Chapter 3 What Is She

Valerian stood tall, his blade gleaming under the moonlight, his stance unyielding as he positioned himself between Anastasia and the unseen threat.

Anastasia crouched behind him, her heart pounding in her chest. She gripped the fabric of his cloak tightly, terrified-not of him, but of her own helplessness.

I can't activate that power again... she thought, panic clawing at her mind. How did I even do it the first time?

The memory of twenty-five vampires turning to ash in mere seconds flashed in her mind, but now-here in this moment-she felt powerless.

Yet, Valerian stood there.

Shielding her.

His red eyes scanned the shadows, blade steady, unwavering.

Anastasia's thoughts spiraled as she peeked from behind him.

He's willing to fight his own kind-fellow vampires-just to protect me. A werewolf. His sworn enemy.

Her chest tightened with a strange mixture of gratitude and admiration. There was a nobility in Valerian she hadn't expected-a depth that went beyond the fangs and crimson eyes.

Before she could dwell on it further, a soft rustle broke through the tense silence.

Then-five figures stepped out from the shadows, their forms hulking and powerful under the pale moonlight.

Werewolves.

Valerian tensed, blade still raised, but Anastasia gasped.

"They're... they're not vampires," she whispered, stepping forward cautiously.

The five werewolves-each towering and battle-worn-lowered their weapons at the sight of her, though their sharp eyes lingered on Valerian with thinly veiled suspicion.

The leader of the group, a grizzled warrior with a scar running across his brow, spoke first.

"Anastasia, we've been searching for you," he rumbled. "Elder Magnus sent us to find you and bring you back to Varethia before the Council meets at dawn."

Relief washed over Anastasia-but it was tangled with a new, rising dread.

She glanced at Valerian.

What will they do to him?

Valerian remained still, his blade now angled slightly downward, but his eyes flickered with caution.

"Friends of yours?" he asked dryly.

Anastasia hesitated before nodding. "Yes. But... they might not be friends of yours."

For the first time that night, Valerian smiled-a sharp, knowing grin.

"We'll see about that."

As the werewolves drew nearer, their snarls deepened into growls when they saw the unmistakable crimson glow of Valerian's eyes. Vampire. Fury surged through them. Under the night's cloak, they shifted into their full wolf forms-massive, sinewy beasts, stronger under the moonlight and now a deadly match for Valerian.

One lunged forward, its silver fangs bared, soaring over Anastasia with a terrifying snarl. It aimed straight for Valerian, its claws outstretched for a lethal strike. A werewolf's bite could kill a vampire-and Valerian knew it.

But then-time seemed to fracture.

The beast froze mid-air, its powerful body suddenly rigid. Its head jerked backward at an unnatural angle.

Anastasia stood beneath it, her hand wrapped effortlessly around the werewolf's thick neck. Her eyes glowed-a brilliant golden-orange, fierce and otherworldly. With a strength that defied reason, she flung the massive creature into the air. It hurtled through the trees, branches snapping like twigs as it disappeared deep into the forest.

For a moment, silence hung heavy.

Valerian blinked, stunned. Even the other werewolves hesitated, their instincts torn between fight and flight. But before they could act, Anastasia blurred-faster than lightning. One by one, she sent the remaining wolves flying with bone-crushing force, their heavy forms vanishing into the shadows of the trees.

Valerian barely had time to process what he'd witnessed.

He vamped to her side, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Anastasia!" he hissed, his voice trembling-not with fear, but awe.

Her chest heaved. The golden glow in her eyes flickered... then faded. She slumped against him, her body trembling as reality crashed down.

"I-I didn't mean to..." she whispered, her voice laced with panic. "Are they-did I-?"

Valerian tilted his head, his sharp hearing tuning into the forest's quiet heartbeat. A moment later, he exhaled. "They're alive. Just unconscious. They'll wake in five minutes."

But Anastasia paled. "Then they'll come after you again. They'll kill you."

Valerian didn't argue. Her fear was real. Her worry-genuine.

"You need to go," she pleaded, her claws retracting as she gripped his sleeve. "Run. Find another forest. Build another hut. Somewhere safe. I-I'll find you again. Someday."

A strange ache stirred in Valerian's chest-an ancient, heavy thing he hadn't felt in centuries.

He nodded, though every instinct clawed at him to stay. "I'll be waiting."

For a fleeting moment, they embraced-vampire and werewolf, sworn enemies turned... something more.

Then, in a gust of wind and shadow, Valerian vanished into the night.

Anastasia stood alone, and for the first time, she wondered-what exactly was she?

Anastasia moved quickly, her heart still racing from what had just transpired. She crouched beside the unconscious werewolves, noticing the unnatural angles of their limbs-bones broken from the brutal force of their fall. Her breath caught in her throat.

I didn't mean to hurt them this badly...

Gripping each of their heavy forms with ease, she carried them one by one out of the dense forest and into a clearing, where the full moon bathed everything in its cold, silver light. The werewolves' wounds began to mend almost instantly, their broken bones knitting together under the moon's healing touch-but it would take hours before they fully recovered.

Anastasia stood over them for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of questions, before turning away. Her feet instinctively led her to Valerian's hut-a place that now felt emptier than ever. She sank onto the rough wooden bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Her eyes remained wide open, her thoughts spiraling.

What am I? How could I do that?

The memory of Valerian's astonished face haunted her. The glow in her eyes. The impossible strength. The speed. None of it made sense.

