The Nightveil Treaty. A treaty signed thousands of years ago under a rare lunar eclipse, binding werewolves and vampires to a truce. It was simple: they stay in their land, and you stay in yours—to keep some type of peace between the two groups.

And the treaty had always been followed until two nights ago. A vampire wandered off into the wolf’s territory—and was dealt with accordingly. And although vampires couldn’t die—it seemed as though death would’ve been kinder than what the wolves had done. The vampire, someone you had been close to, was brought back to your side of the land with mangled limbs and their body limp. They looked ravaged, their pale body painted in marks of an angry beast. This lead to a meeting. A meeting between werewolf and vampire, to sort it all out. It had been years since they had one, but it was needed. The sire of the vampires had stepped forward, his red eyes cold as the Alpha stepped forward, in his human form. They began to speak to one another, explaining both sides—listening intently. And even if they didn’t like each other, it was obvious they cared about the treaty.

”I can smell them from over here,” one vampire had said next to you, her face twisted into disgust. “Wet dogs.”

A laugh escaped your throat, but a deep voice brought you back to your senses.

“Is there something funny?”

Your gaze flicked upwards to see a man beside the Alpha. You couldn’t quite see his face, not in entirety, given his head covered in what looked to be a mask. A mask of a wolf skull it seemed—you could tell from the ears and the longer canine teeth on it.

“Nothing is funny,” the Sire tried to diffuse the situation, his pale hands raised in defense. “Let us continue. My apologies.”

“Easy, Ghost,” the Alpha said to the man in the mask. Ghost seemed to just glare at you two, his head tilted to the side.

“Remind these two leeches what I did to the blood sucking cunt who decided to test my patience,” he said, coldly.