In a restaurant on the north side of Wyoming, there was a particularly mysterious man that always occupied the table near the arched window. The waiters in the restaurant usually chatted away with their customers, and they were quite friendly with everyone that walked through the door.

Except... the man who reserved that specific seat near the window for himself never spoke to anyone nor spared any glimpse of interest. The only time anyone in the room ever heard his voice was when he ordered his dinner. Which without hesitance, he religiously asked for the large rack of roasted lamb, that was drizzled with the restaurant's signature demi-glace sauce, served with a side of garlic mashed potatoes and a glass of red wine. The waiters were sure to give him his food while it was still hot and fresh, otherwise they were wary of the consequences...

Like everyone had anticipated, the domineering man in the well-tailored suit arrived a minute before seven o'clock, and the waiter took him straight to his reserved seat. The man didn't need to say a word because the waiter recognized who he was and already knew what to do. The man had taken a seat after removing his grey double-breasted wool coat and the waiter had his food within ten minutes. He made sure it was arranged neatly for the stranger, although this man didn't feel like a stranger at all nowadays.

The waiter lingered for a moment as the man picked up the fork and knife, like they were delicate instruments in his gloved hands. The rich leather of his gloves stretched around his knuckles and moved with every calculated action he took. As the waiter keenly watched, he contemplated why this man never took off his gloves, even for a simple meal. However, that wasn't the only mystifying thing about him. Many were suspiciously cautious about this stranger who was visiting their town or staying, they did not know.

The man ate; quietly and neatly.

Although, it seemed tonight showed an unforeseen occurrence. The waiters and other guests suddenly heard the man's cellphone ring, which never happened before. They were even convinced that he didn't own one. Yet, here he was pulling out a phone from inside his dark suit's jacket.

However, he didn't say 'hello' or anything else to the person on the other end of the line. Everyone in the restaurant was terribly concerned for the person who dared to call this intimidating stranger...

"Good evening," said a man's voice that Alaric didn't recognize.

"You're interrupting my dinner," Alaric's deep voice was controlled, but sounded undoubtedly pissed.

The voice paused like he knew that he fucked up. "My apologies... but I have news that I think you'd like to hear," he believed.

Alaric hadn't said anything next.

"Aziel Petrov was killed-" continued the voice.

Alaric's grip on the phone tightened and the leather of his gloves strained. He looked out the dark window while strangers scampered by unknowing of who, or more like what, sat amongst them.

"And it was Adrik Vasiliev that killed him," said the voice after.

"Anything else?" Alaric's attitude remained unaffected.

"The Iron Blood pack was involved," added the voice. "Marcello Tricomi also aided the pack in the assassination." The voice quieted. "That's all I felt the need to tell you. Have a good night and enjoy the rest of your dinner, Mr. Petrov."

The phone went quiet and Alaric put it back in his pocket.

The waiter came to him. "Will you be needing anything else, Sir?" the boy asked.

"The check."

The waiter looked stunned because this was the first time the man hadn't finished his entire meal, like he usually always would.

Alaric looked up at the waiter, his penetrating blue eyes bore a hole through the kid's head. "Are your feet glued to the floor, boy?" his austere tone slithered through the waiter's entire body and the blood inside his veins froze.

The waiter who only worked here because his mom forced him to bolted down the restaurant in search for the bill, which he quickly came back with and Alaric settled the matter.

Only after, Alaric stood from the chair, and his height made the ones around him stretch their necks back to see his frightening physique. He gave the kid a tip from his wallet before he left the restaurant only to enter the brusque night air alone.

Alaric only had one name ringing in his head and that was his brother's name... Adrik Vasiliev. The man who had killed their father, Samuel Petrov; the monster who was known to be ruthless and his three sons were a testament to that claim, especially Alaric. Adrik helped Isaiah Iron who was Ivan Petrov's son and their cousin in the extermination of the Petrov pack.

That night was unforgettable for many, in particular for Alaric, since he made a promise after that bloody massacre. He vowed to never again set foot in the world where people recognized him. However, it seemed that the world had other twisted plans, that it decided to awaken Alaric Petrov from his years of deliberate slumber. That notion infuriated Alaric to the point that his poisoned blood seethed, and the beast inside him clawed viciously to be set loose only to cause a rampage.

Alaric took the first step down the dark pavement, his shoes splashed in the puddles of the storm from this morning. The night was illuminated by the cascading shine from the light-posts, which guided the many streets around him. Under the golden glow, the sky had black clouds that rapidly passed by through the misty air. From behind the clouds, the crimson moon emerged as if it taunted Alaric with its glorious form. A bitter taste set in his mouth and he replaced it by biting his own tongue and tasting his blood, which proved after all this time to be nothing but a curse.

The night had just awakened... and now... so was Alaric.