Night Of The Full Moon

The moon hung high in the night sky, its silver glow illuminating the forest with an ethereal light. Shadows danced among the trees, casting long, wavering shapes across the ground. Niklaus moved silently, his dark blue-green eyes sharp and alert as he crept through the underbrush. His breaths were quiet, controlled, his lean figure almost blending into the darkness. There was a restlessness in his gaze, a spark of anticipation as he approached the clearing where the werewolves would soon transform.

Suddenly, a soft voice cut through the quiet.

"Niklaus."

Niklaus froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Standing a few feet away, partially hidden by the shadow of an old oak, was Henrik. His younger brother's face was pale in the moonlight, his wide brown eyes filled with curiosity.

Niklaus exhaled sharply, relief and frustration mingling on his face. He moved swiftly, closing the distance between them and clamping a hand over Henrik's mouth. "What are you doing here?" he whispered harshly, his eyes darting around to make sure they hadn't been heard. "You're supposed to be in bed."

Henrik's eyes gleamed mischievously above Niklaus's hand. He gently pulled the older boy's fingers away, his lips curling into a small, innocent smile. "I couldn't sleep," he said, his voice soft but filled with determination. "Why are you out here?"

Niklaus sighed heavily, running a hand through his tousled dark blond hair. He hesitated, debating whether to lie, but he knew from experience that Henrik would see through it in an instant. His brother had an uncanny ability to sense dishonesty—an annoying trait that Niklaus grudgingly admired.

"I was going to watch the wolves," Niklaus admitted at last, his voice low but tinged with excitement despite himself. His sharp eyes studied Henrik's face, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

Henrik's mouth fell open, his expression shifting from surprise to pure, unfiltered excitement. "The wolves?" he whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "You mean… during the full moon?"

Niklaus nodded reluctantly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his annoyance. "Yes, but you're not coming," he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone left little room for argument.

Henrik's face fell, but only for a moment. He straightened his small frame, tilting his chin upward in defiance. "If you don't take me," he said, his voice suddenly calm and calculating, "I'll tell Father."

Niklaus's jaw clenched, his dark blue-green eyes narrowing in irritation. "You wouldn't dare," he hissed, though the doubt in his voice betrayed him.

Henrik simply smiled, the picture of innocent determination. "Try me."

Niklaus stared at him, his lips pressing into a thin line. The two brothers locked eyes, a silent battle of wills playing out in the moonlit forest. Finally, Niklaus let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Fine," he muttered, gesturing for Henrik to follow. "But you stay close to me at all times. Do you understand?"

Henrik's face lit up, his grin so wide it was almost blinding. He nodded eagerly, his excitement making him seem even younger than his years. "I promise," he said, bouncing slightly on his toes as he fell into step beside Niklaus.

As they walked deeper into the forest, Niklaus kept glancing at Henrik, his protective instincts warring with his irritation. Henrik's wide eyes darted around, taking in every shadow, every flicker of movement. His small hands occasionally brushed against Niklaus's arm, a subtle gesture of reassurance.

"Stop fidgeting," Niklaus muttered, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You'll give us away."

Henrik looked up at him, his eyes shining with excitement and a touch of nervousness. "Do you think they'll notice us?" he whispered.

"They better not," Niklaus replied, though his lips twitched with a faint smile. He reached out, placing a firm hand on Henrik's shoulder. "Just remember what I said. Stay close."

Henrik nodded, his expression serious now. "I will," he promised, his small face set with determination.

The two brothers moved as one through the forest, their movements careful and deliberate. Niklaus's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, his posture tense but controlled. Henrik mirrored his brother's careful steps, his youthful energy tempered by the gravity of the moment. Together, they approached the edge of the clearing, where the first low growls of the werewolves could already be heard, echoing softly in the night.

The clearing stretched before them, bathed in silvery moonlight. Shadows wavered as the faint sounds of growls and snarls grew louder, reverberating through the night. Niklaus crouched low, motioning for Henrik to do the same. His dark blue-green eyes flickered with unease, though he tried to maintain a calm facade for Henrik's sake.

Henrik, however, was transfixed. His wide brown eyes were locked on the figures emerging into the clearing—human shapes convulsing and writhing as their bodies began to contort unnaturally. Bones cracked with sickening sounds, and the air filled with strained growls that transitioned into guttural snarls.

The first wolf was almost fully transformed now, its fur bristling in the moonlight. Its massive head lifted, sharp yellow eyes glinting as its snout quivered. Henrik's fascination began to waver, his earlier excitement now tinged with fear. He inched closer to Niklaus, his small hand clutching the hem of his brother's shirt.

Niklaus barely noticed Henrik's touch, his focus glued to the scene before him. The wolves' transformation was both terrifying and mesmerizing. Their movements were animalistic yet strangely graceful as sinewy limbs flexed, and powerful muscles rippled under thick coats of fur. The clearing became a dance of primal power and ferocity, and Niklaus felt the familiar pull of admiration mixed with dread.

Suddenly, one wolf stilled, its elongated snout lifting into the air. It sniffed once, twice, its ears twitching sharply. Niklaus's heart plummeted as he realized what was happening. The wolf turned, its glowing yellow eyes locking onto the spot where they were hiding. A deep, resonant growl rumbled from its throat, sending a chill down Niklaus's spine.

"Henrik," Niklaus hissed, grabbing his brother's arm. "Run!"

Henrik's face contorted in confusion and fear, but he obeyed, scrambling to his feet. They darted into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. Behind them, the wolf let out a piercing howl, a sound that echoed like a death knell through the trees.

Niklaus swore under his breath, glancing back to see the pack had taken notice. The wolves surged forward, their powerful limbs propelling them through the forest with frightening speed. Their growls grew louder, more frenzied, as they closed the distance.

"Faster, Henrik!" Niklaus urged, his voice taut with panic.

Henrik stumbled but quickly recovered, his small legs pumping as fast as they could carry him. His breaths came in short, desperate gasps, and tears blurred his vision.

Niklaus reached out, grabbing Henrik's arm to steady him as they veered around a massive tree. But it wasn't enough. A blur of fur and claws lunged from the shadows, tackling Henrik to the ground.

Henrik screamed, the sound raw and filled with terror. A wolf's powerful jaws clamped onto his leg, shaking him violently. Blood seeped through his trousers, staining the forest floor.

"Henrik!" Niklaus shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. He lunged toward the wolf, fists flying, but it was like punching a wall of iron. The wolf released Henrik with a snarl, only for another to leap forward, jaws snapping.

Before the second wolf could strike, its head was severed cleanly from its body. The lifeless form collapsed, blood spraying across the ground.

Niklaus froze, his wide eyes snapping upward to see a figure standing over them.

Ivar.

He was clad in dark leather, his imposing frame bathed in moonlight. His blade gleamed, its edge dripping with blood. His calm fury was palpable, his blue eyes scanning the remaining wolves with icy detachment.

"Who's next?" he asked, his voice a low, deadly growl.