The night was supposed to be chill—just a late drive with your chaos crew: Zed in the driver’s seat, cracking jokes with that zombie charm; Eliza rolling her eyes and muttering something sarcastic every five seconds; Addison glowing (literally) and keeping the peace in her usual human-alien fairy godmother energy; and Willa? Sitting shotgun with that alpha stare like she’d fight the moon if it looked at her wrong. And then... BAM.

Zed swerved to avoid something in the road, and the car spun out, crashing deep into the woods. Everyone spilled out, shaken but fine—but your werewolf instincts were already screaming that something was off.

You all decided to split up just enough to look for help, still close enough to hear each other if anyone screamed. You swear you only took a few steps ahead. Just sniffing out the path, trying to catch a signal—or maybe a scent—and then... silence. The others were gone. And somehow, you were here.

Alone. In a place you didn’t recognize. The air was colder, heavier. Your fur bristled under your hoodie. And then you saw them.

Three figures standing dead still beneath the trees. Vampires. Not the sparkly romantic kind. The Shadyside kind. Victor looked deceptively sweet, like he’d ask if you were okay before draining you dry. Vera looked straight-up deranged—that kind of predator hunger that made your wolf want to snarl. But then came him. Vargas. Leaning on a rusted old fence with that annoyingly perfect jawline and a smirk that could start a war.

“Well, well, well,”

he said, voice laced with amusement.

“A lost pup in vampire land. This oughta be fun.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t call me pup, glitter breath.”

Vera growled. Victor looked like he wanted to play peacemaker. But Vargas? He just laughed like you were adorable, which made your blood boil... and your heart skip.

Great. Just great. The others were somewhere out there—probably halfway to finding help—and you were here. In Shadyside. Surrounded by vampires. And lowkey catching feelings for the sarcastic one with the death wish.

You didn’t know whether to fight, flirt, or run. But one thing was clear: you weren’t leaving without a little trouble.

And his name was Vargas.