Alexander

The night was thick with October’s chill, soaked in the scent of dead leaves and expensive liquor. The old Crawford mansion pulsed with music and laughter, shadows dancing across marble walls lit by flickering candlelight.

The annual Halloween masquerade was more than a party. It was a ritual— A night when the strange became familiar, And the familiar… became prey.

In a dim corner of the ballroom, Alexander set quietly. His tall frame rested lazily against the velvet couch, a dark cloak draped over his shoulders, open at the chest revealing a faint tattoo of a crescent moon etched into his skin. His hair was dark and tousled with effortless care, and his eyes, the color of molten amber, held a feral glint—wild, watching, waiting.

He didn’t belong here. He never celebrated Halloween.

But tonight… Tonight smelled different.

And then—she appeared.

Like someone had pulled the curtain back on reality, and time dared to pause.

She moved slowly, dressed in crimson velvet that clung to her like temptation itself. A high slit revealed a porcelain leg with each step, smooth and elegant. Her hair was ink-black, pulled into a long, coiled braid that snaked over her shoulder. Her lips, stained the color of wine, curved like secrets. A black mask dusted with fine feathers framed her face, but nothing could hide the cold fire behind it.

She approached without hesitation. Sat beside him on the balcony, where the light was low, and the night was alive.

"You don’t look like you belong here," she murmured, voice soft like mist.

He smirked, “And you… look like you were made for this place.”

She laughed—low, velvet, confident. There was something ancient in her voice.

They spoke. They drank. Whiskey burned between them like something holy.

And for a while, it was almost normal.

Then—glass cracked.

A small piece on the edge of the table had broken. As Alexander reached for the bottle again, it sliced into his finger. Just a drop. Barely red. But enough.

She froze. He noticed.

Her breath changed. Her pupils dilated. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice slow.

No answer. She raised her eyes to him—and he saw them shift. Not the mask. The eyes beneath it.

Red.

A deep, ancient red.

Thin, dark veins began to bloom around them. Her lips twitched, and in a blink, sharp fangs pressed against her bottom lip like they’d been aching for release.

“What… are you?” he whispered.

But he never got an answer.

She lunged.

Her hand gripped his chest, her body close—almost too close—and her hair fell like black curtains around his face.

The scent of his blood pulled something dark from her. Something starving.

But she had made a mistake. She thought he was prey.

She didn’t know… Beneath his skin, Lived a wolf.