MIRA: Bound by the moon and night

Central Park, New York City – January 10th -2022 At 30, Jack had faced more winters than he cared to count, but tonight’s cold felt different like it had a purpose. He sat under the pale moonlight, hands trembling not just from the biting wind but from anticipation. Mira was supposed to meet him here. They’d talked about it earlier that day after weeks of awkward calls and half-finished texts. Tonight was supposed to be simple. A talk. Maybe a hug. Maybe more. But the silence around him was stretching too long. Something felt… off. He rubbed his hands together every few seconds, his breath rose in small clouds. The Snowflakes danced silently around him, clinging to his jacket, curls, and lashes. His eyes scanned the path ahead, hoping to catch even a glimpse of her or her shadow. The snow soaked through his jeans, and his lips were chattering. Just when he was about to stand and give up, a faint flicker of light—like the glow of a phone screen—fell across the path ahead. He turned toward the light, hope rising in his chest, a bright smile forming. But it quickly faded. It wasn’t Mira. It was Rose. (Mira’s best friend.) She stumbled forward, drenched in snow and blood. She was limping toward him, face pale, her breath came in short, broken gasps. The snow clung to her lashes, her hair wild and wet. Jack froze in place, confused and horrified. “What’re you doing here? Where’s Mira?” he asked, his voice sharp with panic. Rose’s lips quivered. She collapsed before she could say another word. Jack leaped forward, catching her before her head hit the ground. Her breathing was shallow, ragged. Her eyes fluttered open momentarily as she rasped one word: “Run.” Jack’s heart pounded. He looked around, but the path was empty. No footsteps. No sound. Just the weight of the moment pressing against his chest. He carried her to the nearest bench, hands already slick with her blood, trying to press down on the wound. His eyes scanned the dark, his senses flaring. Nothing. Then something. The temperature dropped. The shadows seemed to shift. Jack’s breath caught in his throat. Then, like a shadow stepping out of smoke, a tall man appeared at the path's edge. Rodney. Rodney’s 31, tall, built like a soldier, but with a face that had once known peace. Not anymore. Now, he was brimming with darkness. Jack’s pulse quickened. His instincts kicked in. He didn’t need words. He could feel it—this wasn’t a man. This was a vampire. And Jack, a werewolf—an omega in his pack—was no match for him alone. His steps made no sound. The streetlamps behind him flickered—then went out with a wave of Rodney’s hand. Magic, dark, and ancient surged in the air. Jack stood tall, fur already breaking through his skin, claws forming. The full moon was bright above them, almost blinding. His body began to shift, bones cracking, muscles expanding. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d never been ready. But Mira’s friend was dying, and Mira… where was Mira? Rodney smirked. “Give the girl to me,” he said calmly. “I won’t be so polite to ask again.” Jack growled, voice strained through transformation. “No.” Jack felt the transformation before it began. His skin prickled. His teeth clenched. His bones ached as the wolf inside him stirred. He didn’t want to fight. But he wouldn’t run. Not with Mira still out there. Not with Rose dying in his arms. He knew he was the weakest in his pack. He’d been bullied for it. Mocked. But tonight—something in him snapped. The fear, the pain, the frustration—all of it erupted. His transformation was completed in seconds instead of minutes. Rodney, irritated now, moved swiftly, preparing to strike. Jack lunged. They clashed. Fangs and claws. Fury and fire. But Jack wasn’t strong enough. Not yet. Not alone. He stumbled back, winded, a deep cut across his chest. But in his fury and distraction, he didn’t see the punch coming. He crashed hard against the frozen ground. Then a scream echoed through the park. “JACK!!” Mira screamed She ran onto the scene, coat flapping behind her, eyes wild with horror. “Please! Don’t hurt him!” she cried, falling to her knees beside Rose. Jack turned—just for a second. Rodney struck. A blow to the face sent Jack sprawling. Blood hit the snow. Cradling her best friend’s head in her lap. Tears mixed with blood as she sobbed, “No… no no no…” Rodney moved toward her, eyes glowing. She backed away, holding Rose’s hand, shaking. “Why… why are you doing this?” Rodney didn’t answer. He raised a hand. Jack roared, barely conscious, forcing himself to rise. A grunt of rage escaped him as he ripped a nearby lamppost from the concrete. The steel tore through the air with a screech, and with one last surge of strength, he drove it through Rodney’s chest. The vampire staggered back. Rodney froze. His eyes flickered. He stumbled back, collapsing into the snow. The night fell silent. Mira sobbed. Jack panted, shifting back into human form, bruised and bleeding. But even as Rodney’s body stilled— Jack stared at it, heart thundering. Still. Motionless. Dead… so they thought …. TWO YEARS EARLIER-San Francisco, California | February -2020 Rodney Blackthorne wasn’t always like this—not until the darkness found him. At 29, he was the type of man who turned heads effortlessly: hair as dark as ebony, a body carved from years of gym dedication, and a smile so boyish it disarmed even the most guarded hearts. He worked as a senior partner at Blackthorne & Co., the financial firm founded by his family three generations ago—a billionaire with high self-confidence and prestige. That morning had started like any other. He stopped by his usual café—Bean & Bloom, just a block from his office—for a croissant and his usual Americano. But something shifted the moment he stepped inside. She was there. Mira. Elegant, grounded, and absorbed in a book at the window. She didn’t look up immediately, just sipped her coffee slowly, lips parting gently around the rim of the cup. Her skin was a warm, smooth brown, and her wavy hair framed her face like poetry. She wore a fitted dress—simple, tasteful, a little revealing—yet she looked unaware of how captivating she was. Rodney watched her for over two minutes, completely entranced until she finally looked up and caught his gaze. She smiled. And waved. That one moment—those three seconds—felt like the first breath of air after drowning. For the first time in weeks, the headaches vanished. The visions stopped. He could finally think. They exchanged numbers that day. The rest came naturally. Dinners. Texts. Dates that turned into weekends. Mira became calm in the chaos. But behind his charm and confidence, Rodney was unraveling. He had been plagued by visions since childhood—dark, violent, otherworldly. His parents dismissed them as nightmares, nothing more. And for a while, they stopped. But around his 29th birthday, they returned—sharper, louder, more real. Alongside them came a thirst he couldn’t explain, a shift in his emotions, and an increasing resistance to sunlight. He tried to fight it with painkillers. Meditation. Therapy. But nothing worked. The darkness within him was growing. It wasn’t just paranoia. He was changing. What Rodney didn’t know then was that he had inherited a curse. His ancestor, James Blackthorne Ravenhart, had been a ruthless industrialist in the 1600s. According to old family journals—most of which were conveniently “lost”—James made a pact with something ancient, offering his bloodline’s firstborn sons to the NIGHT in exchange for eternal wealth and power. Rodney, his father’s firstborn, was next in line. The generational power came at a cost—he was to become a vessel, a monster, a vampire bound by legacy. And he was losing the fight. Still, Mira gave him hope. She grounded him. She had a warmth that pushed back the cold. They traveled together to Paris in the summer of 2021, and then to Aspen in the fall. She had no idea what he was. And he wasn’t ready to tell her. Not yet. Not while he still believed he could protect her from the curse, from the visions, from himself. So he smiled. He kissed her. And he pretended… So he thought…..