Chapter 1 : Moonlit Prisoner

The carriage rattled through the night, moonlight slicing through the windows. Sebastian Gray clenched his fists, watching his knuckles turn white. Just hours ago, he''d been on stage at the Vienna Opera House. Now he was property.

Sold.

The word echoed in his skull with each turn of the wheels. Sold to General von Strauss, a man whose reputation preceded him like a bad smell.

Across from him, the General watched. His eyes were cold, calculating. "You cost me a fortune," von Strauss said, his voice like gravel. "I expect a return on my investment."

Sebastian kept his mouth shut. He''d learned that much already: speak only when spoken to.

The carriage slowed. Through the window, Sebastian saw the manor—a monstrous thing of stone and shadow, towers clawing at the moonlit sky. Strauss Manor. His new prison.

The doors opened. Two guards in uniform yanked him out, their grips bruising.

"Welcome home," one sneered.

They marched him up stone steps, through doors that groaned like dying things. The entrance hall was vast, cold, filled with portraits of stern-faced men who all seemed to be judging him.

Upstairs, down a corridor, a door unlocked. The room inside was too fancy to be a cell, but the bars on the windows gave it away.

"Strip," a guard ordered.

Sebastian''s fingers fumbled with buttons. His shirt, his pants, everything hit the floor. He stood naked, shivering despite the fire in the hearth.

Another man entered—older, carrying a basin. Without a word, he began washing Sebastian, the sponge rough against his skin. It was degrading. Humiliating. Sebastian bit his tongue until he tasted blood.

Then the General appeared in the doorway.

The guards vanished. Von Strauss circled him, a predator assessing prey. "Turn."

Sebastian turned, facing the fire. The General''s fingers touched the back of his neck.

Heat exploded under that touch.

Not fire heat. Something deeper, wilder. It shot down Sebastian''s spine, into his limbs, pooling low in his gut. His heart hammered against his ribs—too fast, too loud.

"Interesting," von Strauss murmured. His thumb pressed harder. "Your pulse... it''s wrong. Like there''s something else in there with you."

Sebastian stayed silent. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

The General''s hands moved over him, mapping his body. Each touch sent another jolt of that strange heat through him. When fingers brushed a spot on his lower back—a place that had always been too sensitive—Sebastian gasped.

Pain. Pleasure. He couldn''t tell the difference anymore.

"Scars," the General noted, tracing old marks on Sebastian''s shoulders. "From the stage?"

"Some," Sebastian managed.

"Scars tell stories. I collect stories."

Von Strauss turned him around. Up close, his eyes were winter-blue and empty. "You''ll learn the rules. The others here—they''ll test you. Some will try to befriend you. Most will try to break you. My advice? Trust no one."

A hand cupped Sebastian''s face. The gesture should have been tender. It wasn''t.

"Especially not me."

Then he was gone. The door locked behind him.

Alone, Sebastian sank to the floor. The heat was fading, leaving him cold and confused. He looked at his hands. Normal hands.

But in the mirror over the fireplace, his eyes glowed.

Gold. Like coins at the bottom of a well.

He blinked. The gold faded to a faint ring around his pupils, but it was still there. A secret written in his own irises.

His mother''s voice whispered in his memory: "Don''t let the moon see you, Sebastian. Our family has secrets. The moon knows them all."

Too late. The moon was watching right now, through those barred windows.

A sound cut through the silence—a howl, distant and raw. Not a dog. Something wilder. Something that called to the heat still simmering in his blood.

The gold in his eyes flared brighter.

Sebastian pressed his forehead to his knees. Two hearts beating out of sync, the General had said.

He wondered which heart was his, and which belonged to the thing waking up inside him.