Chapter Two – Blood and Oaths
648 Words
Aiden Blackthorn ran.
His boots pounded the cracked pavement of the French Quarter, but his breath remained steady. He wasn’t tired. The shift had sharpened his senses, heightening everything—the sting of salt in the air, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, the distant sound of a streetcar clattering across St. Charles.
He should’ve finished the rogue. One clean tear through the throat, and it would’ve been over.
But she saw.
The woman. Celeste.
He hadn’t meant for her to get that close, hadn’t expected the rogue to hunt near humans. That was against every code. Every rule. A blatant violation of the oath their kind had lived by for centuries.
Aiden cursed under his breath and slowed near a rusted gate, slipping into the shadows of an old churchyard. The stones here were crumbling, the statues of angels worn down to ghostly silhouettes. It was one of the oldest safe zones in the city—warded, hidden, and familiar.
Waiting at the far end was someone he didn’t want to see.
“Wasn’t subtle tonight, were you?” growled Dorian Voss, his second-in-command. Lean, sharp-eyed, and eternally pissed off, Dorian stepped forward with a scowl carved into his face.
Aiden didn’t break stride. “There was a rogue.”
“There are always rogues. You just don’t usually leave them alive.”
Aiden stopped at the top of the steps and looked out toward the iron fence, his voice low. “He went after a human.”
Dorian’s expression shifted. “Was she killed?”
“No.”
“Witness?”
Aiden hesitated. The image of her face—startled, fearless, beautiful—flashed behind his eyes. “Yes.”
Dorian swore under his breath.
“She saw me shift,” Aiden added. “Saw both of us.”
“Hell,” Dorian muttered. “You know what that means. The Council won’t like this.”
“I don’t care what they like.” Aiden turned toward the inner chambers of the crypt. “I care that a rogue is hunting civilians in our city.”
“And you let him live.”
The accusation hung heavy between them.
Aiden’s jaw tensed. “He wasn’t the real threat. He was sent. Marked.”
Dorian stiffened. “Marked by who?”
“I don’t know yet. But this wasn’t random. He wanted her.” His voice dropped lower. “I could feel it. Something’s coming, Dorian. And she’s in the center of it.”
There was silence for a beat, then Dorian stepped forward. “So what are you going to do?”
Aiden looked over his shoulder, eyes gleaming silver under the moonlight. “Find her before they do.”
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Meanwhile, in the French Quarter...
Celeste stood in the middle of her living room, staring at her reflection in the dusty mirror above the fireplace. Her clothes were torn. Her face pale. The pendant around her neck felt hotter than usual against her skin, like it had absorbed the heat of whatever madness she’d just witnessed.
She should call someone. The police? Animal control? A therapist?
But what would she say?
Hi, yes, I was almost attacked by a wolf the size of a horse. But then another wolf saved me. And I think the first one had… glowing eyes?
She reached for her phone anyway. Her fingers stopped just above the screen.
She didn’t want to report it. Not yet. Not until she understood what she’d seen. And more importantly—who she’d seen.
Because she recognized those eyes.
Not from life—but from a dream. A recurring one. The same pale silver eyes had haunted her for weeks, always just beyond reach, always just before waking.
And now they were real.
Something strange was happening in New Orleans. Something old and dangerous. And somehow, she was already part of it.
- Writer
