"That's just a myth, right? Made-up stories?"
"Until yesterday, werewolves and the supernatural were myths to you," Steffen points out, his voice calm but firm. "Everything is possible, Ella. Not all of those stories are fiction."
"So... he was cursed by Zeus?"
"Yes," Steffen admits, his voice dropping into something deeper, rough, almost reverent. "But not for the reasons your human stories tell. My father, Lycaon, wasn't just arrogant, he was consumed by hunger for power. He wanted control over everything that breathed. To him, Zeus wasn't a god to worship, but a throne to steal."
He pauses, eyes distant. "So he did what any fool blinded by ambition would do, he plotted to overthrow Zeus himself. His plan was simple but suicidal: take the lightning bolt, and claim the throne of Olympus."
Ella's breath hitches. "That's insane. What happened to him?"
"He was caught," Steffen says, his tone sharpening like a blade. "And cursed. Zeus punished him, and us, his bloodline, with eternity as beasts. We became the monsters of our own making."
Ella shakes her head slowly, disbelief flickering across her face. "That's... wild. Did he ever repent? Try to make it right?"
Steffen's jaw tightens, a shadow flickering in his eyes. "Quite the opposite. The curse didn't humble him, it crowned him. He saw it as proof that we were chosen, superior. To him, being a werewolf wasn't punishment. It was destiny."
Ella's eyes widen, her fingers tightening around the glass until it creaks faintly.
"For years," Steffen continues, his voice low and steady, "he waged a quiet war. He dreamed of uniting every supernatural being under his banner, vampires, witches, demons, all to enslave humanity. And for a while... he was close. Too close."
The silence that follows hums with unspoken memories. The fire crackles, throwing restless shadows across Steffen's face.
"I tried to reach him," he says at last, each word weighed down with regret. "I begged him to stop, to see what he was becoming. But he was already lost, drowned in his own thirst for power." His throat tightens. "In the end, there was only one thing left to do."
Ella's breath stumbles out in a whisper. "You..."
"I faced him, Ella," Steffen murmurs, his tone both confession and wound. "My father. The King of Arcadia. I ended his reign to save both my kind and yours."
For a long moment, neither speaks. The flames flicker, dancing in his eyes, but behind that golden light lies something deeper, an ache carved into his soul, an agony that time has never managed to erase.
"It wasn't just a battle, Ella," Steffen says, his gaze distant, voice carrying the gravity of centuries. "It was a betrayal. I didn't just stop him, I shattered the very foundation of what my people believed in. And for that, they made me king. Not because I wanted the throne, but because there was no one else who could hold it... without becoming like him."
Ella slowly sets her glass down. The sound is soft, but it echoes between them. Her chest tightens as she looks at him, not as the legend, not as the beast, but as a man burdened by duty and loss.
"Do they... hate you for it?" she asks carefully.
He exhales, the sound half sigh, half memory. "Some do," he admits. "But most... understand. They know what he would've done. Still, it doesn't wash away the guilt." His voice lowers, roughens. "Or the loneliness."
Ella swallows hard, her throat aching with the weight of his pain. "Steffen..."
He looks up then, meeting her eyes. The firelight sharpens the lines of his face but softens his expression, something raw, something human. "I've lived for centuries, Ella. Centuries of watching, protecting, surviving... but never truly living. Never trusting." His jaw clenches. "Because how do you trust anyone, when your own blood betrayed everything you stood for?"
Ella doesn't know what to say. Words feel too small for the weight of what he's just shared. So instead, she does the only thing that feels right, she reaches across the narrow space between them and lays her hand gently over his.
"You're not alone anymore," she whispers. "Not if you don't want to be."
For a heartbeat, he doesn't move. Then his gaze lifts to hers, and something in his eyes, something usually sealed behind centuries of control, softens. He doesn't answer, but his hand turns beneath hers, his fingers brushing against her skin in a fleeting, hesitant caress.
The silence that follows is thick, charged. Not awkward, but alive. The air hums faintly between them, and Ella feels her heart slam against her ribs, each beat louder than the last. Somehow, they've drifted closer without meaning to, without daring to notice until now.
"You don't have to be alone," she murmurs again, her voice barely steady.
Steffen's eyes hold hers, dark and searching, as if trying to read the truth behind her words, or the danger of believing them. "Ella..." he begins, his voice low, rough, torn between wanting to pull back and wanting to reach for her.
But she doesn't let him finish. Something in her breaks past hesitation, past logic. She leans forward, closing the space between them until her lips brush softly against his.
It's tentative at first, a question, not a demand. But the instant their mouths meet, the fragile thread of tension that's been holding between them gives way.
Steffen reacts before thought can catch up. His hand comes up, fingers trembling slightly as they cup her face, deepening the kiss. There's warmth and restraint in his touch, a quiet hunger wrapped in fear, as though one wrong move might shatter her and everything this moment means.
Ella's hands press against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heart beneath her palms. His heat seeps through the thin fabric, grounding her in something achingly human. The world around them fades until there's only that pulse, that warmth, that unspoken promise of finally not being alone.
