A fresh wave of reports greeted Indigo, each bearing the Council's insignia and promising a new headache. The Queen's erratic behaviour sent ripples of unease through the supernatural community. Werewolves howled, their vengeful cries echoing the fragility of the interspecies peace, now stretched thin like a spiderweb about to snap. How much longer could he contain this storm brewing within the Queen?

"Everything alright, Indigo? You look like someone just told you their teapot collection was chipped beyond repair." Callista quipped, her eyes never leaving the bodice-ripping romance novel clutched in her hands, a peculiar habit fostered by her even more peculiar roommate.

"Wouldn't you be on edge too? The Queen has thrown the Council into disarray," Indigo replied, a sliver of unease creeping into his normally calming Earl Grey eyes.

Callista shrugged, nonchalantly popping a cookie into her mouth. "Politics are your domain, anyway. But her actions seem calculated, not random.”

Indigo sighed deeply. "No clue. Neutral Werewolves posed no threat. Sadism? Madness? Whatever it is, I need you to patrol Club Onyx tonight. Council intel suggests another neutral clan meeting, and I fear they're the Queen's next target."

The hunter nodded. The prospect of escaping the blood-drenched dorm was tempting enough to accept the mission. But with a caveat.

"Didn't expect you here," Callista grumbled, the bassline of the club pulsing through her chest. 

Damien's imposing figure materialised beside her, his cologne a mix of spice and leather. The unwanted gazes melted away under his shadow, a fact Callista couldn't help but appreciate.

He offered a curt nod, his voice barely rising above the rhythmic thrum of the music. "Indigo's call. Seems risky for you to go alone, doesn't it?"

Damien's ashen hair seemed to absorb the dim light, while his silver eyes occasionally caught the strobe's flash. In this setting, he could almost blend into the werewolf pack below, sharing similar striking features with Athena's pet, albeit with a sharper jawline.

They split their paths, Callista scaling the higher ground for a strategic vantage point, while Damien attempted to blend in with the throng of intoxicated dancers. A smirk played on her lips as she observed him politely decline another blatant attempt at intimacy from a nearby reveler.

Callista scanned the dance floor, a swirling vortex of bodies moving in sync with the pounding bass. A flash of silver momentarily caught her eye. The werewolves.

And then, her!

Tall and captivating, a vision in skin-tight leather and a flowing designer blazer, she moved with an air of regal grace that commanded attention. Callista saw only her back, but every instinct flared. This was her target.

Callista slinked down the stairs gracefully, weaving through the sweaty bodies like a ghost through smoke. Her hand dipped under her leather jacket, diamonds shimmering briefly before coalescing into a single, lethal blade.

Would Eydis, the Queen of the Damned, truly risk such audacity? To move in a public space, surrounded by potential witnesses, seemed uncharacteristically reckless.

Probably.

Callista's internal debate was cut short as she entered the heart of the crowd. The scene before her shattered her expectations. The pack of werewolves, anticipated as snarling and aggressive, were sharing drinks and laughter with the enigmatic brunette. Arms draped casually over her shoulders, they exuded an undeniable sense of camaraderie.

Was this woman even Eydis?

As if summoned, the brunette turned. Callista, caught off guard, instinctively retreated behind the hulking form of… Damien, who had materialised like a wraith. A silent grumble escaped her as she reluctantly wrapped her arm around his neck, her blade dissolving back into a shimmering mist with a soft sigh.

"A dangerous edge to her aura," Damien murmured close to her ear. "Has to be her."

Callista's heart pounded. This was their shot. No more charades as a student in that academy filled primarily with… bearable supernaturals (except for that eternally-annoying princess, of course). Leaning in, she whispered, "They seemed strangely...friendly."

Damien's response was cut short as the entire group, Eydis and the werewolves alike, vanished from sight in an instant.

"Gone," Callista cursed, scanning the club. Her gaze landed on a metal door near the bar. "Let’s move!”. 

Damien, ever the silent shadow, moved in unison, their risky but necessary plan already forming. They would split up, flanking Eydis on the other side of the alleyway, hoping to corner her before she melted into the city's laneways.

Callista reached the entrance first. The air hung thick with spilled beer and the abrasive bite of cleaning products. She donned her disguise – a gas mask and a hood. Failure meant returning to the academy, and anonymity was crucial.

She pressed herself against the grimy wall, blending into the shadows. From her vantage point, she could see the brunette and the wolves gathering outside the club's rear entrance. Laughter filtered in, the sound of the wolves revelling in their false sense of security. Callista, adrenaline pulsing through her veins, waited with bated breath.

Suddenly, a wail of police sirens pierced the air. The wolves froze in surprised. This wasn't part of the plan. One, the alpha perhaps, let out a low growl, his gaze scanning the street for the source of the sound.

In that split second of distraction, Callista's cover was blown. A shard of a broken beer bottle, glinting in the dim light, reflected an image of her hidden form. The alpha's gaze snapped towards her.

"Found a rat!" he roared. The other wolves shifted, their playful demeanour vanishing. Claws tore through the air as they leaped, transforming into hulking beasts with snarling jaws.

Callista cursed under her breath, the diamond blades materialising in her hands with a blinding flash that momentarily stunned the wolves. With a flick of her wrist, she sliced through the alpha, its surprised yelp barely registering over the CLANG of blade on bone.

A larger wolf, eyes blazing, lunged next. Its claws, the size of daggers, clashed with her blades, sending a shower of sparks raining down like incandescent tears. The creature, surprisingly agile for his size, swiped at her legs with lightning speed.

Her training kicked in, she used the wolf's momentum to launch herself into a graceful pirouette, her blades flashing in a deadly dance. They found purchase, not in his vitals, but deep in his flank. A bloodcurdling howl erupted from the beast before it crumpled, its massive form shuddering with pain.

Crimson eyes glinted in the dim light as another wolf charged, its fangs bared in a feral snarl. Callista spun on her heel, deflecting the snapping jaws, then aimed a precise strike at the wolf's forepaw, severing its claws with a sharp snap.

She wasted no time, driving the hilt of one blade into the base of the wolf's skull with a swift, brutal efficiency. Killing might have been the easy part, but Callista knew the aftermath – the mountains of paperwork, the endless inquiries – would be a bureaucratic nightmare.

Across the alley, Damien, a whirlwind of black hair and leather post-disguise, was a frantic blur against the Queen's overwhelming power. His heavy blades, shimmering, struck against hers in a frenzied rhythm.

Then, with a gesture as effortless as brushing away a cobweb, Eydis unleashed a storm of unseen force. The air itself vibrated with raw power, warping and distorting the narrow space. Damien, caught in the invisible maelstrom, was flung like a ragdoll. His body slammed against the brick wall, a choked gasp escaping his lips before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Rage surged through Callista. She spun, blades raised, but the Queen was gone. Only the iron scent of spilled blood filled the air.

Silence, unsettling silence. The air hung still, the stillness felt unnatural.

Panic clawed at her throat, but Callista forced it down. Her senses strained, searching for any sign of the vanished predator. In the blink of an eye, a presence materialised behind her, a cold whisper against the back of her neck. The mask offered no protection against the icy dread that snaked down her spine. Before she could react, a repugnant scent flooded her senses – blood.

Darkness. Swift. Sudden. Absolute.

Damien Art