TWICE CURSED

The sun hung high in a cloudless sky, bathing the valley in golden warmth as Anastasia and her friends gathered herbs for their families. Laughter drifted between the trees-until a sound shattered the peace. A sharp whooshing, too fast, too unnatural. The girls froze. Seraphina and Aurelia rushed to Anastasia's side, their faces drained of color, their hands trembling. They had never encountered vampires before, but they knew the stories. The whooshing sound was always the first sign.

Little Elysia, who had yet to reach her first transformation-werewolves only turned at eighteen-caught a glimpse of a vampire's face and let out a piercing scream. "Vampire!" Her cry rang through the air, sharp and urgent. Within moments, the older, stronger, and more battle-hardened werewolves abandoned their firewood and sprang into action, baring their fangs and claws as they rushed toward the intruder, ready to fight.

The battle raged on, the strongest of the werewolves fighting valiantly-though hindered by the daylight, unable to fully transform into their majestic wolf forms and unleash their true power. Meanwhile, Anastasia and her friends fled. They were young, barely past their transformations-most had turned only four years ago, some even more recently.

At twenty-three, Anastasia was the oldest among them. Like the others, she had gained her werewolf abilities at eighteen, yet unlike them, she had never been able to fully transform, not even under the light of a full moon.

Most of the valiant werewolves had fallen, their bodies littering the battlefield. The vampires, outnumbering them and unweakened by the absence of a full moon, had suffered only a few losses. Now, the merciless bloodsuckers turned their attention to the young werewolves, who scrambled to escape.

The surviving warrior werewolves roared in defiance, chasing after the enemy to protect their own. But just as the vampires closed in on the girls, something extraordinary happened.

Anastasia's eyes, which should have glowed the usual yellow of a werewolf tapping into its power, flared into a golden-orange blaze. A surge of raw energy coursed through her veins. Without thinking, she snatched up a jagged piece of wood from the ground.

Then she moved.

Not with the swiftness of an ordinary werewolf. Not even with the speed of a vampire.

She was faster.

Before anyone could react, she became a golden blur, cutting through the air with the force of a storm. In less than three seconds-an impossibility, even among supernatural beings-she struck.

One by one, the vampires fell, their screams cut short as her sharpened stake plunged into their hearts. Twenty-five enemies, slaughtered in the blink of an eye.

Then, silence.

The battlefield stood still.

The remaining werewolves-her pack, her people-stared at her in stunned disbelief. Even the wounded ones, gasping for breath, could do nothing but watch. No werewolf had ever moved like that. No werewolf had ever been like that.

What was she?

Unbeknownst to the werewolves, a ferocious vampire lurked in the shadows, concealed high among the trees. He had watched everything-the impossible speed, the massacre of his kind, the golden-orange glow in the girl's eyes.

Now, he saw his chance.

Anastasia's eyes flickered back to their normal shade. Her breathing grew unsteady as the weight of what she had done crashed over her. The 25 vampires she had slain-just seconds ago-were now crumbling to ash before her very eyes.

Her heart pounded.

I did this?

Overwhelmed, her vision blurred, and the world tilted. Darkness swallowed her senses.

Just as she was about to hit the ground, a blur shot from the trees.

The hidden vampire struck with lightning speed, faster than any werewolf could react. In the blink of an eye, he caught Anastasia's limp body in his arms.

Before the werewolves could even process what was happening-before a single cry of protest could leave their lips-he was gone.

Vanished.

Vamped away into the night, taking Anastasia with him.

The battlefield fell into stunned silence. Then, chaos erupted.

The werewolves howled in fury and despair.

Their beloved Anastasia had been taken.

Seraphina collapsed beside her father's lifeless body, her sobs wracking her entire frame. Bitter tears streamed down her face as she clutched his hand, wishing-praying-that he would wake up. But he wouldn't. He never would.

Around her, the air was thick with sorrow. The surviving werewolves wept for their fallen-mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and comrades. The battlefield, once filled with the echoes of battle, was now silent, save for the muffled cries of the grieving.

One by one, they gathered the bodies of their loved ones, lifting them with trembling hands, their hearts heavy with the weight of loss. The journey home was slow, burdened by grief. None of them had imagined that such a normal, joyful day would end in tragedy.

But beneath their sorrow, lurked something else.

A lingering shock.

Anastasia.

Her name was on every mind, unspoken yet deafening.

No one could forget what had happened-how, in the blink of an eye, she had annihilated 25 vampires. A feat beyond belief. A power no werewolf had ever possessed.

And now... she was gone.

Taken.

The pain of their losses was immeasurable, but the mystery of Anastasia's strength-and the fear of what it meant-haunted them just as much.

