The city of Valewood was quiet under the crescent moon, but not at peace . Tension hummed in the streets as if the air itself held its breath. Dark clouds loomed towards the moon like a predator stalking its prey. In the eyes of pedestrians, the night was calm—streetlights casting a warm glow over cobbled roads, occasional footsteps of the late-night wanderers echoing softly. But those aware of the city's secrets knew better.

Five ancient werewolf families—the Alarics, Voss, Ravans, Durands, and Ashfords—had kept a steady, silent grip on Valewood for centuries. Their truce was unspoken but firm, each family keeping to their own territory, each member mindful of the delicate balance.

It was a city bound by respect, order, and tradition, one upheld in blood and loyalty. They had decided long ago that it was profitable to work together than against one another. 

But tonight, the air was different.

Luca Alaric, the eldest son of the Alaric family, felt it first. Standing atop the old library's roof, he scanned the city's skyline, his sharp eyes searching for the unknown. His smell picking up the stench of the sewer 300 feet away. At twenty-eight, he was tall, with a rough edge to his handsomeness—dark hair that curled in the damp, thick lashes over steely eyes. His senses were honed to precision, and every muscle tensed, alert.

A rustle to his right made him tense. His sister, Eva, joined him on the ledge, moving with the silent grace of their kind. "You feel it too, don't you?" she asked, her voice low but clear.

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the distant lights. "Something's off. I really have a bad feeling about tonight."

She followed his gaze. "The vampires?"

Luca clenched his jaw. A small family of vampires had come through Valewood over the past few months, skirting the edges of werewolf territory. They'd made no move—yet. But their mere presence disrupted the equilibrium, and every werewolf knew what could happen if they dared breach the borders.

The Alarics had kept close watch since the vampires' arrival, but they hadn't expected more to follow. Luca's suspicions grew as he noticed new shadows in the night—a few unknown faces in the city. Word among his allies was that the vampires were gathering, as if for something bigger than anyone dared imagine.

Eva shifted beside him, drawing her coat tighter. "We need to tell Father," she said. "He'll want to alert the other families. We need do immediately Luca."

"I know," Luca replied, finally tearing his gaze away. "But we can't go in blind. I need more information first." He glanced at her, a silent question in his eyes. Eva had always been the family's best scout, her agility and instincts unmatched.

She met his gaze, nodding in understanding. "I'll see what I can find."

Luca reached out, grabbing her arm before she could slip away. "Be careful, Eva. These aren't ordinary vampires."

A faint smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I'll be fine. Try not to worry too much, big brother."

With that, she was gone, her figure melting into the shadows as though she'd never been there.

---

Across town, in a dimly lit parlor, the vampires had gathered. The clan leader, Viktor Drakov, surveyed his followers, his pale face illuminated by the flickering candlelight. With a stature both regal and unnerving, Viktor had led his clan through centuries of survival. His voice, low and chilling, broke the silence.

"We have come here with a purpose," he began, his gaze shifting from one face to another. "These werewolves think they own this city. They believe their ancient truce gives them power. But we are here to claim what is rightfully ours."

A murmur of agreement spread through the room.

Viktor's eyes gleamed, his tone coldly resolute. "We are not here to make peace. We are here to conquer. And conquer we shall."

One of his lieutenants, a young vampire with a barely restrained smirk, spoke up. "And if they resist?"

Viktor's lips curved into a smile. "Then we'll show them what a true fight looks like. I am sick and tired of their claim over this city."

The promise of violence hung heavy in the air.

---

Back in the Alaric household, Luca was pacing the grand hall, the walls lined with portraits of his ancestors, their gazes watchful and stern. His father, Donovan Alaric, sat in a high-backed chair, studying Luca with a furrowed brow.

"Father, this is serious," Luca insisted. "I know we have an agreement, but we can't ignore what's happening right under our noses."

Donovan tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, his face unreadable. "You think I'm not aware of the threat, Luca? I have eyes and ears across this city. But you know the rules. We don't strike first."

Luca's patience was fraying. "This isn't about striking first—it's about protecting our people. I'd rather take precautions now than wait for them to show their teeth."

Donovan's gaze sharpened, a glint of authority in his eyes. "And you will respect our ways. We are not brutes, Luca. We will respond as necessary, but we will not act recklessly."

Luca held his father's gaze, his jaw tight. It was an old argument, one they'd had countless times. While he respected the traditions his father upheld, Luca couldn't shake the feeling that this time was different. This time, the threat was real.

A sudden knock on the door broke the tension. One of the Alaric scouts entered, out of breath, with a grim expression on his face.

"Sir, I found signs of movement in the south. Vampires, and…a lot of them."

Luca's blood ran cold.

Donovan's face darkened, but he remained composed. "Assemble the families," he ordered. "If the vampires are foolish enough to challenge us, we will be ready."

Luca clenched his fists, a sense of resolve filling him. The Alarics would defend their territory, and he would make sure they were prepared for whatever war lay ahead.