THE MOONLIGHT PULL
340 Words
The moon was full again.
Mira had trouble sleeping. Her dreams had been strange for days—flashes of silver eyes, howls in the dark, a forest that called her name.
So she did what she always did when she couldn’t breathe inside the servant’s quarters.
She wandered.
Wrapped in a shawl, barefoot, she moved through the silent halls of the East Wing. The world felt... different. Sharper. As if the walls themselves were listening.
Then she felt it.
A tug. Not physical—but inside her. A gentle, pulsing pull in her chest, leading her down a narrow hall she had never noticed before. Doors lined the corridor—sealed, forgotten, covered in dust. Except one. A c***k of silver light bled from its frame.
Mira reached for the handle—drawn, not in control.
The door opened silently.
Inside was a circular room with a domed ceiling of glass. Moonlight bathed the floor. Symbols were carved into the stone in a circle, pulsing faintly with pale blue light.
And standing in the center—barefoot, shirtless, trembling—was Elias Storm.
His back was turned to her. Scars ran down his spine like lightning. His body was tense, breath shallow, muscles shifting unnaturally beneath his skin.
He turned suddenly—eyes glowing, fangs visible.
Mira gasped.
"You weren’t supposed to see this," he said hoarsely, voice more growl than words.
"What are you?" she whispered.
He stepped forward slowly, every movement calculated—as if he were trying to hold something back.
"I’m what your heart already knows," he said.
Their eyes locked. The light from the symbols pulsed, brighter now—responding to her.
Elias stumbled back, hand clutching his chest.
"The bond… it’s awakening."
Mira’s breath caught.
Bond? What bond?
And then the pain hit her.
A white-hot ache bloomed in her chest. She collapsed to her knees, vision swimming.
Elias knelt beside her, his fingers brushing her shoulder—gently, almost reverently.
"You weren’t supposed to be mine," he whispered.
But the moonlight disagreed.
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- Writer