As the weary werewolves arrived home, the province of Varethia was plunged into mourning. The four Elders-the revered rulers of the land-summoned all the villagers to gather for the burial and funeral rites of their fallen heroes.

A young, strong werewolf was swiftly sent to deliver the sorrowful news to the Royal Family, carrying the weight of a battle lost and lives shattered.

As the villagers assembled beneath the moonlit sky, grief hung thick in the air. Families clung to one another, their faces streaked with sorrow and exhaustion. Flames from the torches flickered, casting long shadows over the sacred burial grounds.

Among the mourners stood Anastasia's parents, their hearts pounding with unease. Searching through the crowd, they found Elder Magnus, one of the few who had returned from the battlefield.

Desperation lined their faces as they approached him.

"Elder Magnus," Anastasia's father urged, his voice heavy with emotion. "Tell us..." What happened to our daughter?"

The elder's gaze softened, but the weariness in his eyes spoke volumes. He exhaled deeply before replying.

"My friends," he said solemnly, placing a reassuring hand on their shoulders, "now is the time for mourning. Let us bury our fallen heroes."

"But Anastasia-" her mother pressed, her voice breaking.

Magnus shook his head gently. "Tomorrow morning, the Council will convene. This time, we Elders will not sit alone. We will summon all the survivors of the battle... and both of you, for we will speak of Anastasia."

Anastasia's father swallowed hard. "So she's alive?"

A faint, tired smile touched the elder's lips. "Yes. That is all you need to know for now-your daughter is alive and well."

Relief and dread warred within them, but there was no time for more questions.

Magnus turned toward the grieving villagers and lifted his staff, signaling for the ceremony to begin.

"Come," he said. "Let us honor the dead."

Deep within a strange, mist-laden forest, a lone figure landed with supernatural grace. Gnarled trees loomed like silent watchers, their twisted branches reaching toward the starless sky. A small, weathered hut stood nearby, its wooden walls worn by time and secrecy.

With a sharp, merciless shove, the vampire dropped Anastasia onto the cold, damp earth.

She groaned, her mind swimming as consciousness stirred. Her head pounded, her body ached, and as her vision sharpened, she saw the dark silhouette looming over her.

Then, a glint of silver.

The vampire gripped an axe, its wicked blade catching the faint glow of the moon. With deadly intent, she raised it high, preparing to bring it down-straight for Anastasia's neck.

The air seemed to freeze.

Then-

A sudden blur.

A sickening tear.

The vampire let out a strangled gasp. Her body went rigid. The axe slipped from her fingers, landing uselessly in the dirt.

Then, as if an invisible force had crushed her from within, she collapsed into a heap of ashes.

Anastasia's breath caught in her throat. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Heart racing, she lifted her gaze-

And there he stood.

A young man, tall and imposing, with striking features carved from shadow and moonlight. His deep crimson eyes burned in the darkness, glowing with an eerie, inhuman light.

He had killed the vampire in an instant. Saved her.

But he himself was one of them.

Terror and gratitude warred within her as she scrambled back, pressing her hands into the damp soil.

"W-Who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The mysterious vampire gazed down at her, expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, in a voice as smooth as silk, he spoke:

"You should not be afraid, Anastasia. You and I are not so different."

Anastasia's pulse pounded in her ears.

Not so different? What did he mean?

"Not so different?" She whispered, her voice unsteady. "I am a werewolf. You are a vampire. How could we possibly be the same?"

Valerian stepped closer, his crimson eyes softening as he stooped down beside Anastasia. The coldness she had expected from a vampire wasn't there. Instead, his face held a calm honesty, a quiet gentleness that disarmed her.

With a small, almost hesitant smile, he stretched out his hand-strong, yet surprisingly careful.

"My name is Valerian," he said, his smooth voice carrying both strength and warmth.

Anastasia hesitated. Her heart still raced, but the fear was melting-slowly-under a strange, peaceful conviction. Something deep within her whispered that she could trust him.

She reached out, placing her hand in his.

"I'm Anastasia," she replied, her voice softer than she intended, laced with a sweetness even she noticed.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Yet, in that brief silence, their minds were far from quiet.

Anastasia's thoughts swirled in confusion:

I feel like we're going to be good friends. O, Anastasia! What are you thinking? He's a vampire-a sworn enemy. But... I can't shake this feeling. I can trust him. I know it.

Valerian, on the other hand, found himself lost in a different kind of thought:

She's... the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And yet, there's something more. With her, I feel free, like I could trust her. It's strange-she's a werewolf. But maybe... maybe not all werewolves are as bad as I was taught.

Their hands still lingered in the handshake-both of them reluctant to let go, yet neither fully understanding why.

