Life in the Shadows
Amelia’s secluded home deep in the vampire woods was a sanctuary for Lyra and Eryon, but it was also a carefully constructed prison. Every day was a lesson in survival, every moment a test of their ability to suppress who they truly were.
“Again,” Amelia instructed, her voice sharp but not unkind.
Lyra and Eryon stood stiffly at attention, their postures ramrod straight. Amelia paced before them, her movements deliberate, her silver-streaked hair catching the dim light of the room. “When you meet a vampire elder, how do you greet them?”
Eryon hesitated for half a second too long, earning a sharp look from Amelia. Lyra answered quickly, her voice calm and measured. “With a bow, deep and respectful. Never make eye contact unless invited.”
“And if they question your resilience?” Amelia turned to Eryon, her brow arched.
He cleared his throat, his voice steady but edged with tension. “We say we were blessed with gifts by the old bloodlines. Strength and heightened senses are rare but not unheard of.”
“Good,” Amelia said, though her tone was clipped. “But you’ll need to believe it yourself if you expect them to. Vampires smell doubt like blood in the water.”
Despite the harshness of her lessons, Amelia’s urgency was rooted in fear. She had spent years crafting their cover, creating a life where their wolf nature was masked as eccentricities of elite vampires. The synthetic blood tonic became a daily necessity, and their childhoods were filled with rituals and rules meant to keep their secret buried.
“You can never transform,” Amelia warned them repeatedly. “Not ever. If they see what you are, they’ll tear you apart before you can take your next breath.”
But as Lyra grew older, the wolf inside her began to stir. At night, she dreamed of running under the glow of a full moon, her body light and powerful, her senses sharp and unrestrained. The dreams left her restless and yearning, a feeling she couldn’t shake even during the day.
Eryon struggled in a different way. His wolf instincts surfaced during moments of stress, his temper flaring unpredictably. When he clenched his fists too hard, his nails sharpened to claws. When he was pushed too far, his growls reverberated low and primal.
One afternoon during a lesson, Lyra stood in the middle of the room, reciting vampire etiquette as Amelia watched her intently. Her voice was steady, her posture perfect, but something in her tone wavered.
“…and a guest must always be offered sanctuary,” Lyra said, her focus slipping as her mind wandered to her dreams.
Amelia’s sharp clap broke her concentration. “Focus!”
Lyra startled, a low growl rumbling in her throat before she could stop it. Her silver eyes flashed, turning feral yellow for a fleeting second.
Amelia froze, her face pale. The room fell deathly silent as the two stared at each other.
“If anyone saw that,” Amelia whispered, her voice trembling, “you’d be dead already.”
