The Moonstone Curse

The Silent Howl

Livia POV

I stare into the fire, letting the crackling flames blur as I try to make sense of everything. The shaman’s words, the pull toward Zeke—it all swirls in my mind, a tangled mess of thoughts I can barely follow. The weight of it presses down on me, making it hard to breathe, like a heavy shadow lurking behind my shoulder. I let myself drift, focusing on nothing but the flickering flames. They dance and crackle, wild and untamed, their beauty balanced on the edge of destruction.

They remind me of Zeke and me. Mates, fated for each other, yet bound to a destiny that promises only chaos and bloodshed. Such a beautiful thing twisted into something dangerous, as if our bond itself was forged from the clash of light and darkness.

It’s so ironic, given the history of our two packs. Like good and evil being bound together, married off by fate. We’re opposites in every way, yet here we are, drawn together by forces I can’t begin to understand.

A warm gently ahnd touches mine, grounding me, pulling me back. I blink, and Zeke’s face comes into focus as he crouches down in front of me, his beautiful eyes soft but so intense, watching me as if I might disappear any second. “The mating ceremonies are finished,” he says, his voice low, pulling me fully out of my daze. “And the festivities have begun.” He squeezes my hand, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s go eat, stray.”

His words make me blink again, the tension in my chest loosening, his voice alone grounding my wolf and promising safety. I manage a small smile, looking down at his hand over mine, his touch somehow steadying in a way I didn’t know I needed. When he notices me staring at where we are connected, his thumb skims over my knuckles. The warmth of his hand spreads through me, melting some of the heaviness. I glance up at him, feeling an odd mixture of comfort and confusion in his gaze, as though he’s daring me to let my guard down, to trust him, even though I know I shouldn't.

Not if our union means war.

“Come,” he murmurs, his eyes not leaving mine, a teasing light dancing behind the intensity. “Or do I need to carry you?” There’s a smirk in his voice, playful but laced with something deeper, something that tugs at that strange pull between us.

I scoff, breaking the intensity with a roll of my eyes, but my smile betrays me. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Zeke chuckles, his hand still holding mine as he rises to his feet, pulling me up with him. For a moment, he doesn’t let go, his fingers lingering around mine, warm and solid. But like always, just as I hear someone approaching, the mask he wears slides back into place, and he drops my hand.

Calista clears her throat, a knowing glint in her gaze. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she says lightly, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth. She steps closer, giving Zeke a teasing glance before turning to me. “I’m here to steal Livia away anyway. The dancing has started, and you’re the guest of honor. Come on, the pack is waiting.”

I blink, my heart skipping as I imagine myself in the center of the crowd, watched by strangers, watched by Zeke. “Dancing?” I ask, glancing back at him. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight tilt to his lips, as if the idea of me dancing both amuses and intrigues him.

“Yes, dancing,” Calista repeats, tugging on my arm playfully. “It’s tradition. You don’t want to disappoint, do you?”

As she pulls me toward the clearing where the others have gathered, my breath catches at the sight before me. The dancing is chaotic, but not in a way that lacks grace. Instead, it’s wild and unbound, a kind of primal freedom that feels both ancient and beautiful. It’s almost tribal, each movement charged with purpose and history, like something from a story passed down through generations. Their bodies move in unison, forming and breaking patterns in the firelight, shadows stretching and twisting with each leap and spin.

The drumming of hands on hollowed logs and the echo of voices raised in song create a rhythm that pulses through the night. The energy is infectious, crackling in the air like sparks from the flames. Calista nudges me forward, grinning, as a few of the dancers beckon me to join. I glance over my shoulder, and Zeke is watching me from the edge of the clearing, his expression unreadable.

With a deep breath, I step forward, letting the beat draw me in. My steps are hesitant at first, but as I find the rhythm, something in me loosens. I begin to move with them, letting my body follow the rhythm, my arms lifting and my feet carrying me in wide, sweeping arcs. The weight I felt earlier, the tangled mess of thoughts and doubts, begins to lift with each beat, dissolving into the night.

I close my eyes and let the energy flow through me, let the connection to the land move my body. With each step, I lose myself a little more, surrendering to the music as it beats through my veins. The world around me fades, and I feel as if I am woven into the fabric of this place, its spirit and soul flowing through me. The soil beneath my feet is mine, the rhythm of the drums is my heartbeat, and the pack surrounding me feels like home. I am not an outsider, I am one of them.

The dancers move closer, their hands finding my arms, tugging gently at my clothes, their fingers brushing through my hair like a blessing. They begin to wrap me in a robe, soft and warm, smelling faintly of herbs and the earth I feel something heavy and cool settle onto my head, and when I reach up, my fingers touch delicate leaves woven into a crown. My heart races, but I keep my eyes closed, allowing myself to be lost in this transformation.

I finally open my eyes, drawn out of the haze of the ritual, and the Alpha stands in front of me, robed and crowned in attire that mirrors my own. My heart races with sudden panic, a flicker of uncertainty gripping me as I wonder what this ceremony truly means—what I might have unknowingly agreed to by accepting this crown, this robe, this moment in front of the pack. My gaze flickers to where Zeke stands off to the side, his eyes fixed on me.

With a soft, reassuring nod, he lets a tender warmth seep into his expression, silently telling me I’m safe, that I am exactly where I’m meant to be. The fear in my chest loosens just slightly, replaced by a mix of awe and cautious curiosity. I look back to the Alpha, his gaze holding an unspoken understanding, and the weight of this crown, this robe, begins to settle into something almost familiar, as if it were always meant to be mine.

The Alpha finally speaks, his voice low and resonant, just a whisper against the fire's crackling. “Welcome home, Princess of the Ivory Eclipse.”

The title hits me like a thunderclap, a shiver racing down my spine. Princess? My mind spins, heart hammering as the word sinks in, feeling both foreign and oddly familiar, like a forgotten memory. I open my mouth, questions swirling in my mind, but before I can form a single word, a howl splits the night—long, mournful, close enough that every dancer freezes.

The silence is heavy, the night around us thick with suspense. My gaze shifts to where Zeke had been standing, but he’s gone, and lying where he once stood, is a bushel of red tulips.

The pack stirs, murmurs filling the air, but I can’t tear my eyes from the flowers. Questions burn on my tongue, the shaman’s words echoing in my mind, whispering of fate, of bloodlines, and a war that seems to close in around me.

A sharp voice cuts through the stillness behind me, one I barely recognize as my own, edged with fear while my throat burns “Where’s Zeke?”

No one answers.