Arrival at Nightshade
The carriage rumbled to a stop in front of the academy, its looming towers shrouded in shadow. The iron gates creaked open as the twins stepped out, their boots crunching against the gravel pathway. Nightshade Academy stood before them like a gothic sentinel, its stone facade bathed in the dim glow of the moon.
Lyra’s stomach churned. The scent of vampire blood permeated the air, mingling with the crisp bite of the night. It set her wolf on edge, a restless stirring beneath her skin that she forced down with every ounce of willpower.
“They’re everywhere,” Eryon murmured, his voice tight.
He was right. Students moved in clusters along the stone pathways, their pale skin luminous under the lantern light. They were beautiful—too beautiful—with sharp features and glinting eyes that followed every movement like predators assessing prey. Lyra felt their gazes slide over her, a sensation that made her heart race uncomfortably.
“Keep your head down,” she whispered to Eryon.
“Welcome to Nightshade Academy,” a cool voice rang out as a tall, statuesque vampire in an elegant black gown approached. Her gaze was piercing, her smile all teeth. “I am Headmistress Valeria. You will find that mediocrity has no place here. Only the strong survive.”
Eryon stiffened at the words, and Lyra instinctively stepped closer to him.
Valeria’s sharp eyes swept over them, lingering for a beat too long. “Orientation begins in the main hall,” she said, her smile never reaching her eyes. “Do try to keep up.”
The twins followed the other students through the grand doors of the academy, the interior just as intimidating as the exterior. The walls were lined with dark wood paneling and ancient portraits, the air heavy with the scent of old books and something faintly metallic—blood.
Lyra’s fingers curled at her sides as she fought to suppress her wolf’s rising unease. She glanced at Eryon, whose jaw was tight, his eyes scanning every corner like a caged animal looking for an escape.
As they moved through the crowd, whispers floated around them—soft, predatory tones that sent shivers down Lyra’s spine.
“New blood.”
“Fresh prey.”
“They look… strange.”
The whispers stopped abruptly as a hulking figure stepped into their path. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and radiated a primal menace that made Lyra’s wolf growl in warning.
The vampire’s eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air, his lips curling into a sneer. “You smell… off,” he said, his voice low and guttural. He leaned closer to Eryon, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “Like prey trying to hide among predators.”
Eryon’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails threatening to sharpen into claws. Lyra’s breath caught as she saw the faint twitch of muscle in his jaw, the barely restrained wolf lurking just beneath his skin.
The vampire tilted his head, his smile widening. “What’s the matter, fresh blood? Afraid to show your true colors?”
