A FORBIDDEN PRIZE

"The greatest ignorance is to refuse to see."

{REBEKAH'S POV}

Valhalla, Greenville's premier bar, drew crowds with its extensive wine selection — a magnet for both locals and travelers. As night descended, the place pulsed with life. Patrons danced, mingled, and lost themselves in the blur of laughter and alcohol. Amid the vibrant chaos, one figure stood out: a mysterious stranger who kept to himself, pristine hands resting on the table, eyes closed in contemplative silence.

The bourbon burned as it went down, a gift from the sexy bartender I'd tipped earlier. My barstool groaned beneath me, but I barely noticed — too focused on the stranger in the corner.

He cut a striking figure. Crisp white shirt. Sharp black pants. A long, flowing trench coat that billowed as if caught in an unseen wind. The black fedora added a note of sophistication, but it was his white, shoulder-length hair that made him unforgettable. It cast shadows over his face, obscuring his gaze, intensifying his aura. He didn't just look dangerous — he felt dangerous.

As a vampire with two centuries of experience, my instincts were razor-sharp. I'd learned to steer clear of people who radiated that kind of energy. He could've been a Watcher — or worse, a werewolf.

Watchers were relentless: brutal, fanatical, and indiscriminate in their hunt for vampires and werewolves alike. Werewolves, on the other hand, had long been our natural enemies. Their strength surpassed ours, but we matched them in speed. Our uneasy balance had held for centuries — a silent cold war kept in check by fear, blood, and mutual destruction.

I considered approaching him — just to test the waters — when he suddenly rose. The bar seemed to fall away as I took in his tall, commanding figure. The coat flared slightly with his movement, his steps slow and measured. Then he was gone, disappearing into the night like a whisper.

My phone buzzed.

Dean.

I sighed and answered. "Hello, Dean. You're not usually one for drama — what's got you sounding like a funeral dirge?"

He scoffed through the line. "Just a heads-up. It's August 5th. Full moon's in four days. The Watchers are already moving. Best to stay low."

Then, predictably, he hung up without another word. He always did that.

I glanced toward the exit. No sign of the stranger. Just the thrum of music and the hum of oblivious conversation.

And then, tension.

A group of men entered the bar — broad-shouldered, scowling, moving with the kind of confidence that only came from violence. They prowled through the crowd, asking questions. I stayed relaxed, watching.

One of them locked eyes with me.

"Mind if I join you, love?" he asked, voice low and gravelly.

Unruly chestnut hair. Average face. Nothing special — until his eyes sharpened, flashing with recognition.

"Vampire," he spat, venom lacing the word.

Ah. A werewolf.

Normally, I'd be ready for a fight. But he wasn't alone, and I wasn't stupid.

Still, I didn't move. The Watchers might've been nearby, hidden among the crowd. They didn't intervene unless someone broke the rules — revealing the supernatural to humans or disrupting the fragile peace. And even werewolves weren't dumb enough to start a scene in a packed bar.

He must've heard my faint heartbeat — that's how he knew. Their hearing was razor-sharp.

Three more of them moved in, flanking him. The tension thickened.

Then their leader stepped in — a massive man, calm but imposing."Owen, now's not the time for a fight."

Owen backed off.

The leader turned to me.

"One question, and we're gone." 

I gave a small nod.

"Did you see a man in formal wear? Long trench coat, black fedora, white hair to the shoulders?"

Of course. The mysterious stranger had stirred up quite the hornet's nest.

Five werewolves after him? He had to be more than just a striking figure.

I raised my hand and pointed. "He was sitting over there. Left not long ago."

The leader signaled one of his pack to investigate. The werewolf moved to the corner, sniffing the air — not theatrically, but with deadly precision. Their sense of smell wasn't just sharper than a human's — it was tuned to the minutiae of scent, capable of detecting traces invisible to the rest of us.

He returned and nodded.

The pack turned and left without another word.

The weight lifted instantly, but the crowd remained unaware — dancing, drinking, and laughing. Clueless to the predators that moved among them.

I smirked. How beautifully naïve.