Marked by The Moon

Echoes and Voicemails

The screen kept glowing.

I didn’t move.

Megan’s name flashed again, followed by a second vibration—another call. I just stared, frozen in place, heart racing like prey caught in a snare.

She was my best friend. If anyone in Silverridge truly cared about me, it was Megan.

But even that felt distant now—like it belonged to someone else.

The phone fell silent.

Then it buzzed once more, softer this time.

Voicemail.

I reached out with trembling fingers and tapped the message icon, bracing myself as her voice filled the room.

“Ay? Where are you? You okay? You just vanished. I thought you needed air, but… it’s been hours. Carter’s pacing. He’s pulled half the warriors off the patrol to find you. Everyone’s tense. They’re not saying it, but something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

A pause.

“Please call me. Just say you’re safe.”

The message ended, leaving behind a tight ache in my throat. I could picture her, pacing outside the pack house, arms wrapped around herself the way I used to do.

I tapped the next voicemail—this one from my uncle.

His voice, sharp and clipped, cut through the room like ice.

“Ayla. Call me. Immediately.”

No warmth. No concern. Just command. That cold, controlling tone I’d heard my whole life.

I stared down at the phone, my hands beginning to sweat. My mind spun with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

The ache.

The shift.

The wolf.

Damon.

Even thinking his name sent a low warmth rippling through me. That pull I’d felt in the woods—it hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled deeper, threading through my chest, winding around something that hadn't even existed until last night.

I didn’t know what it meant.

I didn’t know what he meant.

But I knew this: when Damon looked at me, he didn’t see weakness. He didn’t see a mistake. He saw truth. And that terrified me more than anything.

Because the man I grew up calling family—Alpha Carter—had spent years telling me I was wolfless.

Fragile.

Useful, but not powerful.

And now I couldn’t stop wondering: Had he known I was never wolfless at all?

Had he kept it from me on purpose?

I ran my fingers over the side of the phone, thinking of the way he’d always hovered just close enough to control me. Never letting me train with the others. Never letting me out of his sight too long. Always watching. Always deciding.

My stomach churned.

Another vibration startled me. Another message from Megan.

“The Alpha just left. He’s mad, Ayla. Like really mad. I think… I think he knows something changed. He won’t say it, but I heard him talking to the Beta. He said, ‘If she shifted, it’s over.’ What does that mean? Please just tell me you’re okay. Please.”

I gripped the edge of the bed, breathing hard.

If she shifted, it’s over.

Over for who?

For him?

Or… for me?

I turned the phone face down and sat there in silence, the fire crackling softly across the room. The warmth of Damon’s hoodie still wrapped around me like a second skin, carrying his scent. Earthy. Wild. Familiar.

The bond between us pulsed faintly again. Not loud, but undeniable.

I closed my eyes.

There was a knock at the door—just one. Then the handle turned slowly.

Damon stepped back into the room.

His eyes landed on me immediately, scanning me like he could feel the shift in the air.

“You listened to them,” he said.

I nodded.

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing for a moment.

Then, quietly: “You don’t have to answer. Not yet.”

I looked up at him. “He knew. My uncle. He knew.”

Damon didn’t respond right away.

“You were never safe in that house,” he said finally. “And I don’t think you ever knew how much.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re not supposed to,” he said, stepping closer. “Not yet.”

My heart pounded as he knelt in front of me, resting his hands lightly on his knees. “But you will, Ayla. When you’re ready.”

I searched his face for anything false. Anything dangerous. But there was only quiet strength. Patience. Control.

The opposite of everything I’d been taught to fear.

The opposite of what I’d been raised to believe.

I didn’t move. I didn’t say anything.

But I didn’t flinch when his hand brushed mine.