The Moonstone Curse

Line in the Sand

Livia POV

"I'm not leaving without my pack," I state firmly, though the strength in my voice wavers as I take a step, and a sharp intake of breath fractures my defiant tone into a cry of pain. Every movement is agony, a reminder that in my current state, I'm in no condition to fight or argue. Yet the idea of abandoning my people is unthinkable. Not to this pack. Not to this Alpha, who rules with cruelty and demands absolute submission.

Zeke’s eyes dart around, scanning the dimly lit hall as we reach a crossroads, his expression tight and guarded. His gaze returns to me, and when he speaks, his voice drops to a murmur, the words low and intense. "You've got three days to get the medicine you need to terminate the pregnancy."

The word—pregnancy—hangs in the air like poison, stinging and bitter. My stomach clenches. "What pregnancy?" I raise my voice, frustration clawing its way out, but I regret it instantly. The sound echoes harshly off the walls, and I lower my tone, barely above a whisper. "Yes, he succeeded in his mission, but who's to guarantee I'm pregnant?" The words choke in my throat, and my eyes blur as unwanted memories rush to the surface—the alpha's bloodied hands, my painful screams for help, the feeling of helplessness that I could do nothing to stop him.

Zeke’s face twists into something furious, protective—a darkness that mirrors my own. He grabs me roughly, dragging me to the right and slamming me back against the cold stone wall. The pain from the previous night’s beating surges through my body like fire, and I grit my teeth to stop a scream. His eyes, burning with intensity, lock onto mine, and for a moment it feels like the whole world narrows to just the two of us—the barely contained rage in his stare and the defiance I refuse to let go. "Do you plan on waiting to find out until it's too late to do anything about it?" His words are a growl, and he leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin, sending shivers down my spine. "Because I won’t allow anyone else’s pup to grow inside my mate's womb."

The word mate surges through me like a lightning strike, igniting my wolf from within. She stirs, celebrating the acknowledgment of our bond, the claim that marks me as his. There’s a pull between us, ancient and powerful, that demands my surrender to him. She wants to howl, to assert herself, to be known as his and his alone.

I soften against him, not just because he’s speaking a truth that’s hard to face, but because there’s something in his eyes that’s more than just anger—it’s care. The realization that he wants to protect me, that he sees me as more than a pawn in his father's twisted game, makes the edges of my resolve blur. Just days ago, I was convinced he hated me, that he wanted nothing more than to reject me and leave me to fend for myself. And maybe part of that still holds true. But there’s a warmth in his touch now that gives me hope, a fragile thing that I cling to with all I have left. "How long will we be away?" I ask, my voice yielding to his as I let go of the fight, hoping that a few days will be enough. Enough to return. Enough to save my pack.

Zeke’s expression shifts, the hard lines of anger easing into something softer, something almost gentle. There's a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as he adjusts the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and he grips my arm to guide me as we continue down the hall. "Two days," he murmurs, but the tension in his voice betrays how much he’s holding back.

Under his guidance, we venture out into the woods, the moonlight filtering through the canopy of trees, casting eerie shadows across the ground. Zeke’s grip on my arm is firm and unwavering as he leads me through the unfamiliar terrain. The way he moves, with a confidence born of familiarity, makes me realize how far from home I am. We finally reach a clearing, where an SUV waits on a dirt road, hidden from view. Zeke opens the door for me, his demeanor tense and vigilant until we’re both inside. Only then does he release a breath he’s been holding, the sharp edges of his shoulders relaxing as the vehicle begins to move.

The same twins from the previous day occupy the front seats. Zeke acknowledges the driver with a nod, and the vehicle accelerates.

The twin in the passenger seat, with shorter hair, turns slightly towards me. His hazel eyes, once glinting in the sunrise, now darken, an emotion masked behind a hardened expression. Before the wall of his defenses rises, I catch a glimpse – a look familiar to me. It's the same mixed curiosity and hostility that Zeke exhibited when he discovered me in his room.

His gaze sweeps over my face, his lips curving into a sadistic grin. "Damn, Snow, the Alpha really did a number on you."

Zeke kicks the back of the seat in a warning, but that doesn't deter the twin from leaning in closer, his scrutiny thorough. "He beat the s**t out of you.” He murmurs, his tone soft, his façade faltering, revealing sorrow beneath.

"Are we stopping at Calista's first, Zeke?" the driver asks.

Upon hearing this, the twin’s expression falls entirely, his eyes meeting mine. It's as if the name alone tells my story – it paints a vivid picture of what the Alpha did to me, how he violated me. He tilts his head like a curious puppy, his gaze shifting to my lap.

I squirm under his stare, instinctively trying to draw my thighs together to hide from his scrutiny, from the shame that rises up like bile. Zeke shifts beside me, closing the space between us until our legs touch, his skin warm against mine, a silent reassurance that I’m not alone. It helps, just enough.

