Hi ghoulies! Here’s the latest chapter of this story. I’m thrilled to say we’re still on track to finish The Werewolf King by Valloween (also known as Valentine’s Day LOL).
I couldn’t resist sharing an extra chapter with you this month. You’ll get the next part of the story on Monday, January 13th, and it’s no coincidence—it’s the day of this month’s full moon.
Did you know January’s full moon is called the Wolf Moon? The name comes from Native American and European traditions. It’s said to reflect the howls of wolves echoing in the cold, hungry depths of winter. Wolves use their howls to communicate with their pack, to warn off rivals, and to strengthen their bonds—much like the themes of loyalty and connection woven into The Werewolf King.
So mark your calendars, light a candle, and prepare for more twists, secrets, and maybe even some moonlit magic. I’ll see you Monday under the Wolf Moon’s glow!
The Werewolf King: Chapter 4 – Thalion’s Discovery & Clara’s Dark Secrets
Thalion drifted into restless sleep, the events of the night swirling like a phantom in his mind. When dawn broke, he woke with the fragile certainty that it had all been a dream—a fevered mirage conjured by too many days and nights spent alone. He told himself, as if reciting a mantra, that nothing extraordinary had happened. As always, the full moon had claimed him. He had shifted, unleashed his agony in screams that pierced the night, and then returned to his human form, hollow and aching but unchanged.
He most certainly had not met up with a mysterious woman in his own castle, whose touch had precipitated his shift back to human form.
Rising, he dressed and completed his morning ablutions, repeating the mantra over and over again to himself. There was simply no other reality he could accept.
As he made his way to the kitchens, his booted steps echoed down the stone halls, each strike against the floor a reminder of the emptiness surrounding him. Once, these halls had been filled with warmth and laughter, the bustling presence of staff who had loved and served their king and queen. But after her death, fear – of the monster their king had become – drove them all away. The few who had stayed out of loyalty were eventually dismissed, sent away by Thalion himself.
The silence of the empty hallways affirmed what he already knew: he was alone. As alone as he had ever been.
Reaching the corridor outside the kitchens, he hesitated. For a moment, an inexplicable sense of disorientation swept over him, as though he had walked into another man’s life. Faint and incongruous, he heard humming. The sounds of clattering pans and utensils followed, accompanied by the savory aroma of food being prepared.
Had he slipped back into the dream?
Thalion pushed the kitchen door open slowly, unsure of what he might find—or when he might wake.
“You hardly have anything in your larder. I’ll need to make a run into town later.”
He froze. The woman he was certain only existed in his imagination was there, moving about the dim kitchen as though she belonged there. The cold, lifeless stove had been transformed, glowing with warmth as the scent of cooking filled the air. Normally, he subsisted on a single pot of stew that lasted for days, supplemented by potatoes and vegetables from his overgrown garden. Occasionally, he paid a village boy to deliver provisions, preferring never to show his face in town.
“Your majesty? Are you all right?”
Her voice broke through his daze. He blinked, realizing Clara was watching him with a mixture of concern and amusement.
“If you’re determined to stay…”
“I am.”
“Then please, call me Thalion. There’s no need for ceremony when it’s just the two of us here.”
“All right,” she said, clearing her throat. “Thalion.”
She handed him a steaming mug, which he discovered held tea. “Here, have a seat, and I’ll bring you a plate. I was starving; I hope you don’t mind that I raided the kitchen.”
He grunted, sitting down heavily at the worn wooden table. “How are you still here? Is no one waiting for you at home? Parents? A… husband?”
Her expression flickered, a shadow passing over her features before she pressed her lips together. “No. No one is waiting for me.”
There was something in her tone that hinted at unspoken truths. Thalion chose not to press her. The silence stretched between them, but it was not uncomfortable. He sipped his tea, the warmth spreading through him in a way that felt foreign yet oddly welcome.
The silence between them grew comfortable as she placed a plate before him, filled with eggs, bread, and roasted vegetables. He ate slowly, savoring the first real meal he’d had in… longer than he cared to admit. She busied herself tidying the already clean kitchen, though her hands lingered on the edges of the table as though she was deciding whether to say something.
Finally, she spoke. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
Thalion looked up from his plate but said nothing.
“I… I’ve felt… strange, for years now. It’s like there’s something inside me waiting to… emerge. But I never understood it until…” Her voice faltered, and she clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “Until I heard… you.”
He set his fork down, his eyes narrowing. “What are you saying?”
She swallowed hard, then met his gaze. “I think… I think I might be like you.”
For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Thalion’s face was unreadable, his thoughts a storm behind his piercing eyes.
“You think you’re like me but… you’ve never shifted?” he asked finally, his voice low.
She shook her head. “No. But I’ve felt it. I moved here, to the village, hoping for a fresh start after losing my family. But since I’ve been here, it’s only gotten stronger.”
Thalion leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “If you are like me,” he said carefully, “you’re living on borrowed time. The first shift will come, and it will be painful. Mine was instant,” he added, his voice tightening. “There was no warning, no time to prepare.”
She nodded, her expression resolute. “Then I need to learn how to survive it. And I think you’re the only one who can teach me.”
His hands tightened around the edge of the table. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know it’s dangerous,” she said softly. “But I also know you didn’t hurt me last night, even at your worst. I trust you.”
Thalion stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. He turned away, staring into the shadows of the kitchen. “Trust is a dangerous thing, Clara. It can get you killed.”
“Or it can save you,” she countered.
He turned back to her, his expression torn between anger and something softer, something more vulnerable. “Why did you come here?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But maybe… maybe I was meant to.”
Thalion shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “You should leave before it’s too late.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “Not until I understand what this all means.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other, the weight of unspoken truths hanging in the air. Finally, Thalion sighed, his shoulders slumping. “If you stay, you must understand one thing. This curse… it destroys everything it touches. Don’t think for a second that it won’t destroy you too.”
