the center, its surface scarred from years of use. Magnus lit a lantern, the flame casting long, jagged shadows across the room. He moved to a locked cabinet in the corner, one he had never dared open as a boy. With a single, forceful blow, he shattered the lock, the wood splintering under his strength.Inside were journals—dozens of them, bound in cracked leather, their pages yellowed with age. He pulled one free and flipped it open, his eyes scanning the spidery handwriting of his father, Darius Varik. The words leapt out at him, stark and chilling."The blood of the Variks is not pure. It carries the mark of the First Beast, a pact made in the shadows of the Old War. Under the blood moon, the beast wakes. It hungers. It hunts. I have fought it, suppressed it, but it grows stronger with each generation. Magnus must never know—unless he must."Magnus's hands tightened on the journal, his breath catching. Another howl tore through the night, closer now, vibrating through the stone walls. His vision blurred, then sharpened, the edges of the room coming into unnatural focus. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with a wild, savage thrill he couldn't suppress.The door burst open, and Jakob stumbled in, blood streaking his face. "Magnus—they're here! Wolves, but not wolves. Men with claws and teeth—they're tearing through the guards!"Magnus dropped the journal, his lips curling into a snarl. He felt it then—the shift. His muscles tensed, his bones ached, and a searing heat spread through his veins. His hands flexed, nails lengthening into claws, dark fur sprouting along his arms. The room tilted, and he staggered, catching himself against the desk as a roar erupted from his throat, deep and inhuman.Jakob froze, his sword trembling in his grip. "Magnus… what are you?"Magnus's eyes locked onto him, glowing gold in the dim light. "Stay back," he growled, his voice a guttural rasp. "I don't know how long I can hold it."But the beast didn't care for control. It surged forward, shattering the last of his restraint. His body twisted, bones cracking and reforming, his frame growing larger, more powerful. Fur covered him now, thick and black, his face elongating into a snout lined with razor-sharp fangs. The man was gone. The wolf stood in his place.Jakob raised his sword, but Magnus—no, the beast—moved faster. With a swipe of a clawed hand, he sent the blade clattering across the room. Jakob stumbled back, fear etched into every line of his face, but the beast didn't strike again. It turned, crashing through the window and into the night, glass shattering around it.The courtyard was chaos. Men screamed as shadowy figures—werewolves, like him—tore through the ranks. They were fast, relentless, their eyes burning with the same feral hunger Magnus felt coursing through him. Blood stained the stones, and the air reeked of death. The beast roared, a challenge to the intruders, and they answered in kind, their howls rising into a chorus of terror.Magnus lunged into the fray, claws slashing, teeth snapping. He was no longer the lord of an empire—he was a predator, driven by instinct and rage. One of the werewolves leapt at him, its maw dripping with blood, but Magnus caught it mid-air, slamming it into the ground with a sickening crunch. Another came from the side, and he spun, tearing its throat out with a single bite.The red moon watched, unblinking, as the courtyard became a battlefield of monsters. Magnus fought not just for his men, but for himself—to prove he could master the curse, to hold onto the man he had been. But with every kill, the beast grew stronger, its hunger deeper, its will harder to resist.In the distance, a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman, cloaked in black, her eyes glinting with an unnatural light. Isabella. She smiled, a predator's smile, and Magnus knew then that she was no mere noblewoman. She was one of them. And she had come for him.The night stretched on, a symphony of howls and screams, and Magnus Varik, now a creature of claw and fang, stood at the heart of it all, torn between the man he was and the monster he was becoming. The empire would never be the same.