Zeke’s scowl darkens as he looks to the twins. “The annoying one is Sage,” he mutters, his voice hard, daring Sage to keep going. He nods toward the driver. “And that’s Rowan.”

Rowan catches my gaze in the rearview mirror, his smile kind and genuine, a flicker of light in the darkness that surrounds us. "I’m the non-annoying one," he quips, his tone teasing as he throws a playful punch at his brother's arm, Sage giving him a half-hearted shove in return.

Their banter is a brief reprieve, a glimpse of something normal and good, and I sink back into the seat, letting the sound of their laughter wash over me. But beneath it all, my body still aches from the torment of the last few days, and every bruise is a reminder of the horrors I’ve endured. I turn to look out the window, watching the trees blur past as we speed away, wishing I could close my eyes and find myself back home with my pack, where things were simple and safe. But that world is gone, destroyed by the Whitefangs, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever truly feel safe again.

My gaze drifts to Zeke. He’s staring straight ahead, his profile strong and unyielding, like a wall built to protect—or to keep others out. And yet, as I watch him, I feel the strangest flicker of comfort, a sense of familiarity in the midst of all this chaos. It’s paradoxical, how I can find solace in someone who was supposed to be my enemy. How his presence, steady and sure, feels like a fleeting taste of home.

**

After hours on the road, we pull up to a small cottage, nestled among the dense trees of the forest. The moss-covered roof blends harmoniously with the surrounding nature, and the aged, weathered wood speaks of stories untold, each crack and splinter like lines in an old book. A clothesline stretches beside the cottage, herbs gently swaying in the breeze as they dry in the open air, their earthy scents mingling with the rich smell of pine and damp soil. Its mystical vibe mirrors the description from the fairytales my mother used to read to me when I was a toddler—a place where magic could happen, where creatures of the forest lived, free and wild.

As the vehicle comes to a halt, I notice Zeke tense slightly beside me, his fingers curling tightly into fists. A young woman emerges from the cottage’s door, her long, dark hair cascading in intricate braids down her back—a stark contrast to her pale, moonlit skin. She stands with an air of quiet anticipation, a stillness in her movements like a predator poised to strike or a guardian waiting for a traveler to cross an invisible threshold. Her eyes, bright and piercing, are fixed on the vehicle, and even from a distance, there’s a sense of energy about her—a presence that demands attention.

For a moment, we all sit in the car, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts and tension that coils in my chest like a spring wound too tight. Rowan is the first to move, breaking the stillness as he steps out of the car. Sage and Zeke follow, each taking a heavy breath before they emerge into the clearing. I feel Zeke’s eyes on me as he rounds the car, and when his hand finds mine, his touch is warm and grounding. He gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze before letting go, a silent promise of safety that does little to calm my nerves but means more than I can express.

As we approach the house, I can’t help but steal glances at the twins, their expressions visibly softening as they near the woman. She lets out a laugh that seems to dance on the wind, her smile lighting up her entire face as she flings herself at Sage. There’s nothing hesitant about her movements—just raw, open affection as she twists in his arms, her form melting into his as if they were two parts of the same whole. Sage’s hand slides up around her neck, holding her close with a mix of tenderness and possessiveness, and she molds against him. Her back to his front.

Rowan steps forward next, his figure a towering shield over hers as his lips find their way to the curve of her neck, trailing kisses that seem to spark like embers in the growing darkness. Sage's hand shifts slightly, granting Rowan more access, and the way the three move together feels like they’re entwined in a private ritual, a world in which only they exist. The woman’s soft moan, barely a whisper on the wind, makes my cheeks flush, and her fingers clutch Sage’s thighs as if holding on to him for dear life.

The scene is so intimate, so intense, that I instinctively half-step behind Zeke, my body moving of its own accord to use him as a shield from the sight of this passion. Zeke, sensing my discomfort, clears his throat loudly—a sound that cuts through the tension like a blade. The woman's eyes flash with playful recognition, her laughter bubbling up again as she swats the twins away, untangling herself from their embrace.

Her gaze then shifts to Zeke, lingering on him with a look that feels almost like an unspoken conversation. There’s a flicker of heat there, an undercurrent of seduction that she doesn’t bother to hide. When her eyes settle on me, the fiery intensity doesn’t fade, but something shifts—curiosity mingling with an emotion I can’t quite place. There’s no hostility in her expression, only something deep and knowing, as though she can read the hidden parts of me I’ve tried so hard to keep locked away.

“What happened to her?” she asks, her voice almost melodic, like a songbird's, but tinged with an edge that makes me shiver. She peers past Zeke, those keen eyes cutting through me like a blade as if she’s searching for answers not spoken aloud. Every muscle in my body tenses, a wave of coldness washing over me under her scrutiny. It feels as if she's unraveling me piece by piece, and my instinct is to fight it, to shield myself from her relentless, knowing gaze.

