Legacies: The Mikaelson twins

5. The Wolf Within

It was dark outside, a blanket of shadows so complete that most would find it impossible to see a thing. But he was no ordinary person. He was different—different from every human around him.

Ever since that fateful night, when he had accidentally killed a one-night stand in a car crash, something inside him had shifted. He became more violent, more aggressive. His temper was unpredictable, but alongside it came a surge of strength, speed, and heightened senses that made him feel anything but human.

Then came the full moon. The first time he transformed, he had no idea what was happening. His bones shattered, each one cracking with excruciating pain so intense, he feared he might die. But he didn't. Instead, his body twisted into something else—something wild, something dangerous. A wolf.

The pain faded, replaced by a strange freedom he had never known. He ran into the woods, losing himself in the night, the howl of the wind in his ears until dawn broke, and he was human once more.

It wasn't long after that a vampire attacked him. Panic surged, but instinct kicked in. He bit back. His fangs weren't as sharp or as deadly as the vampire's, but they were enough to hurt.

The boy later discovered that a werewolf's bite could kill a vampire. It was then that he began to unravel the mysteries of the supernatural world. He learned about the ancient spirit, Inadu, who created the first werewolves; about the witch who cursed her children into becoming the first vampires; and about how one of her sons—the hybrid—was the child of a werewolf.

The boy also learned of the bloodline's power, the curse that bound hybrids to immortality, and how the Originals, as they were called, had once been untouchable—until the white oak came into play.

Three of the Original vampires were dead, he discovered, and two of them had perished while protecting the tribrid twins—their own children. It fascinated him how a man, a creature who had been a monster for over a thousand years, had sacrificed himself to save his children. He did it not out of obligation, but because of an unwavering, unconditional love that seemed foreign to the boy.

A small part of him couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. He doubted his own father would ever make such a sacrifice. His mother had died when he was young, and his father had always been distant—never more than a figure who fulfilled his basic responsibilities without any real affection.

The boy couldn't remember a time when his father had been more than just a shadow in his life, an absent presence that never seemed to care beyond what was required.

Once he discovered the full extent of his new strength, he left. He took what little money he had, packed his things, and walked away from the only life he had ever known. There would be no more waiting for a father who never showed up, no more longing for something that had never existed.

From that moment on, he never heard from his father again.

By his second full moon, he had already come to terms with the inevitable. The pain, though still intense, was no longer the overwhelming force it had been the first time. Instead, it had become something almost familiar, an agonizing but expected ritual. In fact, he found himself oddly anticipating the shift—savoring the sensation of freedom that came with being a wolf.

Then, everything changed. A vampire attacked him. In an instant, fueled by instinct, he fought back. To his astonishment, the creature didn't kill him. It recoiled, visibly stunned. The boy stood frozen for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened. And then it hit him—he was strong, far stronger than he had ever imagined. The vampires, who had once haunted his nightmares, were powerless against him. They couldn't harm him. They couldn't kill him.

Curiosity took over. He sought out more vampires, biting them one by one, testing the limits of his newfound power. But with each encounter, he realized something troubling: the more vampires he faced, the more enemies he earned. What had begun as an experiment soon became a dangerous game. His actions were starting to have consequences—consequences he wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

As the months passed, each full moon brought its own set of challenges. The pain gradually became more bearable, and by the sixth transformation, he found himself eagerly anticipating the next. The woods called to him, a place where he could shed the weight of his new reality. Running through the trees as a wolf became his escape, his release. In the silence of the forest, he was free.

He turned down every invitation from packs. He didn't need them. He wasn't interested in their hierarchy, their rules. He had his own path now, and for the first time in his life, it felt like the right one.

He kept his distance. Turning down their offers would undoubtedly make him a target, but he was skilled at remaining hidden. He had mastered the art of slipping away before anyone could catch a glimpse of him. If he didn't want to be seen, he simply wasn't.

There were moments, though, when a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He missed his old life—the one where he wasn't hunted, where he was the center of attention. Back then, he had been the most popular guy at school. Everyone admired him, looked up to him. Boys wanted to be like him; girls wanted to be with him. But all of that is gone now. Since the night of his first transformation, he had never returned to school, never stepped foot in the life he once knew.

He didn't miss the fake friends or the hollow popularity. That much was certain. But in the quiet of his solitude, there were fleeting moments when the weight of his isolation became almost unbearable. It wasn't enough to pull him back, though. He had found a different kind of freedom now, one that was raw and untethered, and for the most part, he was content with it.

He'd earned his money through a few simple stunts, nothing particularly difficult, especially with his newfound supernatural abilities. He still had his old ATM card, the one his father replenished regularly, but he refused to touch it. The boy had no desire to rely on his father's wealth—not when he could make his own way. If his mother were still alive, though, he knew things would be different. Everything would feel different.

After discovering the werewolf gene that ran through his veins, he had dug into his family's past. It didn't take long to uncover the truth: his mother had been a wolf as well, though she'd never triggered her curse, never transformed. That revelation hit him like a heavy blow, its weight settling deep within him.

Pushing the thoughts aside, the boy decided it was time to sleep. His mind was racing, but exhaustion won out. Lying down, he closed his eyes, and sleep took him swiftly, pulling him into the quiet darkness of rest.

When he awoke, the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting an orange glow that bathed the world in a soft, eerie warmth. His eyes snapped open, and he shot up in an instant, his senses on high alert. Something was different—the air felt charged, as though the calm of the morning was hiding something far more dangerous.

There was a noise. Three voices, arguing, their words distorted by the distance. He strained his ears, trying to make sense of their heated exchange. It was unclear where they were, but the sound of their raised voices was undeniable.

With no clear path to escape, his instincts took over. Every muscle in his body tensed, preparing for whatever was coming next. He braced himself, listening intently as the voices grew louder, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment.

Then, through the shadows, they emerged.

"Don't move, or I'll hurt you!" A girl's voice pierced the silence, sharp and commanding.