For generations, werewolves and vampires had lived by one rule: if you saw the other, you killed them. There were no alliances, no mercy, and certainly no friendships. Every pack and every coven passed the hatred down like an inheritance.

Jabber had become one of the strongest young werewolves in his pack, feared for his strength, sharp instincts, and unwavering loyalty. Across the territory, Zanka was one of the vampire coven's finest hunters, admired for unmatched speed, flawless precision, and an unnervingly calm confidence.

Their encounters always ended the same way—deep bite wounds, shredded clothing, shattered trees, and one of them barely escaping before the other could land the final strike. Neither had ever managed to kill the other, a fact both sides found humiliating.

One evening, Jabber was ordered to investigate strange disappearances near the forest separating werewolf and vampire territory. Expecting another patrol from Zanka's coven, he cautiously pushed through the undergrowth until an unfamiliar scent reached his nose.

Humans.

Not ordinary ones.

Hunters.

Silver traps were buried beneath the leaves while reinforced iron cages waited between the trees, baited to capture anything supernatural. Before Jabber could retreat, a hidden wire snapped beneath his paw. Thick steel chains shot upward, wrapping around his leg and violently yanking him into the air as silver restraints burned against his skin. A pained growl tore from his throat while he thrashed helplessly, the scent of his blood spreading through the forest.

Moments later, quiet footsteps approached.