Clara’s voice was steady. “Maybe it’s time to stop running from it.”
Thalion’s jaw tightened, and he studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Where did you sleep last night?” he asked finally, ready to move onto another subject.
“I found an empty room not far from the kitchens,” Clara said, her voice steady. “There were linens stored nearby. I made do.”
A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant approval. “Resourceful,” he muttered, his tone still cool. “It seems you’ve already claimed your space.”
Days passed, and though Thalion maintained a cool distance, Clara’s presence became an undeniable part of the castle’s rhythm. Thalion felt a flicker of relief that she’d chosen a room far from his, but another part of him bristled at the thought of her staying in such a plain, forgotten corner of the castle.
“This will do,” she’d said with a small smile when he’d come across her making the room her own, brushing cobwebs from the wooden bedframe cheerfully.
“There are better rooms,” he muttered, almost grudgingly. “Ones more suited for a guest.”
“I’m not a guest,” she replied. “I’m just… here.”
Thalion had said nothing, but a few days later, he found himself leading her to the upper floors. The rooms there had long been shuttered, untouched since his wife’s death. As they walked through the dim hallways, Clara’s eyes lingered on the faded tapestries and the heavy, dust-covered furniture.
“This one,” she said suddenly, stopping before a door. She pushed it open and stepped inside. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the room’s elegant, if timeworn, decor. A built-in alcove near one of the windows caught her attention immediately. It was lined with plush, faded cushions and an old but sturdy mattress, covered in luxurious furs, creating a cozy sleeping nook framed by sunlight. Bookshelves flanked the windows, and the faint scent of lavender still lingered in the air.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, stepping inside.
Thalion hesitated in the doorway, his broad frame casting a shadow across the floor. “It was hers,” he said quietly. “My wife’s. This was where she spent her days. Reading, writing letters, handling household matters for the castle, tending her plants… She called it her sanctuary.”
Clara ran her fingers lightly over the edge of the desk, as if afraid to disturb its memories. “I can see why.”
He grunted in reply, though it was more thoughtful than dismissive. His hand lingered on the doorframe, and for a moment, he seemed lost in thought.
She moved toward the alcove, running her fingers lightly over the cushions. “This room feels alive,” she murmured. “Like it meant something to her.”
“It did,” Thalion admitted, his voice low. “She used this as her study. She’d sit in that alcove for hours, reading or planning… sometimes just watching the seasons change through the windows.”
Clara felt a faint smile touching her lips as she imagined the woman who once filled this space. “I think I’d like to stay here, if that’s all right.”
He gave a single nod. “It’s yours.”
Her gaze flicked back to the alcove. “There’s already a place to sleep,” she said, almost to herself. “She must have napped here often.”
“She did,” he said. His voice softened further. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s used it.”
“This will do just fine,” Clara said, her voice filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Thalion.”
He nodded but didn’t move from the doorway, his eyes lingering on the desk. “I’ll leave you to get settled,” he said after a moment, his voice distant. “There’s time for everything else later.”
She turned back to the room, but before he could leave, she spoke. “I know what it’s like.”
Thalion paused, his hand resting on the doorframe.
Clara didn’t wait for him to say anything or acknowledge her words. She was used to his silence after several days together. He simply waited for her to continue, so she did.
“My family… I didn’t tell you how I lost them.”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice was soft, without its usual gruffness.
She folded her arms tightly, as though shielding herself from the memories. “It was winter, one of the harshest I can remember. Back when we still lived in our old home, far from here. We hadn’t been in the village long, but my parents were trying to make it work. New neighbors, new opportunities… but the same struggle to survive.” She paused, her gaze distant. “The wolves came one night. Starving. Desperate.”
Thalion’s posture stiffened, and his eyes darkened. “Wolves?” he asked cautiously. “Our kind?”
She hesitated, startled by the question, then shook her head. “No, not like us. Just wolves. Ordinary ones, though they didn’t feel ordinary at the time.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly, but his gaze remained sharp. “Go on.”
“They broke into the barn first, where we kept the livestock,” Clara continued, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. “We woke to the noise—my father grabbed his axe, my mother… she tried to keep us together. To keep us safe.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But there were so many of them.”
Thalion’s jaw clenched, but he stayed silent.
“I didn’t understand why they didn’t touch me,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “Now I wonder if it’s because I’m…” her chin trembled and she took a deep breath to control the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, as they always did when she thought of that awful night.
“They killed my parents, my brothers…” she continued finally. “But when they looked at me, they just… stopped. Like I wasn’t even there. I ran, but the memory of their eyes stayed with me.” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “I’ve wondered every day since why I was spared. Why I wasn’t enough to save them.”
She glanced at him then, her eyes searching. “You must think it’s cowardly to run, but I—”
“No.” The word was firm, cutting through her self-recrimination. He turned to face her fully, his voice low and steady. “You survived. That’s not cowardice, Clara.”
Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she could speak. “Thank you,” she whispered finally.
His jaw worked as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he straightened. “We’ll figure out the rest later,” he said, the gruffness returning. “For now, settle in. Rest.” He hesitated a moment longer before stepping back into the hall and pulling the door closed behind him.
Clara watched him go, the soft echo of his footsteps fading down the hall. Alone in the room, she let her gaze wander across the books, the sunlight, the lingering sense of life that hadn’t quite left. She could feel the history here, the echoes of the woman who had called this space her own. She moved to the window, letting the sunlight warm her skin as she gazed out over the village below.
For the first time in a long while, she felt like she might belong somewhere.
Story written and illustrated by The Queen of Halloween 365
Copyright © 2025 The Queen of Halloween 365. All rights reserved.