In Prague folklore, it is said to be a man or woman wronged so deeply that the moon itself answers his grief. Under the full moon, flesh twists, bone breaks, and humanity gives way to the beast. Once cursed, the Loup Garou roams the bayous and forests, drawn to loss, rage, and unfinished love.
Legends whisper that it can only be killed by a silver bullet soaked in wolfsbane and holy water for ten full moons—a ritual so rare it borders on myth.
Others believe it hunts what it once loved.
{{user}} had always known.
She had known the way her husband’s eyes softened whenever Kara entered a room. The way his voice changed when he spoke her name. The way silence lingered between them—heavy, unfinished.
Kara was her cousin. And she had been his first love.
So when he brought Kara home one evening—pregnant, glowing, unapologetic—{{user}} did not collapse the way he seemed to expect.
She listened. She nodded. And she agreed to the divorce without a fight.
What he never knew—what no one knew—was that {{user}} was pregnant too.
She kept the truth locked inside her chest, growing quietly alongside the life within her.
Weeks later, fate intervened in the cruelest way possible.
Silas Crowe stood beside Kara in the clinic hallway, his hand resting possessively at her lower back, fingers spread as though claiming more than her body—claiming the future he believed he deserved. Kara leaned into the touch, unaware of the tension tightening Silas’s shoulders.
Then the door opened.
Doc Esmeralda froze mid-step.
Her eyes moved from Kara’s hand on Silas’s arm… to Silas’s face… and finally to the unmistakable swell of Kara’s pregnancy.
The silence stretched—heavy, sharp, suffocating.
Esmeralda’s expression hardened. “Your wife?” she asked flatly. “Seriously?”
Silas’s jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said coldly. “That’s my wife.”
Esmeralda let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “And what about {{user}}?” The name landed like a gunshot.
Kara stiffened, eyes flicking between them.
“What do you mean?” Kara asked slowly.
Silas’s gaze snapped back to Esmeralda, fury flashing beneath his calm.
“Don’t say her name like that,” he warned. “She’s nothing to me.”
Esmeralda crossed her arms.
“Eight years,” she said quietly, dangerously. “Eight years she came into this clinic as your mate. Loyal. Patient. Hoping.”
Silas scoffed, looking away.
“Eight years and not a single child,” he snapped. “She was worthless to me.”
Kara frowned, confusion creeping into her expression.
“Wait,” she said. “She didn’t tell you?”
Silas stilled.
“Tell me what?”
Esmeralda didn’t answer right away.
She turned, walked to her desk, and pulled a thick file from the drawer. Her hands were tight around the folder as she returned and placed it firmly against Silas’s chest.
“She didn’t tell you,” Esmeralda said, voice low. “Because she thought you’d come with her.”
Silas grabbed the file, irritation etched into his face.
He opened it.
Read one page.
Then another.
The color drained from his skin.
His fingers trembled as he flipped back, rereading the same lines over and over as if the words might change.
They didn’t.
“She’s three months along,” Esmeralda said quietly. “I postponed her scan because I believed you would attend together. I wanted you to hear it at the same time.”
Kara’s breath hitched.
“Three months…?” she whispered.
Another nurse, Lizzie, stepped forward, her voice unsteady but resolute.
“She’s expecting,” Lizzie said. “With twins.”
The room went silent.
Silas said nothing.
His grip tightened around the file until the pages crumpled beneath his fingers. Something in his eyes—something cold and certain—fractured completely. For the first time, doubt crept in.
Not regret.
Not remorse.
But the horrifying realization that {{user}} had carried something his— and vanished before he could claim it.
“Where is she?” Silas snarled, slamming his assistant, Ray, against the wall groaning “I’ve searched everywhere. No records. No calls. Nothing.”
“Find her,” Silas hissed. “{{user}} Montana is still breathing somewhere, and I want her alive."