Lycan Witch

Chapter 3: The Pull Of The Moon

The shadows receded. Whoever—or whatever—had been moving between the trees melted back into silence, leaving only the rustle of leaves and the pounding of Aria’s heart.

Kael stood alert for a moment longer, head tilted as though listening to something she couldn’t hear. Then, finally, he relaxed, though not entirely.

“They won’t try again. Not here. Not now.” His voice was low, threaded with tension.

Aria hugged the basket tighter to her chest. “What were they?”

Kael’s gaze flicked to her, and in the gold of his eyes she saw more than human hesitation. “Hunters,” he said at last. “Not ordinary men. The kind who kill anything that isn’t human.”

Her mouth went dry. “And they’re after me? Why? I’m not—”

“Not human?” His tone was sharp, almost biting, but softened when he saw her flinch. “You may not understand it yet, but you can’t hide from what you are. They can sense you, Aria. Just like I can.”

His use of her name startled her. Intimate. Personal.

She lifted her chin, trying to sound braver than she felt. “You keep saying that—like you know me better than I know myself. But you don’t. I’m not like you.”

For the first time, his expression shifted—pain flickered in his eyes, quickly masked. “No,” he said softly. “You’re not like me. You’re worse.”

Aria’s breath caught. “Worse?”

Kael stepped closer, his presence heavy, consuming the space between them. He didn’t touch her, but she felt the pull—like gravity, like the tide obeying the moon.

“You don’t feel it yet,” he murmured. “But your magic—it’s ancient. More dangerous than claws or fangs. If it wakes, it won’t be hunters you’ll need to fear. It will be yourself.”

Her chest tightened. Part of her wanted to shove him away, to scream that he was wrong. But another part—the part that remembered the fire leaping from her skin—whispered that he was right.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, voice trembling. “Why not just leave me to figure it out on my own?”

For a moment, silence stretched. Then Kael’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. “Because I can’t stay away from you.”

The words hit her like a blow.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. The forest around them seemed to still, the very air thick with something unspoken.

Kael’s hand twitched at his side, as though fighting himself. Then, slowly, he reached up and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. The touch was feather-light, hesitant—yet it sent fire racing across her skin.

“You’re a storm,” he said hoarsely. “And I am a fool for standing in it.”

Aria’s breath shuddered out. Her instincts screamed to move, to put distance between them. But her body betrayed her, leaning—just slightly—into his touch.

And then, as though burned, Kael jerked his hand back. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if restraining something barely chained.

“You should stay away from me,” he growled, stepping back. “If you know what’s good for you.”

Her throat tightened. “Then why did you save me?”

He froze.

The question hung heavy, and in his silence, she found the answer.

Because he couldn’t help it.

The thought terrified her more than the hunters. Because some part of her—the part she didn’t want to admit—didn’t want him to stay away either.

Kael turned sharply, the muscles in his jaw taut. “Go home, Aria. While you still can.”

And before she could say anything else, he vanished into the trees, swallowed by shadow and silence, leaving her trembling, breathless, and more confused than ever.