“Another victim of my father,” Zeke says, his tone cold and flat, like the edge of a sword. There’s no warmth in his voice, no softness—just a brutal honesty that leaves no room for interpretation. “It's important that he is not given any more heirs. Do you understand, Cali?”

The woman’s face darkens at his words, the playful light in her eyes extinguished as her expression shifts from casual to business, like a blade sliding back into its sheath. She understands. Her nod is quick, a single curt motion that betrays none of her thoughts. Turning on her heels, she waves us forward, her voice brisk and all-business now. “Come then. Let’s get this over with.”

**

I’ve learned that the woman’s name is Calista, and she is a witch—a lone practitioner specializing in dark magic, having been expelled from her coven.

“Why was she shunned from her coven?” I whisper my concern to Zeke, my voice barely audible as we watch her from across the room. She moves around her small kitchen, her actions fluid yet deliberate as she prepares some kind of potion. The way she works—the precision, the intent—it’s both mesmerizing and terrifying.

A sly grin twists across Calista's face, like she knows a secret the rest of us are too afraid to ask about. She steps toward the wall, her fingers lingering over a candlestick until I realize there’s a snake coiled around it. With the ease of someone plucking a flower, she lifts the snake, letting it writhe gently in her hand, and then presses a kiss to its head, soft and almost tender. But before I can make sense of her gentleness, her expression hardens, and in one quick motion, she drives a knife into the snake’s belly, the steel gleaming as it cuts through scale and flesh. A tremor of horror courses through me as I watch her rip the creature open, its blood dark and glistening as it spills into a small bowl. She seems almost detached, like she’s done this a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times more.

As she mixes the blood into her concoction, her eyes find mine, and she laughs—a sound that sends chills down my spine, a laugh that makes the air around her ripple with an unsettling energy. “Dark magic demands blood sacrifices, my dear,” she says, and the glint in her eyes is manic, a flicker of madness just beneath the surface. “And yet, witches are forbidden from taking the lives of Earth's creatures.” She raises the blade to her mouth, licking the remaining blood from it with an unsettling casualness, as if tasting the essence of life itself were nothing more than sipping tea. Her gaze shifts to Zeke, and she adds a pinch of herbs to the potion, the scent of them—something sweet and bitter—carrying over to where I stand. “You’re a smart girl,” she continues, that twisted grin still on her lips, “I’m sure you can connect the dots now.”

A silence lingers in the room, thick with tension, as she saunters over to Zeke and offers him the potion. “Here,” she says, thrusting the cup toward him with a commanding air. “She needs to drink every drop.” Her eyes narrow as they shift to me, a warning etched into every line of her expression. There’s a simmering hostility there, a dislike she doesn’t even bother to hide, and it makes my skin crawl. I meet her glare head-on, my own expression defiant, daring her to say something more.

But her demeanor shifts as quickly as a flame in the wind, and she leans in to plant a soft, lingering kiss on Zeke’s cheek. The touch is intimate, almost tender, and a pang of jealousy stabs through me so quickly it nearly knocks the breath out of me. My wolf bristles, clawing at the edges of my consciousness, wanting to burst forth, to mark him as mine, to confront the woman taunting me with her touch.

“You know where to find us once you’re finished, Ezekiel,” Calista murmurs, her voice like silk, wrapping around his name in a way that makes it sound more intimate, more personal. There’s a promise in her tone, a mix of excitement and anticipation that plays in the sway of her hips as she steps away, winking at him before disappearing into the shadows of the room.

Ezekiel. The sound of his full name surprises me, and I realize how little I truly know about him. Zeke turns to me, offering the potion in one steady hand, his eyes dancing with a teasing light that contrasts the darkness in the room. “Jealous much, Stray?” he teases, his voice like velvet. The corners of his mouth curl up in a grin that’s too self-assured, too knowing, and it sends a jolt straight through me.

“I’m not jealous,” I say quickly, my voice sharp with denial, but the heat rushing to my face betrays me. Zeke’s laughter rumbles deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates through me, warm and dangerously alluring.

“She doesn’t like me,” I add, the words feeling half-true as they leave my lips. My eyes dart back to where Calista vanished, the darkness swallowing her up like a black hole.

Zeke’s grin softens into something almost kind as he tilts the small cup toward my lips. “She doesn’t like anybody,” he says with a shrug, his voice low and steady. “Not even herself.”

I chuckle despite myself, and nod in the direction where Calista and the twins disappeared. “She seems to be quite fond of your friends,” I retort playfully, and just then, a soft moan echoes from the other room. Zeke and I share a knowing look, a laugh bubbling up between us, and for a moment, the tension lifts, replaced by something lighter, something almost normal.