Outside, the werewolves stirred. Though still battered, they were awake enough to realize the extent of their injuries-fractured ribs, twisted joints, deep gashes-all caused by her. Yet the moonlight worked its ancient magic, mending them bone by bone.

They lay still, silent in their recovery, but their minds raced.

What is she? one thought bitterly. No werewolf moves like that. No werewolf protects a vampire.

Another narrowed his eyes toward the hut, his claws digging into the earth. She's dangerous. She can't be trusted.

When they could finally stand without their bones snapping beneath them, they devised a plan. One of them pulled a small leather pouch from around his neck-inside was wolfsbane powder, rare and lethal in large amounts, but when used sparingly, it could knock out even the strongest werewolf. They didn't want to fight Anastasia again-they weren't sure they could win-but they couldn't just let her go.

"She'll be out for six hours," one muttered. "Plenty of time to drag her back to Varethia for judgment."

"And no awkward walk of shame," another added grimly, still smarting from the memory of being flung through the forest like a twig.

Together, they circled the hut.

Inside, Anastasia sat up, her nerves on edge. The air felt... off.

Then she saw it-thin streams of pale, smoky powder slipping through the cracks around the windows and beneath the door. Her senses screamed in warning. She bolted upright, sprinting for the exit, but before she could reach it, her legs gave way.

Her vision blurred. Her limbs felt heavy-like stone.

No- she thought desperately, clawing at the wooden floor.

But it was too late.

She crumpled where she stood, her last breath shallow as the world darkened around her.

The werewolves crept in moments later, their expressions hard and cold. One knelt beside her still form, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"She's strong," he muttered, "but not invincible."

They hoisted her up and disappeared into the night, leaving Valerian's hut eerily silent-its last occupant gone.

The journey home was long and silent, broken only by the heavy breaths of the five warriors as they carried Anastasia-still unconscious-bound tightly in wolfsbane chains. Her strength had terrified them, and they weren't taking chances.

When they finally arrived at Varethia, they went straight to Elder Magnus.

The old werewolf, towering and gray-furred, listened in stunned silence as the warriors recounted every detail-how Anastasia had thrown them like rag dolls, her unnatural speed, her glowing eyes. This only deepened his bewilderment. It wasn't the first time Anastasia had done the impossible.

"She took down twenty-five vampires," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "In three seconds..."

At dawn, the Council of Elders gathered in the ancient stone hall. The atmosphere was thick with tension. The surviving warriors from the vampire battle sat in the shadows, their eyes flickering toward the iron chair at the center of the room-a seat reserved for only the most serious trials.

Anastasia was slumped in that very chair.

Heavy wolfsbane chains coiled around her wrists and ankles, nullifying her werewolf abilities, leaving her completely vulnerable. Her golden hair cascaded over her face, hiding her pale features, but the sight of her-bound and still-sent murmurs rippling through the crowd.

Then, the heavy oak doors creaked open.

Anastasia's parents stepped inside.

Their eyes widened in horror at the sight of their daughter chained like a criminal. Her mother gasped, covering her mouth, while her father stiffened, his claws threatening to break through his skin. Yet, with heavy hearts, they took their seats among the crowd-duty demanded it.

A low groan escaped Anastasia as she stirred awake. Her vision swam before clearing-only to see the vast hall, dozens of cold eyes staring straight at her. The iron chair beneath her felt ice-cold.

"Why-why am I bound?!" she demanded, yanking at the chains, panic rising. "What is this?!"

No one answered.

Instead, Elder Magnus rose from his stone seat. He struck the gavel once, its echo bouncing off the cavernous walls.

"The trial begins," he declared, his voice thunderous.

He turned toward Anastasia's parents, his expression a mask of ancient wisdom tinged with confusion.

"You need to understand why you're here," he began solemnly. "Your daughter has displayed powers beyond any werewolf-or vampire-we've ever known. She fought and slew twenty-five vampires in under three seconds. And now, she's shown strength and speed that defy every supernatural law."

Anastasia's parents sat frozen. The color drained from her mother's face. Her father's jaw dropped.

Yet, their thoughts aligned perfectly: No matter what she is, she is our daughter. We will always love her.

Elder Magnus gestured to the five warriors. "Tell them what happened."

One by one, they recounted the events-the golden glow of Anastasia's eyes, the way she hurled them like stones, her speed faster than lightning. Gasps echoed across the hall. Even seasoned warriors looked visibly shaken.

The room fell into heavy silence.

The same question swirled in everyone's minds: What is she?

No vampire is that fast.

No werewolf has that strength.

Is she something else? Something dangerous?

Anastasia felt the weight of their stares. It pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She sat, bound and helpless, like a lamb before slaughter. The faces around her blurred into a mass of suspicion and fear.

Then, Elder Magnus's voice cut through the tension.

"Her strength, her speed... her powers... they don't match any known lineage." He turned, his gaze heavy on Anastasia's parents. "So I must ask you-something I never thought I would."

The hall seemed to shrink, the air thick with anticipation.

"Who is Anastasia?" he asked, his voice low but firm. "And tell us-where did you really find her?"

The question slammed into Anastasia like a hammer.

Her parents stiffened, eyes wide, their long-buried secret clawing its way to the surface.

Anastasia's breath caught. What does he mean? Her pulse roared in her ears.

The hall waited-silent, tense-as if the very walls hungered for the truth.