THE SAVAGE MOON

The wind howled through the pines like a living thing—feral, wild, and whispering warnings Aria Blackwood had learned to heed. She tightened the wool shawl around her shoulders and stepped onto the creaking front porch of her grandmother’s old cottage. Ravenshollow had always been more shadows than light, more myth than truth, and yet tonight the forest felt… different. Charged. Like something ancient had woken and was watching her from the trees. Aria exhaled slowly, mist blooming in the moonlight. The lunar eclipse was hours away, but the blood moon already stained the sky a deep, pulsing crimson. She hated how it made her feel. On edge. Stirred. Uneasy. Her fingers brushed the small pouch at her hip, full of dried herbs—mugwort, yarrow, lavender. Protective blends. Old wives' nonsense, maybe, but her grandmother had sworn by them, and Aria had grown up believing in the subtle power of plants, even if she scoffed at the town’s endless werewolf tales. She stepped down onto the narrow path leading to her greenhouse, boots crunching over gravel. Maybe she’d collect some fresh foxglove and lemon balm to settle her nerves. Maybe she’d just hide out in the warmth of the greenhouse and wait for the moon to pass. Whatever she did, she had no intention of indulging the eerie pull drawing her gaze again and again to the woods. Until the scream split the night. Not a human scream—but close. Low, guttural, and laced with pain. Aria froze, heart thudding. Then came the crashing sound of something—no, someone—breaking through underbrush. Fast. Heavy. Coming straight toward her. She turned and sprinted back to the porch, but before she could reach the door, a body stumbled out of the tree line and collapsed at the edge of her garden. “Holy hell,” she whispered. The figure groaned. Aria ran to him without thinking, instincts overriding fear. A man—tall, broad-shouldered, blood soaking through a ripped black shirt, hair matted to his face. One arm was twisted under him awkwardly. Claw marks—deep ones—raked across his torso. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “You’re hurt.” His head turned slightly. Dark eyes locked with hers—wild, glassy, but striking even in their pain. “Don’t… call for help,” he rasped. “You’re losing too much blood—” “No hospital,” he snapped, voice low and edged with authority. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command. Aria swallowed hard. “You’re lucky I’m stubborn.” She slipped an arm under him and struggled to get him upright. He groaned again, jaw clenched tight, but didn’t resist. “Easy,” she murmured. “Just get inside. You can bleed on my rug.” Somehow she managed to haul him into the cottage and lower him onto the couch. Her pulse raced. Who the hell was this guy? Why was he in the woods alone and looking like he’d been mauled by a bear—or something worse? He passed out cold. “Wonderful,” she muttered, brushing hair from his face. His features were sharp, aristocratic. Even under the blood and bruises, he looked powerful. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that made her chest tighten. And cursed, something in her whispered. This man isn’t just hurt—he’s haunted. She shook the thought away and moved into her workroom, grabbing gauze, alcohol, and her grandmother’s old tinctures. She worked quickly, efficiently, hands moving on autopilot. Clean the wounds. Stitch the worst of the gashes. Apply pressure. Ignore the ridiculous heat blooming low in her belly every time she touched his bare skin. Once she’d stabilized him, she sank into the armchair across from the couch and stared at him. “Who are you?” she asked softly. No answer. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind moaned through the trees again. She dozed off there, eventually, lulled by the rhythm of the flames and the rhythmic rise and fall of the stranger’s chest. When she woke, the room had gone still—and he was watching her. His gaze was sharp now. Focused. The earlier delirium gone. “You stitched me up,” he said. “I did. You’re welcome.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You live alone?” Aria stiffened. “Why does that matter?” “It doesn’t,” he said smoothly. “Just… unexpected.” “Finding half-dead men bleeding on my lawn isn’t exactly routine for me either.” That smile grew a little. “Fair.” She stood and poured him a cup of water, handing it over. “You’re lucky whatever clawed you didn’t hit an artery.” “I’m lucky you found me.” She didn’t answer that. “I need to know what attacked you. There are trails through those woods. Families. Kids.” He sipped the water, his expression unreadable. “It wasn’t a bear.” “Then what?” He looked at her for a long moment. “Something I was hunting.” Her brow lifted. “You hunt... wild animals in the woods, with your face?” His mouth twitched. “Sometimes things hunt back.” She crossed her arms. “You’re really not going to give me a straight answer?” “I don’t have time for straight answers, Aria.” Her stomach flipped. “I didn’t tell you my name.” “You didn’t have to.” Silence stretched between them. “I need to go,” he said suddenly, trying to sit up. “You are not going anywhere. You’ll rip your stitches.” “I’ve survived worse.” “Well you won’t survive me if you bleed all over my furniture again,” she snapped, pressing him back with one hand. “Lie down. Rest. Then you can go back to… whatever cryptic business you were doing in the woods.” He exhaled through his nose and obeyed, reluctantly. “What’s your name?” she asked. A pause. “Dorian.” She waited, but no last name followed. Dorian. It suited him. Dark and enigmatic, like a storm cloud about to break. “You’re not just passing through, are you?” she asked. “No.” “Then why are you here?” His eyes locked with hers, and something primal flared in them. “Because I felt you.” Aria’s breath caught. “What?” “The pull. Your scent. The way the earth shifts around you.” She took a step back. “Okay. Nope. You need more rest. Or less blood loss. Or both.” “You’ve felt it too,” he said, voice softer now. “Haven’t you? Something inside you waking up?” She didn’t answer—but her pulse stuttered. “Your hands,” he said, voice almost reverent. “When you touched me. They burned. Not in pain. In recognition.” She stared at him. “I don’t know what kind of crazy you’re selling, but I’m not buying.” Dorian leaned forward, wincing slightly. “You will. When the moon turns red tonight, you’ll see. The eclipse will change everything. And you’ll need me when it does.” “Why?” He smiled faintly. “Because we’re bound, Aria. Whether you believe it or not.” And deep in the forest, something howled. ---