Moondance Pack - A Collection of Novelettes

3. Beyond her First Shift - Lunar Sensitivity

*Charles POV*

The evening had started like any other before a full moon. The air buzzed with anticipation as we got ready for tonight’s run. I just arrived at Matthew’s quarters. I would stay with Marisol while the wolves shifted to run. She was only 12 years old and didn’t have her wolf yet.

Marisol caught my eye, unusually quiet, staring intensely at the rising moon from the living room’s edge. Her vibe was off, a subtle shift from her usual buzz that pulled at my concern.

“Marisol, what is it?” I asked, my voice laced with worry. “You seem... distant tonight.”

She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine, Charles. Ready to go?” Marisol’s voice was thinner than usual.

It was then Isabella came over, her keen mother’s intuition immediately sensing the unease in her daughter. With a gentle hand, she brushed Marisol’s forehead, her touch lingering as if searching for something unseen.

“You’re warm, Marisol, and paler than usual,” Isabella noted, her concern mirroring mine.

“I feel strange, Mom,” Marisol admitted her voice barely above a whisper. “My head hurts, and the light... it’s too bright.” She squinted against the soft glow of the indoor lighting, an action so unlike her.

Isabella’s expression changed as she looked closer. “The full moon,” she murmured, more to herself than to us. “Charles, could you bring the thermometer, please?”

I nodded, quickly retrieving it. As Isabella checked Marisol’s temperature, I watched, a sense of helplessness gnawing at me. The thermometer confirmed what Isabella’s touch had suggested—Marisol was indeed feverish.

Isabella sighed. “Marisol, you’re showing signs of Lunar Sensitivity. It’s rare but not unheard of among pre-shift children. The full moon’s energy can be... overwhelming for some.”

“What does that mean, Mom? Am I sick?” Fear and confusion widened Marisol’s eyes.

“Not sick, love. Just more sensitive to the moon’s influence than others. It means you need rest, away from its direct light,” Isabella explained, her voice soothing yet firm.

Disappointment flooded Marisol’s eyes, realizing she’d miss tonight’s pack activities.

“But I wanted to be with everyone tonight,” Marisol protested weakly, her usual spark dimmed by her condition.

“I know, darling, I know. But your health is more important. You need to stay inside and rest. Charles will stay with you, won’t you?” Isabella’s gaze met mine, a silent plea for support.

“Of course,” I affirmed without hesitation. “I’ll stay with Marisol. We can celebrate here, away from the moon’s effects.”

Isabella offered a grateful smile before turning her attention back to Marisol. “This is for the best, Marisol. We’ll all feel better knowing you’re safe with Charles.”

As Isabella and Matthew prepared to join the pack, I could see the struggle within Marisol, torn between her desire to be part of the night’s excitement and her body’s adverse reaction to the moon’s call. It was a poignant reminder of the complexities of being part of this world—a world where the lines between human and supernatural often blurred, bringing unique and daunting challenges.

I settled Marisol with a blanket on the couch, dimmed the lights for her headache, and wondered about the night ahead. It would be a quiet night, far removed from the primal energy of the pack run, yet no less important. Tonight, I would be guardian and companion, ensuring Marisol’s comfort and safety.

Marisol lay curled on the sofa, a pale shadow of her usually vibrant self, a blanket draped over her. Her face, usually lively, now showed quiet discomfort—a silent battle raging within. Isabella, her mother, fluttered around her, a beacon of whispered comforts and cool touches, starkly contrasting Marisol’s pained grimaces.

“I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend the evening,” I started, my voice a soft rumble in the quiet room. “Especially tonight, when the moon’s call is strongest.”

Marisol glanced toward the window, where moonlight invaded the space, unwelcome. “I just feel so... trapped, Charles. Like I’m missing out on something important,” she replied, her voice a mix of disappointment and aching longing.

Isabella and I exchanged a look, hers fraught with worry.

I knelt beside the couch, bringing myself to eye level with Marisol. “I’ll stay with you,” I promised. “We can have a movie night. Just the two of us.”

Her weak smile, though strained, warmed me. “With popcorn and jujubes?”

Isabella and I laughed at the sight of Marisol perking up.

With a final, lingering glance, Isabella and Matthew stepped into the moonlit night, leaving Marisol and me in the quiet embrace of the house.

