THE APLHA FATED LUNA

The moon was wrong. She recognized it the instant that she looked up. It was not the pale, moonlike guardian that she was accustomed to confiding in on insomnia-ridden nights. Tonight, it swelled and bled a rich red across the firmament as if the very sky was hurt. She stood in a forest that felt both familiar and alien, its towering trees blotting out everything except the red glow. The air was thick with damp moss and the metallic tang of iron, like old blood. Her toes sank into the soil, cool and alive, and she felt something stir beneath it—as if the ground itself was breathing. Her heart beat faster. This was far from being the first time that she dreamed about the woods. She'd roamed here a hundred times while she was asleep, though each dream differed in appearance. Sometimes the trees welcomed her, leaves whispering revelations. Other times they loomed over her dark and reaching long and sharp as if to warn her. But ever, ever was the moon. And always, it was watching. Selene embraced herself, her nightdress clung to her with wet she did not comprehend. "Only a dream," she told the trees, the red moon, the encroaching darkness. The quality of her voice was weak, muted, lost in the expanse of the place. That was when the sound began. A howl—long and mournful and overlaid with grief and fury—disturbed the trees. And another, a higher one, and another, and another, until the woods thrummed with a vocalization that was almost animal and almost human. The noise burrowed beneath her skin and gravitated to her bones, and her heart responded with a quivering beat that kept time with theirs. Her breath hitched. She rotated around in a complete circle, looking. And then she spotted them. Wolves. Dozens of them, gliding out of the darkness like wraiths, their forms gleaming under the blood-tainted light. Their fur was silver and black and shifted shape as if caught between forms. But their eyes were what took Selene backward—eyes that shone with a strange, unnatural light, not with life at all but with a hunger that did seem without end. They were around her, their growls vibrating the air. Run, her mind shouted. But her body would not. Her legs were rock, her feet irrevocably stuck in roots that were not there. Fear roared up her esophagus, and underneath throbbed something infinitely worse—recognizaton. She understood that. Not in the way of memory, but in the marrow of her bones. As though she had walked this circle before, and would again. The wolves drew near. "SEL Her name struck like a thunderclap. She gasped, snapping her head toward the sound. Between the trees was a man. Taller than any man she had ever known, broad-shouldered, his shape outlined by shadow. His bearing was a fierce, unbridled strength that muted the growling wolves. And she looked into his eyes. Not silver. Not red. Gold. They burned like molten metal, locking onto hers with a weight that pinned her to the spot. Her pulse stumbled, and then leaped, racing to keep up with his rhythm. She didn't know him, didn't know him from a stranger, and yet something within her knew him. As if she'd been living for this one instant her entire life. The wolves growled apprehensively, yet none approached. The figure raised a hand, palm up, voice low and rolling as it echoed over the trees. "Come." Selene's breath quivered. Her frame bent involuntarily, pulled on some immaterial chain. Her feet tripped on roots, yet she did not fall and could not. Her chest was squeezed as if a rope pulled her heart to his. Her lips unsealed. She wanted to ask Who are you? or What are you looking for? But the words would not form. Then they were attacked by wolves. They charged as a single mass of bristling fur and bared teeth. Selene screamed, throwing her arms up, but the sound was muted, far away, as if drowned out by the thrum of blood pounding in her ears. She staggered backward, claws swiping around her, char scorching her skin. The golden-eyed figure roared. The sound was inhuman, primal, a force that shook the forest to its roots. He launched into the pack, his movements fluid, savage, beautiful. Wolves shrieked and tumbled aside, but there were too many. Selene clutched at him. And the darkness consumed her. She sat up in a startled gasp. Her sheets were tousled, drenched with perspiration. Her chest rose in jerky breaths, lungs craving a breath that would not come. She raised a quivering hand to her shoulder, bracing for blood, claw tears, torn muscle. Nothing. Just skin. nothing at all but a dream, she repeated to herself, yet her thudding heart sang another tune. Moonlight filtered through the thin curtains of her little room, silver and cold. She brushed loose wet hairs aside, her hands yet shaking. It wasn't new. The dreams followed her since she was a little girl. Forests, wolves, voices that called her name. Every time they became clearer, more distinct, so that sometimes she awoke with a metallic taste on her tongue or a nip of imaginary wounds on her body. But tonight was different. Tonight, there had been him. The man with the golden eyes. Selene sat on the bedside, her hands against her face. The weight of his eyes, the timbre of his voice were still with her, and they resonated in her bones. Come. One word and her body had responded. Her stomach churned. It wasn't fear. It was yearning. And that terrified her more than the wolves. Hauling herself to the broken mirror on the other side of the room, Selene looked at herself. Fair skin, untamable black hair that refused to stay braided, and eyes—those eyes—that others claimed were odd, too light. Some called them silver in the moonbeams. They glowed almost, tonight. She pressed against the glass, her voice low. "What is happening to me?" No response, only the gentle buzzing of cicadas out the window. Her eyes darted to her hand. The cut from a broken plate yesterday—vanish, leave no scar. Another reminder that she was not one of the girls in town. She did not bruise, did not linger sick, did not bleed for a length. She healed quickly. Too quickly. She gathered her fingers into a fist. The townsfolk already called her odd, whispered behind her back. An orphan, a mystery, a curse. She had grown up on the edges of things—edges of families, edges of friendships, edges of belonging. Loneliness had become her shadow. But for once, the shadow was heavier. Thicker. As if it was weighing against her body. Her glance wandered to the window. The moon was fat and bright, its light pouring across the floorboards. Not red—not quite. But Selene's chest was constricted with the knowledge that it would be. Her air stopped as a whisper stroked her ear. Selene. come. She recoiled backward, holding her ears with her hands. But that was not outside. It was within, pulsing in her bloodstream, twisting around her heart. "Not again," she breathed, shaking her head. "No." But her reflection betrayed her. Her eyes captured the moonlight, and for one brief moment, they were silver. Selene's heart skipped. The tether snapped taut. And deep down, in the place she feared most, she knew: before the night was over, the forest would claim her.