The First Howl

CHAPTER FOUR: MOONBINDERS

The two men from the store returned the next morning—but this time, they didn’t bother with subtlety. Their black SUV sat at the edge of the gravel drive, engine off, both men standing outside like they’d been waiting all night.

Elias stepped onto the porch, coffee in hand, squinting into the rising sun.

“We need to talk,” the shorter one said.

“It’s about last night.”

Elias didn’t answer. Just stared, jaw tight.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” the tall one added. “We’re with the Order. Moonbinders.”

Elias crossed his arms.

“You said you were researchers.”

“Not a lie,” the tall one said. “Just… not the whole truth.”

Elias didn’t move. His muscles were tense, shoulders coiled. The air between them crackled with something unspoken.

“We research, track, and—when necessary—kill dangerous anomalies,” the tall one continued. “You, Elias, are one of them.”

Something inside Elias twisted. A mix of anger, fear, and defiance surged in his chest.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the short one said bluntly. “You’ve turned. First howl always signals the bloodline’s activation. That means others will follow. And if they’re not as… disciplined as you, if they give in to the hunger—people will die.”

Elias took a slow step back, one hand instinctively drifting toward the bat just inside the door.

“Get off my land.”

“We’re not your enemy,” the tall one said calmly. “What’s coming… you’re going to need help.”

Elias eyed them both. “Help with what, exactly?”

The shorter one scoffed. “You think you’re the only one? You’re not. This thing—it spreads through bloodlines. Half the time, folks don’t even know it’s in them until the moon calls it out. And now that it’s called to you? It’ll call to others.”

“They’ll come here,” the tall one said. “Drawn to the howl. Drawn to the power.”

Elias didn’t like the way he said power—like it wasn’t just a word, but a weight. A cost.

“You’re saying I’m some kind of beacon,” Elias muttered.

“You’re more than that,” the tall one replied. “You’re a trigger.”

Elias swallowed hard. His throat was dry. He thought of the dream—no, the memory—of running through the trees, heart pounding, blood singing.

“If they come here, I can stop them,” he said, trying to believe it as he said it.

“No,” said the short one. “You’ll try. And maybe you’ll hold back—for a while. But the longer this goes on, the more the hunger grows. And eventually, you either give in or burn out.”

The tall one reached into his coat and pulled out a small black device—a satellite phone with one single red button.

“You press this when you’re ready. We’ll come back. We’ll train you. Or we’ll do what has to be done.”

Elias didn’t move. Didn’t reach for it.

“You think I trust you?” he asked.

The tall one nodded. “No. But maybe you’ll trust yourself even less, soon.”

They left the phone on the porch railing and walked back to the SUV without another word.

The engine turned over. They backed out slow, tires crunching against gravel, then disappeared into the trees like ghosts.

Elias stood there, staring down at the device. A cold wind swept through the clearing, stirring the edge of his hoodie.

He didn’t trust them.

But deep down, beneath the fear and anger and stubbornness, he knew they were right.

This was only the beginning.