Bloodline of Ash and Fang

Darkness. Light. We pretend they’re opposites, but the line between them is thin. What is good can turn evil. What is evil can wear the mask of good. In the end, the world lives in gray.

Damian jolted awake. Something had pulled him out of sleep.

The room was swallowed in shadows, the only light a faint, silvery bleed through the blinds from the streetlamps outside. He held his breath and listened to the old house settle, every groan of wood and sigh of plumbing amplified in the silent, witching-hour dark.

Tap.

His eyes darted toward the window—or was that sound from the living room? It wasn't the friendly rattle of the oak branch against the gutter. This was sharper. Deliberate.

Heart pounding, he reached for the aluminum bat leaning against his wall. The grip was familiar, the cool metal warming instantly against his slick palm. His chest thudded like a war drum. Yet, beneath the fear, a strange, unwelcome thrill crawled through his veins, a current of something primal. Blood rushed hot and wild, a sensation that was becoming harder to ignore lately.

He was seventeen now. No babysitter. No one hovering. His little sister, Cassie, was asleep in her room down the hall, and his mom was working another night shift. Not at the local clinic, but at a big hospital in Bloodhaven, an hour’s drive away. It had taken weeks of convincing, of promising he was old enough, responsible enough to be the man of the house. Damian wasn’t about to let some prowler be the reason that trust was shattered.

The floor creaked under his bare feet as he slipped into the corridor. Cold wood pressed against his soles. Dust thickened the air, dry and chalky on his tongue. His throat tightened when he tried to swallow. He could hear the low hum of the refrigerator, the frantic beat of his own heart—and nothing else. The silence was worse than the sound.

“Who’s there?” His voice came out lower than he meant—a graveled whisper. Great. Like whoever was in his house would politely answer.

He inched forward, his body tense. The framed photos on the wall were just shapes in the gloom. He found the light switch by the sitting room wall, its plastic face a familiar beacon. He sucked in a breath. Flick.

The lights blazed, harsh and sudden.

“AHH!”

Two screams ripped through the air—his and the intruder’s. The bat whistled as it cut the air, a vicious arc aimed at a head of tousled blond hair. His hands stung from the force of the aborted swing as his eyes locked on the figure cowering against the wall.

“Jeremy!?”

Relief hit him like a tidal wave, so potent it left him dizzy. His body sagged, though his pulse still thundered in his chest. “The hell, man—I almost split your skull open!”

Jeremy leaned against the wall, hand clutched over his chest like he’d just escaped death. His face was pale beneath its usual summer gold. “But you didn’t,” he shot back, the words breathless.

Damian barked out a laugh—sharp, nervous, not really a laugh at all. He pointed the bat at him. “Could’ve, though. Next time, you might not be so lucky. Poof. Brain matter all over my mom’s rug. She’d kill me, then she’d resurrect you just to kill you again.”

A slow smirk broke across Jeremy’s face, and then he bent over, laughter shaking his entire frame. It was stupidly contagious. Damian’s knees nearly buckled as the adrenaline drained away, leaving him buzzing and hollow. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, joining in despite himself, the sound ragged with spent fear.

He took in his best friend—grinning, fox-like eyes behind his glasses, blond hair a mess from the night wind. Jeremy had that look Damian always called the ‘cool nerd’ vibe. Tall, lean, athletic build hidden under a designer hoodie, with a smile that could get him into trouble without even trying. He had always been the golden boy of Raven Falls.

Girls swooned for him; he was a star in every sport and club at school. Not to mention he was raised in wealth—not just normal wealth, but generational, old-money type of wealth. His family basically owned half the town. But to Damian, he was just Jeremy. The guy who’d been the first to talk to him when he’d moved here two years ago, a scared fifteen-year-old with a dead dad and too many secrets.

“Man, you should’ve seen your face,” Jeremy wheezed between laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You looked ready to end me. Kinda scary, not gonna lie.”

“Yeah? I still might.” Damian smirked, twirling the bat in his hand. His heartbeat was finally slowing to a normal rhythm. “Next time, use the damn door. Or, I don’t know, text?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jeremy leaned against the arm of the couch, grinning like he owned the place. He fit here, in the shabby living room with its worn rug and second-hand furniture, in a way that always felt both right and utterly improbable. Then the grin faltered. Just slightly. His gaze dipped to the floor, then flicked back up, the humor dying like a snuffed candle.

“Speaking of brain matter…” His voice was quieter now, heavier. The shift was so abrupt it left a vacuum in the room.

Damian froze mid-laugh. “What about it?”

Jeremy scratched the back of his neck, the weight in his tone killing whatever lightness lingered between them. “They found another body last night.”

The grin slid clean off Damian’s face. A cold knot tightened in his gut. “What?”

“Skull smashed in. Blood everywhere.” Jeremy paused, his jaw working for a second before he added the words that turned the room to ice. “Animal prints. All over the ground around it.”

The air grew still and cold, as though the light no longer reached the corners. The shadows in the room seemed to deepen, stretching toward them. Damian’s grip tightened on the bat, his knuckles bleaching white. The official report on his father’s death flashed in his mind: skull trauma, slashed wrists, animal predation. A tragic accident. A random attack. A lie everyone chose to believe.

“Where?” The word was a dry crack.

Jeremy’s hand landed on his shoulder—firm, grounding, heavier than usual. For once, there was no joke in his eyes, only a grim

certainty that made Damian’s blood run cold.

“The Falls.”