The Moonstone Curse

Through the Wolves' Eyes

Livia POV

It takes all of Zeke’s coaxing to get the rancid liquid down my throat without gagging. The taste is foul—a mix of rotted herbs and coppery blood—and I have to fight against every instinct in me that screams to spit it out. The first swallow makes me gag, my body heaving in protest, but Zeke is right there beside me, his steady hand resting on my back, his velvety voice coaching me through every swallow. He murmurs softly, his words like a lullaby, and somehow, amidst the bitterness, the nausea, his voice soothes the jagged edges of my nerves, calming me like a song I didn’t know I knew by heart. By the time the cup is empty, my throat feels raw, but his presence makes the ordeal bearable.

When he’s satisfied that every last drop is gone, he takes the cup, inspecting it to make sure I haven’t left even a trace. He gives a curt nod, the corners of his lips tugging up in satisfaction, and then he leaves, disappearing out of the room to leave me alone with the aftermath. The taste lingers like a curse on my tongue, and I stagger over to the sink, frantically rinsing my mouth out over and over, but it’s no use. The bitterness clings, a reminder of what I’ve just ingested, and it makes me shiver with disgust.

Finally, I step outside to find Zeke leaning against a tree, his attention lost in the dense forest ahead of us. He’s a picture of composed strength, his teeth gently tugging at his bottom lip, and there’s a stillness about him, like he’s a part of the woods themselves. A creature born of earth and shadows, his presence like the calm before a storm. And though I know I should hate him—this man who is supposed to be my enemy—I stand there like an i***t, unable to tear my eyes away.

The way his grey t-shirt clings to his body, the fabric stretched across the lean, defined muscles of his chest and arms, makes my breath catch. It shouldn’t, but it does. There’s something almost... magnetic about him, a pull I can't seem to resist. His hair, tousled and effortlessly falling back from his face, has a volume and wildness to it that makes me want to run my fingers through it, to mess it up more just to see if he’d let me. Emotions I’ve never felt before swell within me, curling tight around my ribs—desire, longing, an ache that sits heavy in my chest. He’s supposed to be everything I hate—the heir to a pack I was raised to despise—but all I feel is this burning, raw need.

It’s painful, this want. It feels like every step I take away from him tears at my very soul, like my body is breaking in half, being pulled apart by an invisible force that binds us together. He must sense the intensity of my gaze because he turns his head, his eyes locking onto mine for just a moment before they drift back to the forest. I feel caught, exposed, but I don’t look away. A mischievous grin tugs at my lips as I approach, each step bringing me closer to the flame I can’t help but reach for.

“You seem bored,” I tease, trying to sound light, playful, but my voice wavers just slightly. “I thought you would’ve taken Calista up on her offer.”

His gaze shifts back to me, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of our shared silence before he speaks. He looks into my eyes, studying them, and his expression is almost neutral—guarded, yet softening at the edges, as if he’s weighing the truth in my words. For a moment, it feels like he might let his guard down, might let me in. And then, with a smooth grace that makes my heart stutter, he pushes off the tree, standing over me like a skyscraper, a wall of muscle and power.

“You’re mistaken, Stray,” he says, his voice steady and sure, a hint of amusement lacing his words. “I’ve never taken Calista up on her offer, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

A weird sense of happiness blooms in my chest, so unexpected that I almost laugh aloud. My grin widens into a smirk, and I raise an eyebrow, trying to keep my voice steady as my curiosity piques. “Oh yeah? And why is that?” I press, my tone playful but searching. “She seems pretty eager.” I can’t help the way my gaze flickers back toward where Calista disappeared, remembering the way she touched him so intimately, so freely.

Zeke’s lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile, and for a moment, his eyes catch the light just right, and they’re like molten gold, warm and teasing. “She’s not my type,” he says simply, his voice carrying a depth that draws me in, like he’s letting me in on a secret he’s never told anyone before. The words hang between us, heavy and full of meaning, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s narrowed to just the two of us, our breaths mingling in the shared silence.

“What’s your type?” I breathe, the question escaping before I can stop it. My voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with anticipation, and my gaze is locked on his lips—so close, so tempting. I wonder what they’d feel like against mine, wonder if they’d be soft or demanding, gentle or fierce.

