Bloodmoon Oath

Chatpter Three

The Changes Begin

The first sign that something was wrong came the morning after the attack. Raven woke in her bed, sunlight streaming through the curtains, with a dull ache in her ribs where the wolf’s claws had raked her. She sat up slowly, her mind replaying the events of the night before. Had it really happened, or had her imagination twisted a mundane encounter into something monstrous?

The bandages Leo had hastily wrapped around her ribs were damp with dried blood, but as Raven peeled them back, her breath caught. The wounds, though deep and raw the previous night, were almost completely healed. Faint pink lines ran across her skin, as if weeks, not hours, had passed since the attack.

She touched the scars gingerly, her heart pounding. This wasn’t normal. None of it was.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking her thoughts. She grabbed it and saw a message from Leo.

Are you okay? Call me when you’re up.

Raven sighed. Her brother had been hovering ever since she stumbled back into camp the night before. She appreciated his concern, but she wasn’t ready to explain what she couldn’t understand herself.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, wobbling slightly. As she made her way to the bathroom, the world seemed sharper, brighter. The faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs buzzed in her ears, the sound of a bird chirping outside was unusually clear, and the scent of coffee brewing hit her like a punch. She paused, gripping the doorframe as dizziness washed over her.

“What the hell?” she muttered, staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked the same—dark circles under her eyes, her hair a wild mess from tossing and turning all night. But something felt different, something she couldn’t quite name.

She splashed water on her face, hoping to shake the unease. The coolness of it sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she swore she could feel every droplet sliding across her skin.

Downstairs, the kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of her mother’s spoon against a mug. Eleanor glanced up as Raven entered, her eyes narrowing in concern.

“You look pale,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Raven hesitated. She wanted to say fine, to brush it off like she always did, but the words wouldn’t come. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted, sitting down at the table. “Just tired.”

Eleanor nodded, though her gaze lingered on Raven’s face. “You should rest today. Take it easy.”

Raven’s jaw tightened. Her mother’s version of “rest” usually involved sitting still and reading something dry and historical, which was the last thing she wanted. “I’ll be fine,” she muttered, reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl. As soon as she bit into it, the taste exploded on her tongue—sweet, tart, and more intense than anything she’d ever experienced.

She stared at the apple, confused. It was just fruit. Why did it taste so… alive?

By mid-afternoon, the restlessness had become unbearable. Raven couldn’t sit still, her body thrumming with an energy that felt foreign and overwhelming. Every noise grated on her nerves—the ticking of the clock, the faint murmur of her mother’s phone call, the creak of the floorboards as Leo moved around upstairs.

She decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air would help. The forest had always been her escape, a place where she could lose herself among the trees and let the noise of the world fade away.

But today, the forest wasn’t the same.

As soon as she stepped beneath the canopy, her senses seemed to explode. She could smell the damp earth, the resinous tang of pine, and even the faint musk of an animal that had passed through hours before. The sunlight filtering through the branches seemed sharper, the greens more vivid, the shadows deeper.

She took a step forward and froze. A squirrel darted across the path ahead of her, and she heard its tiny claws scratching the bark of a tree as it scrambled up the trunk. She could even hear the faint rustle of its fur.

“Okay, this is weird,” she muttered, shaking her head. Her voice sounded louder than normal, almost intrusive against the forest’s natural rhythm.

As she walked deeper into the woods, she became acutely aware of every sound, every movement. A breeze rustled the leaves, and she could feel the shift in air temperature against her skin. A bird took flight overhead, its wings flapping with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Her heart raced, not with fear, but with an inexplicable exhilaration.

Then came the anger.

It hit her out of nowhere, a sudden surge of irritation that burned in her chest. She clenched her fists, trying to understand why she felt so furious. Nothing had happened—there was no reason for it. Yet the feeling bubbled up, uncontrollable and consuming.

She slammed her hand against a tree trunk, the bark scraping her knuckles. The pain barely registered as she leaned against the tree, breathing hard. What was happening to her?

That night, the dreams began.

Raven was running through the forest, her bare feet pounding against the earth. The trees blurred around her, their shapes distorted and strange. A glowing moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie red light over everything. Her heart thundered in her chest, not from fear but from the sheer thrill of it.

She felt powerful, unstoppable. Her legs moved faster than they should have been able to, carrying her through the woods with a grace and speed that felt both foreign and familiar. The wind whipped against her face, carrying with it the scent of something primal—blood, fur, and earth.

In the distance, she saw glowing eyes staring back at her. Wolves. Dozens of them, their forms blending with the shadows. One stepped forward, larger than the others, its amber eyes locking onto hers. There was no fear, no hesitation. Only a sense of recognition, as if it knew her.

She woke with a start, her body drenched in sweat. The moonlight streaming through her window felt too bright, too harsh. Her heart was racing, and her hands were trembling.

The dreams continued every night, growing more vivid with each passing day. They weren’t just dreams—they felt real, as if she were living them. And with each one, the changes in her waking life became harder to ignore.

She was stronger, faster, more aware of the world around her. But she was also angrier, her temper flaring at the smallest provocation. Her friends noticed it, her family noticed it, and she noticed it most of all.

One afternoon, Leo confronted her in the kitchen. “What’s going on with you?” he asked, his voice edged with worry. “You’ve been acting... different.”

Raven stared at him, unable to form an answer. How could she explain something she didn’t understand herself? How could she tell him about the dreams, the changes, the strange pull she felt toward the forest?

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But something’s happening.”

Leo’s brow furrowed, and he reached out to touch her arm. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

But as she looked into his concerned eyes, Raven wasn’t sure if “together” would be enough. Whatever was happening to her, it was bigger than both of them. And deep down, she knew it was only the beginning.