Scarred by Moonlight

Chapter 4: We Begin Again

The convoy of SUVs rumbled to a halt in front of the Bloody Crescent Packhouse, its towering stone structure looming against the stark winter sky. The cold air bit at River’s skin as she climbed out, exhaustion weighing down her limbs. She wrapped the threadbare jacket she’d been given tightly around herself, barely glancing at the grand building.

The survivors around her marveled and awed at the obvious wealth of the Bloody Crescent, but River’s eyes barely saw the next step in front of her. Her thoughts were heavy, consumed by the memories of Sacred Dawn’s destruction—her pack, her home, left in ruins. Her mind kept replaying Gigi’s final moments, her beautiful eyes dimming, and her body falling in the dirt.

River’s wolf, Nyx, stirred in her mind, restless and agitated.

“Something’s coming, River. Wake up! I can feel it. The wind smells… strange here.”

River suppressed a sigh, her voice flat as she replied inwardly. “I can’t deal with this right now, Nyx. Let me breathe. Can we sleep before the next crisis?”

Nyx let out a low growl of disapproval but didn’t press further. River was grateful; her wolf’s urgency felt like another weight she couldn’t bear right now. River loved Nyx, but her wolf lived and breathed the hunt. She needed to pursue, even if there wasn’t prey to chase, but River wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear for a while. At least until she felt whole again.

Nyx sighed, understanding her human’s need for rest, but she needed to ensure this new territory was safe for her River. “Until we sleep then…”

The Bloody Crescent wolves were waiting in clusters near the entrance, their sharp gazes assessing the refugees with cold detachment. They whispered and practically poured forth to sneak glances at the poor unfortunate souls that would be joining their pack. River ignored them, her focus narrowed to the next step, the next breath.

As she moved toward the packhouse, the doors swung open, and two women emerged. They were striking, each in their own way, walking with a confidence River wasn’t sure she’d ever have again.

The taller of the two carried herself with poise and authority. Her deep brown skin seemed to glow against the forest green lace dress she wore, the sheer sleeves ending in elegant cuffs. Her dreadlocks were swept into a high bun, regal and understated. Despite the warmth in her smile, her sharp gaze missed nothing.

“I’m Ashley,” she introduced herself, her voice steady but welcoming. She gestured to the woman beside her. “And this is Estella. We’ll help you get settled Welcome to the Bloody Crescent Pack, your new home.”

Estella, smaller and more reserved, had an air of nervous energy. Her pink silk blouse shimmered faintly in the pale light, neatly tucked into tailored black slacks. Her mahogany skin caught the soft glow of the afternoon, and her large, expressive eyes flitted over the group of refugees, lingering briefly on River.

River nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing, keeping her head low. Ashley motioned for them to follow her, leading them toward the massive oak doors of the packhouse.

As they walked, Estella fell into step beside River, her curiosity evident in the way she glanced over River with wide eyes. Finally, she spoke, her voice hesitant but awed. “You’re her, aren’t you? The Black Widow.”

River stiffened at the nickname. The words hung in the cold air, sharp and cutting. She made her sound some folk hero, and River could take the look of awe and admiration in her eyes.

“I’ve heard the stories,” Estella continued, oblivious to River’s discomfort. “About how your wolf tore through the hunters, how you held them off long enough for survivors to escape. You’re a damn hero.”

River’s chest tightened. Her mind flashed to Gigi, the little girl she couldn’t save, and the blood-soaked bodies of her packmates. So much loss, so much blood on her hands. She clenched her fists, forcing the memories back.

“Look, I’m not a hero, okay? A lot of wolves died… I … I did what I could,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with bitterness. She quickened her pace, putting distance between herself and Estella. She didn’t mean to be a b***h but no one should be looking at her she was anything but a failure.

Ashley cast a glance over her shoulder, her gaze understanding. “Give her space,” she murmured to Estella, who nodded, looking sheepish.

Inside, the packhouse was as grand as its exterior, all polished wood and vaulted ceilings. The air smelled faintly of pine and something earthy that River couldn’t place. The space was immaculate, almost sterile, and River found it unnerving. It lacked the warmth and chaos that had defined Sacred Dawn.

River longed for the clinking chains of the priestesses performing rites in the temple, the laughter of children running after stealing moon cakes from the Sweet Fang bakery, and the bite of November cold as she ran through the forest chasing after wild game for her family. Everything in the Bloody Crescent Pack was clean and quiet, as if laughter would crumble its walls.

As she moved further into the room, something shifted. A ripple of energy, almost imperceptible, brushed against her senses. The scent of cedar and leather slammed into River, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. Nyx growled, her presence surging to the forefront of River’s mind.

“River!” Nyx’s voice was a guttural snarl. “He’s here. Our mate. I can feel him!”

“No, Nyx! Not now! Not today!”

Nyx growled, “Yes today! Yes now! Dammit, smile! Push your breasts up! Do something, girl! What is going on with our hair!?”

River had never heard her wolf so flustered. She wanted to poke fun at the fearsome Nyx for sounding like a ditzy teenager with a crush when the smell hit her again. River froze, her heart pounding. She scanned the room, and then she saw him.

He stood near the far side of the hall, speaking to a group of wolves. He was tall, his lean frame exuding strength and authority. His raven-black hair was neatly combed, though a few stray strands fell across his sharp green eyes. His olive-toned skin seemed to glow in the soft light, and the black sweater he wore stretched over broad shoulders, accentuating his powerful build.

River’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t need Nyx to confirm it; the pull between them was undeniable. This man—this Alpha—was her mate.

Nyx howled triumphantly, practically jumping like a puppy. “Go to him, River! Go to our mate!”

River hesitated, her emotions a whirlwind. She didn’t want this—not now, not here. But the bond tugged at her, compelling her forward. Slowly, she stepped toward him, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Olrun turned as she approached, his emerald eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the world seemed to still. The air between them was charged, electric.

“Alpha…,” she began, her voice softer than she intended.

His expression shifted. The brief flicker of recognition in his eyes was replaced by something colder—disdain, perhaps, or rejection. He stiffened, his jaw tightening. Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, stunned.

Nyx roared in outrage. “He walked away? Our mate walked away! No! Follow him! Hold him down! Make him love us, River!”

River’s chest tightened, the sting of his dismissal sharper than she anticipated. She clenched her fists, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Ashley appeared at her side, her expression carefully neutral. “That’s Olrun,” she said softly. “The Alpha of Bloody Crescent. Fine as hell, but not the most forthcoming with the warmth. You probably won’t see him much but you’ll definitely feel his presence.”

She didn’t know how right she was. River would feel him. He would haunt her every waking moment.

Nyx whined, “River, follow him! Let me out! I’ll go to him! Make him come back!”

River ignore Nyx, knowing that the only thing that would come from chasing that man would be hurt, and River was too tired. She nodded stiffly, unwilling to let the emotions bubbling inside her show. She wouldn’t break—not here, not in front of these strangers.

As the weight of Olrun’s rejection settled over her, River straightened her shoulders. She had survived the destruction of Sacred Dawn. She had faced death and walked away. She would survive a cold mate too. He would warm to her. She would see to it.

For now, she would focus on what mattered: rebuilding her life from the ashes. The rest—her mate, the bond—could wait.