What the moon hides
839 Words
Chapter Eighteen
The Hollow was too quiet that night.
Even the wind held its breath.
Elara sat near the fading fire, her dagger across her knees, eyes fixed on the water that never rippled. Cassian stood at its edge, shirtless, bare to the waist, his body scarred like a map of wars he never spoke of.
She watched him.
Not because she wanted answers—but because she needed them.
Needed to understand the man who had saved her life and wrecked her soul in the same breath.
“You don’t sleep much,” she said, her voice low, careful.
He didn’t turn. “Not here.”
“Because of what you see?”
Cassian was silent for a moment before answering.
“Because of what I remember.”
---
The fire cracked. She stood and crossed to him, barefoot in the damp grass, chilled but steady.
“You’ve carried it alone long enough.”
He glanced at her. “You don’t want this truth.”
“You brought me here to see your world. Show me.”
Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked down at the reflectionless water, then at her.
“No games?” he asked, voice rough. “No illusions about who I am?”
“None.”
His eyes were like stormlight—silver and sharp. “Then listen.”
---
“I was born into the Sable Moon Pack,” he began. “A bloodline that valued strength above anything else. Pain was a language we learned young. Affection was weakness. I don’t remember my mother’s laugh, but I remember her scream. My father trained us all. His sons. His daughters. We weren’t children. We were weapons.”
He said it flat, without emotion.
But Elara’s heart clenched.
Cassian went on, gaze fixed on the trees.
“I shifted for the first time at thirteen. Most wolves wait until sixteen. But I was... eager. Desperate to prove something. To survive him. That night, I tore through a rival pup’s throat. My pack cheered. My father kissed my forehead with blood on his lips.”
She felt sick.
But she didn’t look away.
“And the Darkroot?” she asked.
Cassian nodded. “It came later. A corruption that crawled in through the oldest bloodlines. It whispers in dreams. It feeds on hatred. It wants domination, not balance. When it touched our pack, it made us faster, stronger—but angrier. Less human.”
His voice dropped.
“We were monsters pretending to be men. I felt it inside me. Every night. I could’ve embraced it. Could’ve let it own me.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” he said. “I killed him instead.”
---
Silence fell like snow.
Elara stepped closer.
“You were seventeen.”
“Barely,” Cassian said. “The pack expected me to rise. To take the Alpha’s place. Instead, I ran. Took only my name—Cassian—and a silver-burned scar where my father branded me.”
He pulled back his shoulder, revealing a jagged crescent above his heart.
The mark was old. Twisted. Ugly.
Elara reached for it without thinking.
He flinched—but didn’t stop her.
She laid her hand there, palm flat over the ruined flesh.
And said nothing.
---
After a long moment, he asked, “Does it change what you see when you look at me?”
She didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“You should hate me.”
“Maybe. But I don’t.”
“You think I’m worth saving?”
“I think,” she said softly, “you already saved yourself. I’m just... catching up.”
---
Cassian exhaled—like it hurt.
Then he turned, slowly, and looked at her like he hadn’t seen her until now.
And Elara saw it—longing—buried deep behind the storm in his eyes.
Not for her body.
But for something older. Hope.
“Do you know what scares me?” he asked.
She nodded. “That I’ll see who you really are.”
He stepped in close.
“No. That you’ll see who I was—and still stay.”
---
Elara rose onto her toes and kissed him.
Not like before—not to taste or tempt.
But to anchor.
To make him real.
Cassian responded like a man starved. His hands curled into her hair, his mouth urgent against hers, his scars pressing into her skin like forgotten prayers.
They sank to the grass beneath the Hollow’s dead stars.
Clothes forgotten.
Memories buried in skin.
Every touch between them was a question.
And every answer was: I’m still here.
---
Later, she lay beside him, her head on his shoulder, her body aching in the best way.
The silence returned—but it no longer felt empty.
It felt earned.
Cassian whispered, “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever known.”
She smiled against his chest. “You say that like it’s dangerous.”
He traced a line down her spine.
“It is.”
- Writer