When they part, the silence isn't empty, it's alive. Her breath trembles against his skin, and for the first time in a long while, Ella feels something stir inside her, something she thought was gone forever.
When they finally break apart, both of them breathing hard, Steffen rests his forehead against hers. His voice is rough, unsteady. "Ella, I.."
She cuts him off gently, pressing a finger to his lips. A faint smile curves her mouth. "No more talking," she whispers.
For a heartbeat, he hesitates, then gives in to the moment. His arms slide around her, lifting her effortlessly. Ella lets out a startled laugh, clinging to him as he carries her toward the bedroom, the sound of her heartbeat echoing the rhythm of his.
But just as the air thickens, something inside her snaps back into focus. "Wait, stop," she blurts out, her palms pressing lightly against his chest.
He freezes instantly, concern flickering in his eyes as she sits up, dragging a shaky hand through her hair. "Damn it," she mutters under her breath, half at herself, half at the whirlwind of emotion that just swept her off her feet.
How bad can it be? he thinks, his breath rough against hers. She's already beneath him, her pulse racing, her chest rising and falling against his. Instinct pulls him closer, but the sound of her voice stops everything.
"I can't do this right now," she says, her tone trembling but firm. "I'm not myself... and I don't think either of us really wants this."
Speak for yourself, he almost says, but the words die in his throat. Even through the haze of a few drinks, he knows she's right. He needs her, more than he wants to admit, but not like this. Not when her eyes are clouded with confusion instead of choice.
So he forces himself to move. The air cools between them as he pulls back, every step away from her cutting deeper than he expected. "You sleep here," he says finally, voice low and strained. "I'll find somewhere else for the night."
She nods faintly, avoiding his gaze. That small gesture seals it. He turns, leaves the room before the ache in his chest convinces him to stay.
In the dim hallway, he exhales hard, trying to burn the moment from his mind. It doesn't work. The beast beneath his skin still claws restlessly, hungry, frustrated.
He reaches the next room and shoves the door open, the frame rattling under his hand. The bed meets him with a heavy thud as he collapses onto it, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. For a while, he just lies there, waiting for his thoughts to quiet, waiting for the storm inside to pass.
Then, just as sleep begins to pull him under, his phone vibrates. The sharp tune slices through the dark. He groans, drags a hand across his face, and reaches for it.
"Yeah," he mutters into the receiver, voice rough.
....
The clean morning sky stretches above, soft clouds drifting lazily across the expanse. Steffen's footsteps echo against the cold floor as he descends the stairs, his mind still caught on Paul's words from the night before.
Could he be right?
Maybe, Steffen admits silently, his brow furrowing as he reaches the fourth step. Ella is no ordinary girl, he's known that from the moment they met. There's a fire in her, a strength she barely conceals, but to imagine she's tied to them... It's a conclusion he struggles to accept.
The Organization is ruthless, its agents even more so. Could she really be one of them?
Paul's voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "I got what you asked for."
Steffen turns toward his dark, heavy desk, its surface cluttered with a computer and stacks of files. Paul strides over, placing a sealed brown envelope onto the desk. Steffen's sharp eyes follow the movement, tension building in his chest.
He ordered this investigation on Ella days ago. Something about her didn't sit right, and now, with everything that's happened, he knows he made the right call. His fingers hover over the envelope for a moment before he rips it open.
Inside are photos and documents, evidence compiled with painstaking detail. His eyes lock onto the pictures first, freezing as he takes them in. Ella, younger but unmistakable, standing with agents of the Organization. His hand moves slowly, sliding over the pages, absorbing the words with deliberate care.
"She's an agent," Paul says, breaking the silence. His voice is firm, steady. "A top-ranking one."
Steffen's head snaps up, his gaze narrowing. Paul stands across the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his denim trousers. There's no doubt in his tone, no room for negotiation.
"She's been with them since she was a child," Paul continues. "I know you want to protect her, but she's a threat, Steffen. Anyone tied to the Organization is." His stance is unyielding, his belief in Ella's danger palpable. "None of us know what she's truly capable of, and I'd rather not wait to find out."
Steffen's jaw tightens. "There must be a mistake," he says, his voice rough, each word dragging through the weight of his disbelief.
"The truth is in-front of you." Paul takes a step closer, his tone low but insistent. "I did this research myself, Steffen. She's no weak, vulnerable girl playing pretend. She's a trained agent, their agent."
Steffen exhales slowly, his mind racing. The pieces click together, unwelcome but undeniable. Her combat skills, her precision, the way she moves, it's all too advanced for a novice. And now, this file confirms what his gut has been telling him all along.
Paul's voice turns cold, almost final. "Whatever brought her here, it's not good. She's on a mission, and I'd bet my life it's against us."
Steffen says nothing, his gaze dropping back to the documents. The weight of the truth settles over him, heavy and unrelenting. Whatever Ella's reasons, whatever her intentions, one thing is clear, she's far more dangerous than she lets on.