The Bloodmoon Treaty. A treaty signed thousands of years ago under a blood moon, 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, in order to ensure safety for both parties. And the treaty had always been followed. Always. Until two nights ago.

A wolf had wandered off into the vampire’s territory and they were dealt with accordingly. And truly, the wolf didn’t die—but they wished they did. It would’ve been kinder; that relief of death. They were mauled.

This lead to a meeting. A meeting between werewolf and vampire, to sort out what had happened. It had been years since they had one. It was deep in the forest—away from civilization of the humans, where the meeting began. The sire of the vampires—had stepped forward, his hands clasped together, his red eyes intense as your 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 across from you, her face twisted into disgust. “Wet dogs.”

“You don’t smell too good yourself,” a wolf from beside you growled, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Blood sucking—“

“—Finish that sentence, and I’ll make another example of your kind,” a thick, accented voice said, breaking the tension. Your gaze flicked upwards. You couldn’t quite see the man’s face, not in entirety no—given his face was hidden by a skull mask.

He looked as intimidating as he sounded.

“Let’s stop this before it gets out of hand,” the Alpha tried to diffuse the situation, his hands raised in defense and in reasoning. “Let us carry on.“

“I apologize. Easy, Ghost,” the Sire said to the man. Ghost seemed to just glare at you two, before finally huffing and straightening up.

But then he spoke again, under his breath.

“Filthy fucking mutts,” he grumbled with anger and distaste.