And then, in a flash, his hands are on me, encircling my elbows and spinning me around so quickly that my back hits the rough bark of the tree. I let out a startled squeal, not just from the shock but from the electric thrill that rushes through me, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. His presence engulfs me, his body so close to mine that every breath I take seems to draw him deeper into me, and his smirk grows into something wicked, something that promises a thousand things left unsaid.

His fingertips skim up my arms, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and I shiver under his touch, my skin alight with the feeling of him. He tilts my head back with a gentle but commanding touch, forcing me to look up into his eyes, and the depth there makes me feel like I’m drowning in an ocean of gold. His thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, and my heart races, anticipation buzzing like static in my veins, every fiber of me leaning into the nearness of him, the inevitability of what’s about to happen.

He leans in, closer and closer, and I can feel the warmth of his breath, the promise of a kiss hanging in the air between us. And just when I think he’s going to close that final inch, just when I’m ready to lose myself in the taste of him, a sudden noise shatters the spell. The door to the house bursts open, and Rowan strides out, followed closely by his brother, their laughter loud and infectious, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The moment dissolves in an instant, and Zeke pulls back, his expression closing off as quickly as it had opened. He becomes unreadable again, composed and steady, as if the burning desire I’d seen in his eyes was nothing but a trick of the light. As if it hadn’t happened at all.

“Did we interrupt something?” Sage calls out, raising an eyebrow, his grin full of mischief as he takes in the scene—me pressed up against the tree, breathless, Zeke standing over me like a wall of strength. There’s something knowing in his eyes, like he’s seen this before, like he’s expecting it.

Zeke’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing, his silence as solid as the earth beneath us. He doesn’t acknowledge Sage’s teasing, doesn’t let the interruption faze him, but I can see the storm brewing behind his calm facade. As for me, my heart races, and I feel my face flush with heat, a swirling mix of embarrassment and frustration knotting up in my chest.

Calista emerges from the house, her expression exaggeratedly exasperated as she drags a hideous pink duffle bag to the door. She throws it down with a huff, stomping her foot like a child denied her way. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” she says, her tone dripping with mock indignation, like a damsel demanding attention. Sage looks back at her with an impassive face, but Rowan’s expression softens, a warm smile lighting up his features. He steps forward, takes the bag from her, and plants a kiss on her cheek, leaning in to whisper something that pulls a delighted giggle from her lips.

Zeke’s displeasure is palpable, a flash of irritation tightening his features as he glares daggers at Sage. “I suppose she’s coming with us?” he says, his voice laced with playful sarcasm, but there’s an edge to it—a frustration that he’s trying to mask.

Sage shrugs, running a hand through his short hair, his voice low enough for only us to hear. “Unfortunately,” he mutters, rolling his eyes in Calista’s direction.

Normally, the thought of heading deeper into unknown territory, further from my pack, would make my anxiety spike, my mind racing with questions and fears. But right now, all I can think about is the near-miss moment with Zeke—the heat of his body, the feel of his hands on my skin. The ache of wanting more.

I don’t know if I want to bond with him, to let the mate bond take root in my soul like it’s begging to. But Zeke’s my mate, and the connection between us is as real and unyielding as the pull of the moon on the tides. I should hate him, should want to fight against this, against him, for all the pain his father has caused me, for the scars that will never fully heal. Logic says I should despise him. But the truth is... I can’t. And I don’t.

The tension between us is an electric current, an unspoken truth that simmers beneath every word, every glance. And I know he feels it too. I see it in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, in the way his eyes flicker over me like he’s searching for something he’s afraid to find.

Despite my confusion, the bond pulls at me like a tide I can’t swim against.

***

Sage pulls off the main road, maneuvering the SUV with surprising ease between two towering trees that look like sentinels guarding the forest beyond. The darkness outside is thick, heavy, wrapping around the vehicle like a suffocating blanket as we venture deeper into the dense woods. Each low-hanging branch that scrapes against the car’s exterior feels like a clawed hand reaching out, amplifying my unease. I watch, tense, as Sage and Rowan step out of the car, their movements fluid and confident, as if the darkness is a familiar companion. Calista follows, and there's an eerie grace to the way she moves through the shadows, like a wraith at home in the blackness.

