The sky bled red.

From the penthouse windows, the city looked drowned in firelight — every building touched by the eerie glow of the rising blood moon.

Clara stood at the window, pulse hammering, her breath fogging the glass. The bond inside her felt restless tonight. It pulsed, deep in her chest, like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers.

Down the hall, the air shifted — a subtle vibration that made the hair on her arms rise.

He was coming.

Adrian Wolfe stepped out of the shadows like a storm given shape. His shirt clung to him, the collar open, sleeves rolled high as though he couldn’t stand to be constrained. The moonlight caught on the edges of his skin, revealing faint veins of silver under the surface — like something ancient was crawling beneath.

“It’s started,” he said quietly.

Clara turned to him. “Then tell me what to do.”

“You run,” he said. “And you don’t look back.”

Her throat tightened. “You think I’m leaving you like this?”

He looked at her, truly looked — and for the first time since she’d met him, fear flickered in his eyes. “You don’t understand what I become under this moon.”

She took a step closer. “Then make me understand.”

He tried to speak, but his voice broke into a growl. His breath came rough, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the marble counter until it cracked under his strength.

“Adrian—”

“Go, Clara!” he shouted, the command rumbling from somewhere deeper than human lungs.

But she didn’t move.

She’d seen flashes before — the beast under his skin, the hints of what he fought to hide. But seeing it now, breaking through him piece by piece, was something else.

His spine arched, muscles taut, veins glowing silver-white as the moon climbed higher. His eyes burned gold, his teeth lengthened, and his breath hitched with pain. The sound wasn’t human — it was the roar of something ancient and wild breaking free.

Clara stumbled back as the change overtook him — clothes tearing, skin rippling, every sound in the room magnified into chaos.

When it ended, the man was gone.

In his place stood a creature out of legend — black fur slick as oil, eyes molten gold, chest heaving. And yet, even in that monstrous form, she felt the bond still thrumming between them. It wasn’t fear that rooted her in place. It was recognition.

The beast lowered its head, snarling softly.

“Adrian?” she whispered.

The name hung in the air like a prayer.

The creature froze — and for a second, its breathing slowed. It knew her.

Behind her, the elevator chimed. Nikolai burst into the room, half-shifted himself — eyes silver, fangs bared. “Damn it, he’s already changing?”

Clara turned, desperate. “Do something!”

“I’m trying,” Nikolai growled. “He’s bonded to you, not me. You’re the only thing keeping him from tearing this city apart.”

She faced the creature again. It had begun to pace now, restless, the power radiating off it like heat. “Adrian,” she said, louder this time. “You said I’d feel it when you lost control — I do. But I’m not running.”

The beast’s gaze snapped to hers. A low, rumbling growl rolled through the room.

“Come back,” she whispered. “Please.”

The golden eyes blinked, once. The sound of his growl softened.

For a heartbeat, the moonlight dimmed, and she swore she saw his silhouette again — man and monster shifting in and out of each other.

Then, a noise — the sharp crack of glass — shattered the fragile calm.

Adrian’s head jerked toward the windows. Someone — or something — was outside. The reflection in the glass showed a shadow moving fast, climbing. Nikolai’s expression darkened.

“They’ve found him,” he hissed.

Clara’s pulse spiked. “Who—”

“The Hunters,” Nikolai spat. “They smell the curse. They’ll kill anything that carries it.”

Before she could react, the beast lunged — not at her, but toward the glass. The massive window exploded outward as Adrian’s body launched into the night, a streak of black against the blood-red sky.

Clara screamed his name, but the wind stole it away.

Nikolai grabbed her arm. “We have to move.”

“I’m not leaving him!”

“He won’t survive if you stay,” he snapped. “You’ll be his weakness.”

She looked out at the night — the storm of clouds and moonlight and motion far below. Somewhere out there, the man she was bound to was fighting both his curse and the people who wanted him dead.

Her heart thudded once, hard.

Then she turned to Nikolai. “Then help me find him.”

His expression shifted — surprise, then reluctant admiration. “You’re insane,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I’m his.”

And with that, she snatched a coat from the rack and headed for the stairwell.

The blood moon glowed brighter, and somewhere in the distance, a howl split the night — long, low, and mournful.

It wasn’t just a sound. It was a call.

And Clara Wren, against every instinct for survival she’d ever had, answered it.