Page 84 of Claimed By Fur and Fangs

I just hope you left some kind of clue, dad,I thought.

The house looked unchanged; I unlocked the door.

The familiar scent of old wood and dust filled the air as I stepped inside.

“I can’t believe no one has been here since Dad died…” I muttered as I walked around the house.

Damon arrived about an hour later, his presence reassuring.

“Finn,” he said, his voice steady as he approached. “What’s going on?”

“Come on. I’ll explain inside.”

We entered the house thick with dust and memories. Damon’s eyes scanned the room, his expression unreadable.

“This place… it’s been years,” he said, his voice soft.

I nodded, my chest tightening as I took in the familiar surroundings.

“Yeah. After my father died, none of us could bring ourselves to come back. It felt… wrong. Like the house died with him.”

Damon placed a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.

“I get it. But why now? What are we looking for?”

I took a deep breath, stealing myself.

“There’s a prophecy. Something my father wrote about in his diary. It’s tied to Vera, to Amelia, to everything that’s happening. If we can find out more about it, we might be able to stop what’s coming.

Damon’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.

“Alright. Where do we start?”

“My father’s study,” I said, leading the way down the hall. “If there’s anything here, it’ll be there.”

As we walked, I found myself talking, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

“You know, Damon, this house used to feel so alive. My father would sit in his study for hours, working on who knows what. My mother would be in the kitchen, baking something that always smelled amazing. And my sister… we’d run through these halls like we owned the place. But after my father died, it all just… stopped.”

Damon listened quietly, his presence a steady anchor as I poured out memories I hadn’t thought about in years.

“I remember the last time we were all here,” I continued, my voice cracking slightly. “It was right before he died. He seemed… off. Like he knew something was coming. But he never said anything. And then he was gone.”

We entered the study, unchanged with dusty bookshelves, an oak desk, and the faint scent of my father’s cologne.

“Alright,” I said, shaking off the memories. “Let’s get to work.”

We started with the desk, pulling open drawers and sifting through papers. Most of it was mundane—old bills, correspondence, notes on pack business. But after an hour of searching, Damon found something.

“Finn,” he said, his voice tense. “Look at this.”

He handed me a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. I unfolded it carefully, my heart pounding as I read the words scrawled in my father’s handwriting.

“The prophecy is real. The child of the dual bloodline will bring about the end of our kind. The only hope lies in the union of wolf alpha, a vampire leader and the blood of the chosen one, but even that may not be enough. The darkness is coming, and it will consume us all. The cursed child will be our doom.”

My hands trembled as I read the words, the weight of them settling over me like a shroud. Damon leaned over my shoulder, his breath catching as he read along.

“What does it mean?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

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