But I stay put. My knuckles are white as I grip the edge of my seat, the cool leather grounding me to this reality. Fear crawls up my spine, tightening its grip, and my heart races, every instinct screaming at me not to trust these people who remain strangers to me, despite everything. Every question I’ve dared to ask during this journey has been met with silence—cold, stony silence that offers no comfort, no clarity, and no escape.

I let out a soft sigh, the breath trembling as it leaves my lips, and it’s only then that I realize Zeke has silently slipped out of the SUV. He stands just outside, framed by the darkness, his silhouette blending seamlessly into the night. There’s a power in the way he stands, a quiet demand in the set of his shoulders and the intensity of his gaze as he locks eyes with me. “Come on,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, edged with impatience. The look in his eyes leaves no room for disobedience—it’s not an invitation; it’s a command.

“Do I have a choice?” I murmur, the tremor in my voice betraying the storm of emotions raging within. I want to sound defiant, to show that I won’t be cowed, but the fear bleeds through, staining my words.

Zeke’s lips curl into a snarl, a stark reminder of the line that divides us—captor and captive. “No,” he replies tersely, the word clipped and sharp. But then his expression shifts, the hard lines of anger smoothing into something almost playful, a sly smirk twisting his mouth. “These are not woods you want to be caught alone in, Stray. Now get out.”

My spine stiffens at his words, defiance flaring to life like a spark in my chest. “Answer my question, then,” I challenge, my voice stronger now, the tension between us crackling like lightning. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

The simmering tension ignites in an instant, the calm before the storm shattering as Zeke moves. He yanks me out of the car, his grip bruising as he shoves me toward Sage. I barely have time to register the movement before Sage’s hands clamp down on my elbows, holding me in place with a grip like iron. My instinct to fight kicks in, to resist, but Zeke’s in my face before I can react, his breath hot against my skin as his eyes bore into mine, wild and furious.

“Goddess Selene has been dead for three hundred years,” he hisses, his voice as cold as the night air, each word dripping with frustration and confusion. “You. Make. No. Sense.” His teeth are clenched, the anger in his voice barely restrained, and I can see the storm raging behind his eyes—the desperation to understand, to make sense of the bond between us that defies all reason.

Calista’s soft chanting pulls our attention to her. She stands a few feet away, her voice barely audible as she mutters a spell under her breath, her eyes glowing with a faint, eerie light. Two twigs rest in her hands, and as she speaks, they begin to glow, their pale light casting long shadows that dance across the forest floor. The twigs twist and bend in her grasp, weaving together like they’re alive, knitting into two slender, bracelet-like bands. She slips one around her own wrist with ease, then holds the other out to Zeke, her expression hard and unyielding.

“Put this on her,” she instructs, her tone carrying a dark promise. “It will bind her to me. If she tries to run, I can easily locate her.” Her gaze is sharp as it lands on my elbows, where Sage’s grip keeps me captive, but when her eyes shift to Zeke, there’s something else there—a warning, a threat. “Or else, I will turn you all into toads.”

Her words hang in the air, a sinister lullaby that makes my stomach twist. I glance down at the bracelet she’s holding out, its rough wood an uncomfortable reminder that I am still a prisoner, bound to go wherever they see fit. “She is not your prisoner, Ezekiel,” Calista adds, and there’s a bitterness in the way she says his full name, as if tasting something sour. “She is your father’s, just like us.”

The moment the bracelet touches my wrist, it tightens around me, and Sage’s grip loosens as he steps back, leaving me to stand on my own. A small swell of gratitude rises in me for Calista sticking up for me, but it’s overshadowed by the reality of my situation—I am still bound, still at the mercy of those who would decide my fate without my consent.

Zeke’s voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. “Would you rather be back at the castle,” he asks, each word like acid on my skin, “where my father can repeat his abuse whenever he deems necessary?” The memory of his father’s touch makes my skin crawl, the phantom pain of bruises and scars aching with every heartbeat. Zeke must see the effect of his words on me, the way they land like blows, because he tries to soften the blow, stepping closer and pressing a hand to the small of my back—a touch meant to comfort. But all it does is make the fear surge to life again, and I jump back, retreating into the shadows, wrapping my arms around myself as if that alone could protect me.

“I’d rather be with my pack,” I whisper, the words almost lost to the night, but the pain in them is clear, the desperation to return to what I’ve lost clawing at me like a wild animal.

