MOONBOUND HEARTS

The rain hadn’t stopped since Elena Voss crossed the Oregon border. It drummed against the windshield of her battered Jeep like impatient fingers, blurring the narrow road that wound deeper into the Pacific Northwest forest. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles aching, and told herself for the hundredth time that this was the right choice. Running away wasn’t cowardice when the life you were leaving had already chewed you up and spat you out. Her phone had died two hours ago, leaving her with nothing but the GPS directions scribbled on a crumpled receipt and the low hum of the engine. When the cabin finally appeared through the curtain of rain—small, weathered, with a sagging porch and moss clinging to the roof like a living thing—Elena let out a shaky breath. “Home sweet… whatever this is,” she muttered, killing the ignition. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the patter of rain on leaves. She grabbed her duffel bag and the camera case that held her most prized possession: a Nikon that had captured everything from grizzlies in Alaska to snow leopards in the Himalayas. Photography was the one thing that had never betrayed her. The key her grandmother’s lawyer had mailed turned stiffly in the lock. The door creaked open, releasing a scent of old wood, dried lavender, and something faintly wild—like pine needles and distant thunder. Inside, the cabin was smaller than she remembered from childhood summers. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of gray light filtering through the windows. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, and shelves lined with dusty books and strange glass jars filled the other. On the mantel sat a single framed photo: Elena at age ten, grinning beside her grandmother, whose eyes always seemed to hold secrets the world wasn’t ready for. Elena dropped her bags and rubbed her arms against the chill. “I’m here, Grandma. Hope you’re not regretting leaving me this place.” Night fell fast in Silverpine. By the time Elena had unpacked the basics and lit a fire (after three failed attempts and a lot of cursing), the rain had eased into a soft drizzle. She stepped onto the porch with a mug of instant coffee, breathing in the crisp air. The forest pressed close, dark and alive. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Then she heard it. A long, haunting howl that rose and fell like a mournful song. It sent a shiver racing down her spine—not entirely from fear. There was something… beautiful about it. Primal. “Wolves,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. That was why she’d come here, after all. To photograph the wild again. To feel something real. She didn’t know that, less than a mile away, the howl had come from a massive black wolf with eyes like molten amber. Lucas Blackthorn had frozen mid-stride, his pack brothers fanning out behind him on their nightly run. His wolf had gone rigid, nostrils flaring. A scent cut through the rain-soaked air—sweet wild honey, warm vanilla, and something electric that made his blood roar. Mate. The word slammed into him with the force of a silver bullet. His wolf surged forward, clawing to break free and hunt down the source. Luke forced the shift back with gritted teeth, claws digging into the damp earth. Impossible. He was promised to Selene, the strongest female in the pack. The bloodline demanded it. An alpha did not bond with a human. But the pull was already there, threading under his skin like moonlight made liquid. He threw his head back and howled again—this time a warning to the night itself. Elena shivered on her porch, the sound wrapping around her like an invisible embrace. She set her mug down, heart beating faster for reasons she couldn’t name. “Welcome to Silverpine,” she said softly to the darkness. Little did she know, the darkness was already watching her back.