Marked By Moonlight

Lyra’s POV Okay, so the moon’s throwing a full-on tantrum tonight, bleeding red like it’s auditioning for a horror flick, and guess who’s screaming her lungs out? Yup, me. I bolt upright in bed, my heart doing a cardio workout it didn’t sign up for, my scream echoing like I’m the final girl in a slasher movie. Sweat’s dripping down my back, my sheets are a hot mess—twisted, damp, and honestly, a little judgy. I’m burning up, like there’s a wildfire raging in my veins, something ancient and sassy clawing its way out. I stumble to the window, nearly tripping over my own feet, and fling it open. Cold air smacks me in the face, but does it cool me down? Nope. It’s like tossing ice cubes on a bonfire—makes the heat sharper, like the universe is saying, “Oh, you thought this was gonna be easy?” Then I see it. The moon. It’s huge, looming over the trees like it’s got a personal vendetta. And that red? Not some cutesy sunset blush. It’s dripping, like the sky’s been stabbed and it’s bleeding all over my life. My breath catches, and something in my chest twists—part terror, part “holy crap, I know you.” Like I’ve danced under this moon before, in dreams I’ve shoved in a mental lockbox labeled “Nope, Not Today.” The forest is creepy-quiet, not even a cricket daring to chirp. The world’s holding its breath, and I’m stuck in the middle of its drama. Then—bam—this hum starts. Not a sound, but a vibe, buzzing under my skin, rattling my bones like it’s trying to wake something up. My fingers spark—blue light flickers across my palms, sassy little fireflies that vanish before I can say, “Um, excuse me?” I lurch back, my voice all wobbly. “What in the actual hell?” I rub my eyes, hoping it’s just sleep deprivation playing tricks, but when I look again—oh, hell no. Three shadows stand at the edge of the trees. My heart does a backflip and lands wrong. They’re not moving. Not talking. Just staring, their forms all dark and mysterious, like they’re auditioning for the brooding bad boy role in my life. The way they hold themselves—still, deliberate—sends chills racing down my spine, like I’ve just walked into a haunted house and the ghosts are into me. I back away, my breath coming in short, panicky gasps. The air in my room’s thick, charged, like it’s waiting for something to explode. I can’t tear my eyes off them. One steps forward, slow and smooth, like he’s saying, “Yeah, I see you, and I like it.” The second’s leaning against a tree, all cocky, arms crossed, head tilted like he’s already got me figured out. The third? He’s a statue, but his stillness is loud, radiating power that makes my skin prickle like he’s staring straight into my soul. I’m about to nope out when—wham—a voice hits me. Not out loud. Not in my head. Somewhere deeper. A choice will come. A bond will break. One must die. The words slam into me like a freight train. My knees wobble, and I grab my desk to keep from face-planting. Blue sparks flare across my fingers again, brighter, bolder, like they’re saying, “Girl, we’re here to stay.” I’m shaking, every nerve screaming that this is real. The fire in my veins? Oh, it’s real, hotter than any crush I’ve ever had. I don’t think—I just move. I tear downstairs, fling open the front door, and stumble onto the porch, barefoot and breathless. The night’s thick, humming with secrets, but the shadows? Gone. The forest is empty, not a leaf out of place. Just the wind, and even that’s acting shady. “Who are you?” I whisper, but the night’s not spilling its tea. I back inside, slam the door, and slide to the floor, my fingertips glowing like I’m a human glow stick. This isn’t fire. It’s not electricity. It’s something—old, wild, and definitely not covered in my high school science textbook. Then it hits me. The letter. My mom’s letter. I crawl to my room, rip up the floorboard under my bed, and yank out the dusty box I’ve ignored for years. My hands are shaking as I pull out the envelope, her handwriting spelling my name in that careful, loopy script. It smells like lilacs and rain, like memories I’ve tried to outrun. She left it for me when I was a baby. I read it once, ages ago, when I thought it was just poetic mom stuff. Then I hid it, scared of what it might mean. Now, I unfold it, my heart in my throat. To my moon-born daughter— If you’re reading this, the blood moon’s back, and she’s got plans for you. You’ll feel the pull. You’ll see them. You’ll know who you are. Don’t run, Lyra. Don’t hide. You were born for this. And they were born for you. Tears sting my eyes. My throat’s so tight I can barely swallow. What did she mean? Who are they? I stare at my glowing hands, blue light dancing like it’s got a mind of its own, and I know—I’ve always known—I’m not like the rest of this sleepy town. I’ve buried every weird moment, every nightmare, every spark I couldn’t explain. But tonight, the moon’s spilling all my secrets. And those shadows? They’re not done with me yet.