Chapter Eight: Two Hearts

The net hissed as its runes flickered out, tendrils of silver smoke coiling into the night air. Ethan lay still for a moment, his muscles twitching as freedom returned to his limbs. Rufik stepped forward, his broad silhouette outlined against the moonlight.

"Unbind him," the Alpha ordered.

The nearest of the Old Blood wolves stepped forward on two legs now, half-shifted with glowing eyes and claws. With a slash of a claw and a grunt, the net fell away. Ethan rolled onto his side, then pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion. The silver had left burn marks where it touched his skin, but they were already fading.

"You sure you want me loose?" Ethan muttered, brushing the soot and ash from his jacket.

"If you wanted to kill us," Rufik said, "you would have already."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Then why the show?"

"Because you'd never come willingly."

He scoffed but didn't argue. Rufik was right. Ethan preferred solitude — the wilds, the dark edges of the world. The politics and loyalties of the packs were poison to him. He'd never felt a home among them, only suspicion and resentment. They called him many things: cursed blood, moonless whelp… Half-born.

"You said something earlier," Rufik continued, "about this being a mistake. Do you still think that?"

Ethan paced a few feet ahead, into the clearing's edge. Moonlight struck his face like a silver brand. He turned away from the others, inhaling deeply. The woods had gone still again, but not calm. The silence of prey before a storm.

"I'm not your salvation," Ethan said, voice low.

"You're the only one who can match him."

"Don't be so sure."

There was a pause. Ethan turned his head slightly, eyes still fixed on the distant trees.

"Why do you all call me that?" he asked. "The thing with two hearts."

Rufik didn't answer at first. Then his voice softened, a rare tremor threading through his words.

"Because… that's what you are."

Ethan turned fully, his gaze sharp.

"I've got one heart. One body. I bleed, I bruise, I wake up angry like everyone else."

"Maybe," Rufik said. "But you were never just one thing. Your scent is twisted — it pulls in two directions. Old Blood wolf and something far older. Something… cursed and regal."

Ethan exhaled slowly.

"I only know what I was told," he said at last. "And most days, I wish I'd never heard it."

He moved back to the center of the clearing. The wolves watched him but didn't approach. Something in his presence kept even the Old Blood cautious — not fear, but reverence touched with wariness.

"My father," Ethan began, "was named Vahriun."

Rufik lifted his brow at the name. Even the wolves exchanged glances.

Ethan smirked without humor. "You've heard of him."

"Only in whispers," Rufik replied. "A prince of shadows. A traitor to the Crimson Throne."

Ethan nodded.

"They say he was Dracula's son — born not of love, but power. A creation of ambition. He stood at Dracula's side for centuries, mastering the secrets of blood and death. But even he saw the madness growing."

Ethan's voice lowered, caught between memory and myth.

"A woman named Lyrie — she found me once in the ruins beneath Hightomb, when I was still just a boy. Said she followed the old lines, those few left who still remembered. She told me Vahriun and a few of Dracula's court tried to break away. To stop him. They failed."

He glanced upward. The moonlight gleamed off his lashes.

"Dracula called down armies of hell. Shadows that devoured cities. Whole bloodlines turned to dust. But Vahriun... he didn't die. Couldn't. He knew the same secrets his father did. Magic carved into his bones."

"And after?" Rufik asked quietly.

"After the war, and the long silence when Dracula was sealed…" Ethan's tone softened. "Vahriun went into hiding. Wandering across Europe, always looking over his shoulder. But somewhere deep in the Carpathians, he met a woman."

He looked at Rufik now.

"She was descended from the Old Blood — one of the last of her kind. Her name was Velessa. And even though it was forbidden, they fell in love."

Rufik looked stunned. "A mating of that bloodline would be… catastrophic. No wonder they were hunted."

"They were," Ethan said. "Her clan disavowed her. His name was cursed across vampire covens. They fled deeper into exile, hiding where no one would dare follow."

Ethan paused, a flicker of emotion cutting across his features.

"She died giving birth to me."

A long silence passed.

"I was raised by humans at first. Then hunters. Then no one." Ethan's voice darkened. "Everyone who took me in tried to use me. Teach me to kill, to hate one side or the other. But I'm not one or the other."

"You're both," Rufik said gently.

"No," Ethan snapped. "I'm neither."

His voice echoed in the clearing. The wolves flinched. Even the wind seemed to still.

"Every time I look in the mirror, I see something that shouldn't exist. A monster with no tribe. No home. A thing that runs fast and lives longer and feels too much and too little all at once."

His fists clenched.

"So don't tell me I'm your chosen. Don't tell me I was born to stop him. I was born because two people broke every law written in blood and stone. I exist because love got in the way of war. That's all."

The wolves remained silent. Rufik looked as though he bore the weight of Ethan's words like armor. Heavy, bitter, necessary.

Then the wind shifted.

Low in the distance, a howl rose. Not of a wolf. Not of anything natural. It was cold and cavernous, echoing through the trees like the groan of a coffin lid.

Ethan's eyes turned toward it. Something stirred within him. A hunger. A warning. A knowing.

"He's close," Rufik whispered. "Isn't he?"

Ethan didn't answer.

He already knew the truth.