The revelation hung in the air like an unspoken truth, and Isabella's eyes widened in shock as Gabriel's words settled over her. The man she loved, the father of her child, a werewolf! The weight of the revelation pressed against her chest, and a sense of betrayal clawed at the edges of her consciousness.
"You're telling me Ethan is... also a werewolf?" she uttered, her voice a hushed whisper, almost drowned by the tumult of emotions surging within her.
Gabriel nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on Isabella, knowing the enormity of the revelation he had just unleashed. "Yes, Isabella. He's one of us."
"One of us? there other werewolves in Blackwood? But I thought all werewolves decided to leave Blackwood?" Isabella inquired, and Gabriel replied, "Why did you think that? This is our land, you know? Most of us fled, but some of us remained." Gabriel spoke with conviction, his voice carrying the weight of years filled with defeat and oppression at the hands of the Crusaders. Isabella, though having no hand in it, expressed remorse, acknowledging the pain etched into Gabriel's words.
She reminds Gabriel that she was part of the last families to settle here, so she is ignorant of what happened.
A myriad of conflicting emotions danced across Isabella's face. She felt the sting of betrayal, the weight of a secret hidden for years. Yet, mingling with the shock was a thread of understanding, a realization that explained the mysteries surrounding Ethan's nature.
"He heals fast, he is unnaturally strong, but most importantly he heals fast" Isabella murmured, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock and acceptance. "It's almost like a magic trick."
Gabriel, realizing the impact of his revelation, fixed his gaze on Isabella's blue eyes and asked, "Since when did you notice he heals fast?"
Isabella's mind flashed back to the day Ethan was born, the peculiar fur on his back, and the blade that inadvertently cut him. "From the day he was born," she admitted, a haunted look in her eyes. "I used a blade to scrape off the fur-like hair on his back. It cut him, Gabriel, but before I could find something to cover the wound, it closed up. Like it never happened."
A stunned silence enveloped the room. Gabriel's eyes widened as he absorbed the weight of Isabella's revelation. "That's not possible," he muttered, almost to himself. "Werewolves don't get their fast healing abilities until they transform on their first full moon after they sixteen years old and not before."
Isabella's shock mingled with a pang of understanding. The pieces of the puzzle began to align, but the questions and uncertainties loomed larger than ever.
Under the dappled sunlight filtering through the Blackwood trees, Celeste and Ethan stood on the edge of a clearing, bows in hand, eyes locked in a playful challenge.
"Alright, Celeste," Ethan teased, "let's make a deal. Whoever gets the most bullseyes does all the chores for the day."
Celeste grinned, confidence radiating. "You're on, Ethan. Prepare to be defeated."
The arrows flew, cutting through the air with a soft whoosh. When the dust settled, Celeste examined the targets, her grin faltering. "Well, that's not fair. My arm's still recovering."
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, your arm—the one that innocent wolf you killed bit you. The poor thing was minding its business, but you had to kill it."
An indignant huff escaped Celeste. "You cocky prick. What's your obsession with wolves? They're like every other animal in the forest."
Ethan retorted, "I just think not every animal in the woods ought to be killed." Celeste shot back, "What I'm getting here is that you like wolves and want to preserve or protect them. But not everybody feels the same. I promise I'll take note of your delicate sensibilities next time I go hunting with Father." They fell into a brief silence before Ethan broke it, saying, "You're the one who's delicate." Celeste replied, "No, you're not just delicate, you're fragile." They continued playing with their arrows and bows, exchanging playful jabs.
As their lighthearted duel continued, fueled by determination, Celeste playfully landed a couple of hits on Ethan. Laughter echoed through the woods as they chased each other, the earlier tension dissolving in the joy of sibling camaraderie.
Near a moss-covered rock, Ethan's foot connected with an unforeseen obstacle, and he stumbled. A sharp gasp escaped Celeste as she noticed blood staining his foot. "Sorry, Ethan. Didn't mean to trip you up."
Though wincing, Ethan grinned. "No harm done, Celeste."
As Celeste looked away momentarily, her eyes widened in astonishment upon turning back. The bleeding wound had vanished, leaving only a faint trace of red. "Ethan... your foot. Where's the wound?"
He nodded, a mix of pride and vulnerability in his eyes. "Yeah, I heal fast. I've told you about it before, but I guess this is the first time you've seen it."
Still in awe, Celeste murmured, "I thought you were joking." Processing what she had just witnessed, she asked, "Does Father know?" To which Ethan replied, "No, and I'd like to keep it that way."
The crowded ambiance of the dimly lit tavern hummed with lively conversations and the occasional clink of glasses. Darius, a charismatic figure with an air of mystery, found himself drawn to Marcus amid the lively throng. He slid onto the stool next to Marcus, a gleam of intrigue in his eyes.
"Mind if I join you?" Darius inquired, his words carrying a charm that echoed through the air. Marcus, though initially reserved, welcomed the company with a nod, and the conversation flowed effortlessly.
As they exchanged tales and laughter, Darius couldn't help but sense a subtle melancholy beneath Marcus's facade—a quiet need to be loved and accepted. It intrigued Darius, and his gaze lingered on Marcus's form, appreciating the muscles and vulnerability that exists beneath his blue shirt.
At the bar, they decided to engage in a friendly game of cards. Darius, however, couldn't resist the temptation to play a little trick. With a sly smile, he tapped into his vampire ability, momentarily freezing time to rearrange the cards in his favor. The game unfolded with Darius appearing uncannily lucky, leaving Marcus both impressed and entertained.
As the evening wore on, the camaraderie deepened with each round of drinks. Marcus, feeling a blend of admiration and camaraderie, eventually bid farewell and promised to give Darius a tour of the town the next day. He leaves, intending to find his way home, even though his friends were nowhere in sight.
However, once Marcus disappeared from view, Darius, guided by the shadows of the forest, swiftly tracked down one of Marcus's friends, named Edward. The air crackled with an otherworldly tension as Darius, with a predatory grace, sunk his fangs into the friend's neck. A controlled amount of blood was drawn, leaving the friend weakened but alive.
Darius, in an unusual twist, then rubbed some of his own blood on the wound, invoking a mysterious healing power. As the friend regained his strength, Darius locked eyes with him, the mesmerizing gaze compelling him to forget what just happened.
Darius vanished into the night, hoping to see Marcus the next day.