It is rumored the Dark World was created by the Greek god of the underworld, Hades.

Legends say he grew tired of humans who feared death but worshipped life. So he opened a door beneath the mortal realm, a realm where power belonged to those who embraced the night instead of hiding from it.

The Dark World is home to creatures born from ancient magic and forgotten bargains. Hellhounds roam the scorched plains. Witches command forbidden spells whispered to them by spirits older than time. Vampires stalk moonlit territories and rule with cold ambition. Werecoyotes hunt in silence through the desert of bones, their eyes always watching.

And then, there are the werewolves.

The most feared. The most respected.

It is said they were Hades’ chosen creation, forged from mortal flesh and divine wrath. Their souls burn with a piece of his eternal fire. Their instincts echo death and rebirth. They are bound to the moon and to the throne of darkness that Hades once sat upon.

Some believe the first Alpha drank from the river of souls and rose with power no other creature could rival. The bloodlines that followed him were blessed. Royal. Predators among predators.

For centuries, the Dark World existed hidden from humans. Clans rose and fell. Bloodlines battled for dominance. Territory wars turned rivers into red currents. Alliances were formed out of fear rather than loyalty. No one ever ruled the entire Dark World, because trust here was a luxury no creature dared to afford.

This night, the moon hung heavy in the sky, pale and watchful. The forest below breathed with life and danger. Leaves whispered, and shadows moved as if alive.

Elena ran.

Her breath came fast. Her boots sank into the wet ground as branches tore at her cloak. The sound of pursuit filled the night behind her. Low growls. Heavy paws. The sound of something hunting.

She didn’t dare look back.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her legs burned. The forest seemed endless. Every sound felt like a warning. Every rustle promised death.

She had been told never to cross the northern woods. The witches of her coven whispered that the trees there drank more than rain but she had no choice. She had been running since dawn, and her magic was fading.

A growl sounded from her left. Another answered from her right.

Elena froze. The air was thick with the smell of fur and blood. Her hands shook as she lifted them, summoning what little power she had left. Faint purple sparks danced between her fingers, then died.

“Please,” she whispered, but her voice was too small for the night to care.

They appeared from the trees. Three beasts, taller than men, covered in rough fur and muscle. Their eyes glowed yellow in the dark. They spread out, blocking every path she could take.

Elena took a shaky step back. “Stay away,” she warned.

The beasts didn’t stop.

The first one lunged. She screamed and released her spell. A flash of violet light exploded from her palm. The creature stumbled but didn’t fall. She turned and ran, branches tearing at her arms.

Her lungs burned as she pushed through the trees. The forest blurred, a storm of shadows and fear. The growls behind her grew louder. She didn’t see where the ground dipped until she was falling. She rolled down a slope and hit the earth hard.

When she looked up, the trees had opened into a clearing. The moonlight spilled across the grass like silver fire.

And someone was standing there.

A man.

He was tall, bare-chested, his skin marked with faint scars. His black hair fell across his forehead, and his eyes gleamed silver under the moon. He didn’t move. He only watched her, calm and still, like the night itself had taken shape.

Elena froze, caught between fear and confusion. The beasts crashed into the clearing behind her. Their growls filled the air again but this time, something had changed.

They hesitated.

The man turned his head slowly toward them. His expression didn’t change, but the air shifted. It felt heavier and colder.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. His voice was quiet but carried like thunder.

The beasts snarled but didn’t advance. One moved first, breaking the tension. It charged.

The man moved faster than sight. One moment he stood still, the next he was beside the beast. His hand clamped around its throat. The creature kicked and clawed, but he didn’t flinch. With one motion, he crushed its neck.

The sound was sickening.

The others attacked together. He didn’t step back. He caught one by the arm and tore it free from its body. Blood sprayed across the clearing. Another beast leapt, and he grabbed it midair, slamming it into the ground so hard the earth cracked.

Elena couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t human.

The last beast tried to run, but he was faster. He caught it by the back of the head and twisted. The snap echoed through the night.

Silence fell.

The man stood surrounded by bodies. Blood dripped from his hands, but his breathing was calm. The moonlight made his skin look like carved stone.

Elena stared at him, her voice shaking. “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer. His eyes shifted to her, sharp and unreadable. There was something wild in them, something that didn’t belong to men.

He took a step toward her.

Elena stepped back until her foot caught on a root. She fell hard, her palms scraping against the ground. He kept coming, slow and steady.

When he reached her, he crouched down. His face was close enough for her to feel his breath. It smelled of earth and blood.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly.

“Who are you?” she whispered again.

He smiled. It wasn’t kind. “Does it matter?”

Her heart pounded harder. Up close, she could feel something strange in him, something ancient and powerful.

She tried to rise, but his hand caught her wrist. His touch was warm and firm, holding her still without hurting her.

“You shouldn’t be in this part of the forest,” he said. “You crossed the wrong border.”

She frowned. “Border?”

His eyes darkened. “This is Blood Moon territory.”

Her breath caught. Every witch knew that name. The Blood Moon Pack. The strongest and most feared werewolves of the Northern Kingdom.

“Then you’re…”

“Yes,” he said, cutting her off.

The realization hit her. Derek. The Alpha of the Blood Moon Pack. The one even witches feared to speak about.

He stood, pulling her up with him. Her body brushed against his, and she could feel the heat of him through her torn cloak.

“I didn’t mean to cross,” she said, her voice trembling.

He tilted his head. “You did.”

He leaned closer until his lips were beside her ear. His voice was low, almost a growl.

“You shouldn’t have run into my forest, little witch.”