Feral Glimpses
799 Words
The days blurred into nights, and each evening found Rhea back in the woods.
Lucci was a demanding teacher. He made her run until her legs trembled, made her stand still long enough to hear insects crawling under logs. He taught her how to track scent, how to mask her own, how to harness her adrenaline without losing control.
But it wasn’t just physical.
Some nights, he’d bring her old stories—legends of the moon goddess who gifted wolves their strength, or the tale of the first rogue who was once a healer. Each story sparked something inside her. Echoes of belonging.
And always, there was the fire.
They would sit around it, their shoulders brushing, silence stretching between them until one of them dared to break it.
One night, Rhea caught her reflection in the water of a stream. Her pupils had narrowed, her nails looked sharper, her body leaner.
“I’m changing,” she whispered.
Lucci stepped beside her. “You’re becoming.”
Their training grew more intense. He pushed her until her instincts screamed, until she could smell fear on the wind and react without thinking.
One night, they sparred. She lunged. He dodged. They circled, breath ragged. When he caught her around the waist and brought her down gently, they were both laughing.
Then their laughter faded.
His hand was still on her hip.
Her lips inches from his.
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
“But you want to,” she whispered.
“I never stopped.”
He kissed her.
This time, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, claiming. Her fingers slid into his hair, his arms pulled her close. The world stilled.
But the kiss ended too soon.
He pulled back, breathing hard. “There’s more you need to know.”
Rhea nodded, heart racing. “Tell me.”
“There’s a prophecy,” he said. “About the return of the Moonbound—the first wolf bloodline. They say a descendant will awaken when the blood moon rises.”
“When is that?”
“Soon,” he said. “Too soon.”
“And you think I’m that descendant?”
“I know you are.”
They were interrupted by a sudden crack of twigs.
Lucci stood instantly, body tense. “We’re not alone.”
Out of the trees stepped a wolf. Larger than any she’d seen. Its eyes—red.
Rogue.
Rhea froze.
The wolf snarled and charged. Lucci shifted mid-leap, slamming into it. The forest exploded in sound—snarls, growls, the snap of jaws.
Rhea grabbed a fallen branch, heart in her throat. She had to help.
She wasn’t ready.
But she wasn’t helpless.
She ran into the fray, swinging wildly. The branch struck the rogue’s flank, drawing a furious growl. It turned, lips peeled back in a snarl. Rhea stumbled, the branch knocked from her hand. The rogue leapt—
—and was knocked aside by Lucci’s massive form.
“Run!” he roared, voice warped mid-shift.
But Rhea didn’t run. She ducked, rolled, and grabbed a jagged rock. As the rogue lunged again, she drove the stone into its shoulder. It howled in fury.
Lucci pounced, jaws clamping down on its neck. There was a horrible crunch, and then silence.
Rhea knelt on the forest floor, shaking.
Lucci shifted back, crouching beside her. “You okay?”
She looked at her bloody hands. “I—I hurt it. I didn’t even think. I just—”
“You survived,” Lucci said softly. “That’s what matters.”
Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away.
“I didn’t want to be that person,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to become violent.”
“You’re not,” Lucci said. “You fought to protect. That’s different. That’s who you are.”
They buried the rogue’s body in the roots of an old tree. Lucci marked the grave with stones.
“They’ll come looking for him,” he said. “We need to be ready.”
“What happens now?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Now we prepare for the blood moon. And we tell the others.”
“Others?” she echoed.
“The rest of my pack,” Lucci said. “You need to meet them. And they need to meet you.”
Rhea’s heart pounded. “And what if they don’t accept me?”
“They will,” he said. “Because you’re not just one of us anymore. You’re the one we’ve been waiting for.”
As they walked back through the woods, the night seemed darker. Every shadow seemed to move.
But Rhea didn’t flinch.
Because now, she knew the truth.
She was a Calderon.
She was awakening.
And the blood moon was coming.
- Writer
