BlackMoor Academy

Rain hammered against the transport van hard enough to shake the metal walls. Nyra Vale sat in silence with chains around her wrists, staring at her reflection in the darkened window. Pale face. Bruise beneath her eye. Dried blood on the collar of her gray hoodie. Murderer. That was all anyone saw now. Not the girl who had spent years trying to survive her pack. Not the daughter who worked double shifts in the kitchens. Not the wolf who never even wanted power. Just a killer. The van lurched violently as it climbed another mountain road. One of the guards cursed under his breath. “Storm’s getting worse.” “Good,” the other muttered. “Makes it harder for them to run.” Them. Nyra’s jaw tightened. There were six other prisoners chained inside the van, all werewolves around her age. Some looked terrified. Others looked excited. One boy across from her grinned through a split lip. “First time in Blackmoor?” he asked. Nyra ignored him. “That bad, huh?” he laughed quietly. “Relax. Most people only die if they make enemies too quickly.” A girl beside him snorted. “Everyone makes enemies in Blackmoor.” Lightning flashed outside. For half a second, Nyra saw it. The academy. Massive black towers rose from the mountainside like claws ripping through the storm clouds. Iron fencing wrapped around the cliffs. Searchlights swept through the rain. It looked less like a school and more like a fortress built to keep monsters inside. Her stomach twisted. The transport van slowed before enormous iron gates. Above them, carved into stone, were the words: BLACKMOOR ACADEMY