We walk on, the path ahead lost in the darkness, and I trail behind Rowan, my steps heavy with the torment of memories I can’t escape. Every step is a battle to keep moving, to keep my head up, but the weight of it all presses down on me, making every breath feel like a struggle. It feels like hours pass before I feel a warm touch on my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts. Calista threads her arm through mine, her touch gentle, as if we’re friends rather than strangers bound by fate and necessity. She says nothing, and for a long while, we walk in silence, the forest around us alive with the sounds of night.

Eventually, Calista lays her head on my shoulder, her voice soft like a lullaby. “I was his victim once, too,” she whispers, and the words carry more weight than I expect, like an anchor pulling me back to reality. I glance over at the men—Rowan, Sage, and Zeke—their footsteps lighter, their breaths quieter, as they listen to her speak. They seem as surprised as I am by her revelation, their faces unreadable but attentive.

“He held me captive for three years,” Calista continues, her breath shaky as she draws in air. “The amount of abuse my body endured was more than enough to kill me, but somehow, I survived.” She pauses, and I feel the wet droplets of her tears roll down my shoulder, a soft, salty reminder of her pain. “If it weren’t for these three, he would have killed me.”

I glance back at Zeke, trying to read the emotions on his face, but he’s a shadow in the moonlight, his eyes glowing faintly like embers in the dark. There’s something in his gaze, something raw and unguarded, but it’s gone before I can make sense of it.

“They saved me,” Calista says, her voice firmer now, like she’s reclaiming her power with every word. “Not all of the Whitefangs are bad, my dear. The Alpha has taken from all of us, and he—”

“That’s enough, Cali,” Rowan’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade, sharp but gentle, halting her confession before she can go on. Calista’s head snaps up, and for a second, she looks ready to argue, to protest, but the look on Rowan’s face softens her resolve. “They are approaching,” he says, and there’s a weight to his words that pulls all our attention forward.

From the shadows of the forest, white wolves emerge—huge, magnificent, their fur shining like snow under the moon’s glow. They circle us, one by one, their movements graceful but predatory, each step a reminder of their power. My breath catches in my throat, a gasp escaping before I can stop it. My father once told me that werewolves with white fur were a curse, an abomination, and yet here they are—nine massive wolves, their eyes glowing with intelligence and something ancient, something wild.

The nearest wolf shifts, his form blurring and changing until a man stands before us, tall and scarred, with tattoos that wind around his back like serpents. He’s striking, every inch of his body telling a story of battles fought and survived, but what holds my attention are his eyes—amber, like mine. Like my mother’s. His gaze locks onto me, intense and unyielding, like he’s looking right through me, searching for answers only I can give.

“Why did you bring a stranger here?” His voice is deep, commanding, and it holds an edge of suspicion, a warning that cuts through the night like a howl. “She is not welcome.”

Zeke steps forward, placing himself between me and the wolves, his stance protective, defiant. “She is my mate,” he declares, the words echoing with a finality that leaves no room for argument. “Where I am welcomed, she is welcomed.”

Calista’s grip on my arm tightens when one of the wolves ventures closer, its snout raised as it sniffs the air around me. The leader’s eyes darken, his body tensing with barely contained rage. “She is unmarked and unmated,” he growls, each word dripping with disdain. “She is not your mate, Whitefang. Why do you lie?”

I can’t help but sigh, exhaustion seeping into my bones. I just want this night to end, to find some semblance of peace, a bed to collapse into. I step out of the circle Zeke and the twins have formed around me, planting my hand on my hip like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “Look,” I say, my voice loud in the silence, “I didn’t ask to be here. I was brought here against my will.” I gesture between Zeke and myself, my movements sharp and defiant. “He and I are mates—fated mates. That’s why we’re here. To get answers.”

I meet the leader’s amber gaze head-on, holding his attention with a smile that’s all sweetness and steel, hoping to break the tension that threatens to snap. “And you’re right,” I say, letting my smile curl wider. “I am unmarked.” I make a show of glaring back at Zeke, my lip curling in challenge, defiance.

Lowering my voice to a teasing whisper, I step closer to the leader, my eyes twinkling with mischief. “Unless you’re interested,” I purr, “I’m sure you’re nicer than him.”