BOUND TO THE CURSED LYCAN HEIRS

The scream shattered the quiet just before sunrise. Black Hollow Forest jerked awake, crows blasting into the sky, wings beating frantically. Down in the undergrowth, a young hunter tore through brush, branches smacking him across the face. His breathing was rough, boots slipping over slick roots. He wore blood on his tunic—just from thorns and twigs. Not a real wound. Still, he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Something was chasing him. He couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t smell it, either. But his whole body screamed: death was right behind him. “Leave me alone!” he yelled and nearly face-planted over a fallen log. “Please!” Silence swallowed his plea. Then a low, rumbling growl—deep in the trees. His heart felt like it climbed straight into his throat. He pushed himself harder. — Not too far away, Kaelira Ashwood knelt in a patch of moon herbs, quietly snipping their silvery leaves with her knife. She always felt safe out here. The forest never judged. It didn’t gossip or shoot her sideways looks like the villagers did. She dropped another herb in her basket and paused. Footsteps—loud, crashing, clumsy. Weird. No hunter should be so deep in Black Hollow before the sun came up. She stood, slow and cautious, just as a man burst from the darkness. His eyes looked wild. He was gasping, chest heaving. For a second—just a flicker—he saw her and hope brightened his face. “You…” he managed. Kaelira stepped forward, careful. “You’re hurt.” “No—” He shook his head. “It’s not me.” His hand trembled, pointing behind him. “It followed me.” She squinted into the foggy woods. Nothing. Just mist drifting between the trees. “I don’t see anyone.” “You can’t…” His voice cracked. “It doesn’t let itself be seen.” A shiver crawled down her spine. “What are you talking about?” He opened his mouth. Didn’t get out a word. His whole body froze. Pupils wide. Breath gone. He collapsed, face-first, completely silent. Kaelira dropped beside him. “No…” She rolled him over. His eyes stared at the sky, empty. No wound. No blood. No bruises. Just dead. Her hands shook as she searched for a pulse she wouldn’t find. Then—voices. Villagers flooding in, chasing the hunter’s scream. “What happened?” “Oh, Moon Goddess…” “Not again.” She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to look. She already knew. Another body at her feet. An old woman pushed to the front, hand over her mouth. “It’s Kaelira.” And someone muttered with sharp bitterness, “Of course it is.” A mother dragged her child back. “Stay away from her.” “As if death follows wherever she walks.” “No…” Kaelira whispered. “I didn’t touch him.” “It doesn’t matter!” a man barked. “They always die around you!” The accusation hung heavy, icy. Nobody argued, because everyone remembered. Twenty years ago, the villagers found Kaelira alone in these woods. That same night—everyone in a traveling family ended up slaughtered. Nobody knew who Kaelira’s parents were. Nobody knew where she came from. The village elder took her in, raised her, let her try to be one of them. But the strange deaths followed. Every full moon—someone died. Hunter, farmer, child. Always someone who’d spoken to her. Always without a scratch. No signs, no poison, no explanation. Just lifeless bodies. At first, people said it was just bad luck. But after years of funerals, luck turned to curse. The elder stepped forward, leaning on his staff. His eyes looked tired, sad. “Kaelira.” She lifted her head. “You know what people believe.” She nodded. “I know.” “They’re afraid.” “I know.” “The next full moon is only four nights away.” Silence. Everyone waited. He closed his eyes. Then spoke the words that broke her. “You must leave Black Hollow.” A gasp from the crowd. Someone crossed themselves. “No!” one gray-haired woman protested, voice small. “She has nowhere to go.” “She has nowhere to stay either,” someone shot back. “Not if we want to live.” Voices climbed higher. “Send her away.” “Before another child dies.” “We’ve buried enough.” Kaelira looked at all the faces—people she’d grown up with, worked beside, watched their children play. Nobody met her eyes. Her vision blurred. Still—she didn’t fight. Maybe they were right. Maybe she was cursed. Maybe leaving was the only safe thing. She forced herself to smile, just a little. “I’ll go.” The crowd fell quiet—nobody expected her to agree. The elder’s shoulders bent, heavy. “I’m sorry, child.” “So am I.” She picked up her basket and walked away. No one reached out. No one stopped her. — That evening, her cottage felt hollow. She packed her few things—a satchel with old clothes, a blanket, a hunting knife, her mother’s silver comb. Twenty years in Black Hollow—now all stuffed in a bag. She watched the moon rise behind clouds. The wind felt wrong—cold, sharp. Kaelira curled up beside her window. “What if they’re right?” she whispered to the dark. “What if I really bring death?” No answer. Sleep finally dragged her under. Darkness swallowed her. Then she was standing in a field that stretched forever. A moon overhead, but not the usual gentle silver. It was black. Wind rustled dead grass. In the distance, a woman in white stood still, cloak billowing. Her face was hidden, but something about her made Kaelira ache. Slowly, the woman lifted a hand, inviting, warning. Kaelira’s heartbeat pounded out of control. “Who are you?” she asked. The woman stepped closer. Above them, the black moon split with a thunderous crack. And then the woman whispered, words like ice: “Run… before the moon finds you.” Kaelira bolted awake, gasping. Her room was pitch black. The fire had gone out. And just outside her window, something growled.