THE PULLOF THE MOON
1377 Words
The day after the dream, Selene woke up with the taste of iron on her lips.
She lay motionless in bed, listening for the soft creaks in her small wooden cottage, the rumble of the wind sighing through the shutters. It should have been a normal morning. The sun sliced soft gold across her quilt, the kettle sang as it warmed on the fire, and yet—her body hummed as if she'd run for miles while she slept.
Her hand jerked up to her shoulder. No scar. No blood. Yet she could have sworn that she felt the tugging on claws tearing her.
She sat up slowly, pressing her hand against her chest. Her heart beat too hard, each throb a warning. The eyes of gold from the dream would not go away, scorching against the inside of her mind. She had seen wolves—it was something she was accustomed to seeing on the ridgslope, a distant howl borne across the valley—but none that looked at her as he did. None that looked at her and looked into her, as if he knew her.
Selene breathed a nervous sigh and laboriously got to her feet.
By noon, the normal world would have claimed her once more. She attempted to submit to it. She collected her waters, cleaned the floor, prepared herbs to dry for winter. The village was alive and busy when she went out to the square—traders haggling, children racing between carts. To everybody else, it would have been just another day.
Yet not for her.
Wherever she looked, Selene sensed eyes. From individuals—though they gossiped as well, as they did. ThatOdd girl. The one who heals too readily. The one who daydreams too easily.
No, today it was not only them. Today, the whole world appeared to be witnessing her. The wind blew hard against her body, the trees on the village periphery swayed without a breath, and her dream's whispers stuck to her yet.
Come to me.
She rubbed at her temples, fighting it back.
Her guardian, Aunt Maeve, intercepted her on the way close to the well. The older woman's weathered face was softened by threads of silver hair, her lips compressed in habitual discontent. "You've looked pale all morning," Maeve said. "Blood Moon is at its zenith tonight. You'll be inside. Do you hear me?"
Selene nodded involuntarily, but her stomach was churning.
All the people in the borderlands heard the tales. The wolves roamed feral during the Blood Moon, famine and madness consuming them. One did not venture beyond the gates of the village.
But Selene knew she would already.
By the time the sun was low in the sky, coloring the sky with violet and fire, Selene was shaking in her nervousness. Every sound—the snap of the branches, the cry of a hawk in the distance—was loud. The yearning in her chest was unbearable, a rope tugging her towards the woods.
She tried to resist. She crouched on her bed, fists balled, telling herself in a low voice to ignore it. But her body would not obey. It was something beyond thinking—beyond body—that was driving her.
When she got up, she was also quite unclear if that was her initiative or if the initiative was taken for her.
She filled a satchel with shaking hands. Water bottle. Cloak. Nothing else. Her hands gripped the silver pendant around her throat—it was a gift from her parents, the only thing she'd ever been left with. She didn't know why, but something was weightier about it than the other nights.
Just for a walk," she gulped, though she knew that was a lie.
The forest was waiting.
The trees engulfed her the moment she stepped out of the boundary of the village.
Shadows lay long on the earth, and the wind carried scents sharp and feral—pine, earth, something loamy beneath. Selene clutched her cloak tight, her breathing faint as she followed no trail whatsoever. Her feet moved as if they were guided by some recollection she did not possess, taking her deeper and deeper between the massive trunks.
The forest was alive.
Leaves stirred though she was without wind. Roots shifted at her feet. Twice or more she believed that she glimpsed something between the trees, flashes of movement disappeared while she tried to see. She was not alone. She knew that.
She did not compromise, however.
By the time she arrived at the clearing, the moon was already out.
Her breath caught.
It was not the pale silver orb she'd known as a child. No, this moon was red, huge and bloated, shedding crimson light on the world. It darkened the trees, the ground to red oxide, her body to flame.
Same moon that was in her dream.
Selene's legs went weak. "No," she breathed. But her voice was weak.
There was a howl.
It tore through the woods like thunder, close enough to make her bones shake. Others responded, a chorus from all around, hard and angery.
Her breath caught. Legs acted on reflex—running. Branches lashed at her arms, roots snagged at her boots. She tripped, yet the howls only came louder.
And upon seeing them, she discovered.
Eyes. Dozens of eyes, amber eyes in the dark. Shapes emerging out of the darkness—hulking wolves, bristling, growling, fangs bared in bloodlight.
"Outsider," another growled with jaw half open, his voice gruff, inhuman.
Selene's screech caught in her throat. She was looking around to run, but the pack was closing in.
One lunged. Claws raked her shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh. Pain ripped through her, white-hot, so real she choked on it. She stumbled to the ground, dirt and blood filling her mouth.
The wolves circled, teeth bared.
She was going to die.
And the world was forever changed.
The air was thick, charged as at the moment when lightning splits the skies. There was a growl—low, peremptory, ancient—as the clearing quivered.
Every wolf stilled.
Out of the darkness came a monster bigger than the others, his fur black as a moonless sky, his eyes ablaze with molten gold. His very being warped the universe around him, strength emanating from each line on his massive body.
The wolves inclined themselves involuntarily, hackles descending—save one, the most adventurous. He growled and charged at Selene once more.
The black wolf charged like a storm. He plowed into the assailant, pinning him to the ground. Bones broke under his weight, and with a single brutal snap of his muzzle, the rebellious wolf was finished.
Selene’s vision blurred, but she couldn’t look away.
In front of her, the black wolf changed—bone twisting, fur pulling back in, body re-forming until a man stood where the animal once was. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin shining in the red light. Dark hair surrounded a face chiseled in hard lines, cruel and beautiful at the same time.
But his eyes were the one thing that mesmerized her—the same fiery gold from her dreams.
"Mate
The word was barely a whisper, but it struck like thunder.
Selene's breath stopped short, her heart jerking wildly. She couldn't understand what it was, couldn't quite—but her body understood. Her blood comprehended. The binding within her sprang taut, holding her to him with intangible strength.
The wolves murmured, restless.
"Alpha Dorian," another growled. "She's a intruder. The law
"Enough." His voice cut across the air, black and commanding. He did not look at them. His gaze was upon her and her only.
Selene struggled to get up, yet agony deprived her of energy. The room was spinning around him when he covered the distance between them in three strides. Strong hands lifted her up without effort, as if she were weightless.
Heat spread within her where he kissed, radiating from her wound into her veins. Shudders wracked her frame, torn between fright and something else. Her sight faded. The very last thing she heard was his voice, low and sure, carrying her into the dark. "You are mine. And no law shall take you away from me."
- Writer
