Bound By Moonlight

The night air clung to Lyra’s skin like silk woven from shadows. She knew she shouldn’t be in the woods—especially not alone, especially not tonight. But the pull was too strong, too familiar, like a whisper threading through her veins. Silver Hollow’s forest was ancient. Locals spun legends about the howling that rose every Blood Moon, warning girls like Lyra to stay indoors, close the curtains, and hide their hearts. She’d never been good at hiding. As she climbed over twisted roots and ducked beneath gnarled branches, the silence shattered. A low growl echoed from the trees behind her. Lyra stopped. Her breath caught. The growl grew louder. Then she ran. The moon lit her path—just barely—as snarls broke through the mist. Three wolves, massive and glinting like shadows come to life, darted through the underbrush, their eyes locked on her. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, louder than her footsteps. She stumbled. Fell. The largest wolf lunged— —and was intercepted midair by a blur of motion. They crashed in a snarl of teeth and claws. Lyra rolled to her side, gasping, as the stranger emerged. Tall. Powerful. His black coat shimmered with moonlight as it faded, revealing skin as golden as dusk and eyes like storm clouds—alive with fury. “Behind me,” he said, his voice low but commanding. The wolves retreated with wary glances. Something about him frightened them. Something about him frightened her. Lyra scrambled to her feet. “Wh-who are you?” He stepped closer. The forest seemed to hush around him. His gaze scanned her face, then dropped to her collarbone… where her crescent birthmark shimmered like liquid silver. “It’s real,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. Her fingers touched the glowing mark. It had never done that before. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice shaking. His eyes darkened, and something in them turned possessive. “You bear the mark. That means you're mine.” Lyra's knees gave out. Darkness wrapped around her like a blanket. And as she collapsed into it, the last thing she saw was the stranger kneeling to catch her—his hands warm, his whisper colder than the night. “Welcome home, mate.”