The moon was a sliver of bone behind the jagged peaks of the Vespera Range, casting long, ink-black shadows across the village of Oakhaven. To the mortals living within the timber-framed houses, the night was a time of locked doors and hushed prayers. To Selene, it was the only time the world felt properly colored.

She moved down the main thoroughfare with the predatory grace that was her birthright. Her jet-black hair was pinned back with silver needles, exposing the elegant, pale column of her throat to the cool night air. Her silk gown, the color of a fresh bruise, rustled softly against her long, agile legs. She was "doing the rounds"—a task she usually found tedious, but tonight, the air felt charged, humming with a static that set her sensitive nerves on edge.

She passed a row of low-roofed cottages, her crimson eyes scanning the dark windows. She knew exactly which families were falling behind on their blood-tithe and which were hiding an extra child from the census. She noted these things with the cold detachment of an accountant.

Suddenly, the oppressive silence of the village was shattered.

From the Wounded Boar, the village’s largest tavern, came the sound of splintering wood and a high, jagged scream that cut through the night like a razor. It wasn't the usual drunken brawl of human cattle; there was a heavy, rhythmic thrumming vibrating through the cobblestones beneath her perfect feet. Selene paused, her thick, defined brows knitting together. A faint scent wafted toward her on the breeze: the metallic tang of blood.

Blood, and a shift in the air, she thought, her plump lips curving into a thin, dangerous line.

She didn't hurry; she was far too disciplined for that. Instead, she glided toward the tavern, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of the concealed stiletto at her slim waist. The screaming inside stopped abruptly, replaced by a sound far more unsettling silence.

Selene reached the heavy oak doors of the Wounded Boar. One of the hinges had been twisted outward by a force that shouldn't exist. She placed a pale, slender hand against the wood and pushed.

As the door swung open, the heat of the tavern’s hearth clashed with a sudden, localized blizzard, and the scene before her stopped her breath.

What is happening, who are you and what is your role in this?