In the silence that followed, I sought to distract Marisol from her discomfort. “How about a story?” I suggested, aiming to soothe. “Something to take your mind off things?”

“Can it be about the moon?” she asked, curiosity lacing her challenge. “But not about werewolves. Something... different.”

A smile touched my lips. “Very well. A tale of the moon, then,” I began, embarking on a journey of stories spanning the ages. I told her of goddesses and celestial battles, magical moonlit gardens, and hidden realms where the moon’s influence was a source of wonder.

“Charles...” she cut in, her voice trailing off.

I was busy inventing stories and wasn’t focused on her as much. I touched her forehead, and it felt burning. She was burning up.

“Ice bath!” I jumped up, ready to run the water.

I picked her up, her warm skin contrasting my cold body.

“This feels nice,” Marisol sighed in relief.

I laid her in the bathtub, and she shivered.

“Charles?” she teased, half-scolding.

“Had to be done,” I chuckled, glad her spirit was still bright.

After a while in the bath, her temperature came down.

“Can you get me some dry clothes? These ones are soaked!” she asked.

“Sure thing,” I said, grabbing clothes for her and stepping out for privacy.

As I sat on her bed, Marisol came out of the bathroom. “Thank You,” she said, sitting next to me.

“No worries.”

“But really, thanks for keeping me company, distracting me, and the chilly bath, too. I feel better now.” She punched me on the shoulder. “You’re always there when I need someone.”

I nodded silently. She did not know we were bound. The pack leaders and I agreed it’s best to keep mate bonds secret until both are of age.

Marisol settled in her bed. “Charles,” her voice a whisper that carried a mix of discomfort and curiosity, “tell me a story? Not just any story. How did you become a prince?”

“Again!” I asked.

“Yes!” she squealed.

“As you wish,” I said, sitting beside her on the bed.

“It was the 1500s, though the exact date escapes me now,” I started, my voice low and even inviting Marisol into the memories I’d long kept cloistered away. “I was a well-regarded nobleman in France, or at least I thought so. I was engaged to a lady my equal, unmatched in grace and beauty in our province.”

Marisol’s eyes sparkled with interest, her earlier discomfort momentarily forgotten. “What happened then?” she prompted, leaning in.

“A more ambitious than honorable duke wanted my fiancée for himself. He challenged me to a duel, claiming it was for her hand, but his intentions were far from honorable.” My voice grew colder, the memories sharp as shattered glass. “We met at dawn in a field shrouded in mist. The duel was fierce, but the duke did not fight fairly. I was left... for dead,” I said, the words tasting bitter even after centuries.

Marisol’s brow furrowed, her empathy shining through despite her ailment. “That’s terrible. But then, how are you here? Who saved you?”

“That’s where fate took an unexpected turn,” I continued, a small smile playing on my lips at the memory of my salvation. “Kind Vlad was in France to appease his curiosity about their politics.”

“He found me,” I went on, “lying in that field, more dead than alive. Vlad saw something in me that day, something worth saving. My skill and, perhaps, my sense of honor impressed him. Under the same moon troubling you now, he gave me a choice: die or live beyond death. He turned me, making me a vampire and, in time, a prince among our kind.”

Marisol listened, rapt, her earlier discomfort momentarily eclipsed by the tale of intrigue and transformation. “What was it like?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Becoming... what you are now?”

“It was a rebirth,” I replied, pondering her question. “In an instant, I changed—everything I was and knew. The world became both darker and more vivid. I lost much, but I gained... immortality, strength, and a new family among the vampires. The transition was tough, but it was my choice.”

The fire crackled between us, the only sound in the room for a moment. Marisol’s gaze had grown distant and thoughtful, perhaps drawing parallels between my story and her journey. “Do you ever miss it? Being human?”

“At times,” I admitted, allowing a sliver of vulnerability to show. “Since then, I’ve lived many lives and seen unimaginable changes in the world. And now, I’m here with you and your family. There are worse fates.”

Marisol smiled faintly, wistfully, and with a look that spoke of understanding and acceptance. “Thank you, Charmant!”

I laughed. “Haven’t heard that name in a while!” I said with a grin. So, I watched over her, my thoughts drifting from past to present, from losses to find.