In that moment, something unspoken passed between them.

Something that neither of them-not yet-could explain.

Breaking the silence, Valerian cleared his throat.

"I know this might sound... strange," he began, "but it's getting dark, and it wouldn't be safe for you to wander the forest alone. If you like, you could spend the night in my hut."

Anastasia blinked, half-expecting a hidden trap.

Seeing the hesitation in her eyes, Valerian quickly added, "I'll sleep outside-vampires don't feel the cold. You'll be safe inside, I promise. And first thing in the morning, I'll walk you to the entrance of your province."

Anastasia hesitated for a moment longer, weighing her options. But that strange inner voice-the same one that told her to trust him-whispered again.

She nodded. "Alright."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Valerian's lips as he extended his hand once more, helping her to her feet. Together, they made their way down a narrow path, the towering trees arching above them like watchful sentinels.

Nestled at the edge of a clearing stood a small, weathered hut. Its wooden walls were covered in creeping ivy, and the old wood creaked under the night breeze.

But when Valerian pushed open the door, Anastasia gasped.

Inside, the hut was warm and inviting. Shelves lined the walls, filled with old books and glass jars of herbs. A stone fireplace sat at the center, its embers still glowing faintly. A wooden table-polished and well-kept-stood beneath a simple iron chandelier.

"This is... beautiful," Anastasia murmured, tracing her fingers over the smooth surface of the table.

Valerian chuckled softly. "The outside's deceiving, isn't it?"

She smiled, feeling her guard lower just a little more.

"Rest for a while," he told her. "You've been through a lot. I'll make dinner."

"Dinner?" Anastasia raised an eyebrow. "Vampires cook?"

Valerian grinned, a rare warmth in his crimson eyes. "We don't have to. But I learned. Helps when you're not trying to terrify guests."

Anastasia chuckled as she sank into a cushioned chair, her body finally relaxing.

An hour passed before the mouthwatering scent of roasted pork filled the air. Valerian returned, wiping his hands with a cloth.

"Dinner's ready," he said.

They stepped outside beneath the moonlit sky, where Valerian had set out simple wooden plates on a low table. The moon cast a silver glow over the clearing, and the quiet hum of the forest wrapped around them like a soft blanket.

As they ate, the initial awkwardness faded.

Anastasia, curiosity gnawing at her, finally spoke.

"Why did you save me?" she asked, cutting into the pork.

Valerian hesitated for a moment, then answered, his voice calm and sincere.

"Because not all werewolves are my enemies. And besides," he added with a faint smile, "what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't? If I see a lady-a damsel in distress-whether she's a werewolf, a vampire, or a human, I can't just refuse to lend a helping hand."

Anastasia found herself smiling, despite everything.

"Chivalrous and a vampire? That's... unexpected."

Valerian chuckled. "I try to be full of surprises."

They shared a quiet moment, the weight of their earlier fears easing under the soft glow of the moon, as the conversation between them slowly deepened.

"Valerian, why do you live here in this little hut all alone?" Anastasia asked, her voice soft, laced with genuine curiosity. "And why did you kill the vampire that was going to kill me?"

Valerian didn't answer immediately. The quiet between them stretched, filled only by the crackle of the fire.

Anastasia's thoughts spilled out before she could stop them. "My heart is telling me to trust you, but I still can't wrap my head around why a vampire would kill another vampire... and why you're so kind, so gentle. I don't feel like I'm in danger around you-even though you're a vampire. And then, last night..." Her voice faltered. The memory of the 25 vampires clawed at her mind, but confusion kept her from speaking of it. "Never mind," she mumbled, looking away.

Valerian's gaze was steady. "Anastasia, I'm going to be completely honest with you. As strange as it sounds, I feel I can trust you-though I barely know you. There's a pure goodness in you that draws me in, making me want to reveal everything."

He leaned forward slightly, the shadows flickering across his sharp features. "But before I do... you need to know something. There's a reason those vampires were after you last night. And it wasn't random."

Anastasia's heart pounded in her chest. "What do you mean?"

Valerian opened his mouth to speak-but then he froze.

A faint rustle echoed from the trees outside.

He rose in a swift, fluid motion, his hand gripping the hilt of the blade resting by the door. His calm demeanor shattered, replaced by sharp focus.

"They found us," he whispered.

Anastasia's blood ran cold. She strained to hear it too-another rustle, this one closer, followed by the unmistakable snap of a twig.

"Stay behind me," Valerian ordered, his voice low but firm.

Before she could respond, the candlelight flickered violently-as if reacting to something unseen.

The door rattled.

Anastasia gasped.

Valerian barely glanced back at her. "They're not going to stop this time."

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.