Shattered Moon: The Alpha’s Legacy

Elena's POV The boxes weren’t even fully unpacked when I felt it. Not saw, not heard, Felt. Like something underneath my skin woke up and pressed its palms flat against the inside of my ribs, trying to get out. I was standing in the middle of the kitchen in the house my mother called our “fresh start” and stared at the tree line behind the house. They started just beyond the yard and blocked out almost half the sky. Blackwood Creek. Population, barely a dot on the map. Surrounded by forest so thick and old, it looked like the trees were keeping secrets. They probably were. “Elena, can you bring in the last box from the car?” My mother’s voice floated down from upstairs, soft and careful the way it always was lately. Like she was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Like she’d been rehearsing every sentence before it left her mouth “Yeah,” I called back. I didn’t move right away. The forest was doing that thing again. Watching. I know how that sounds. Forests don’t watch people. Trees don’t have eyes. But standing there in the grey afternoon light, the mist curling low along the ground like it was alive, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something on the other side of those trees already knew my name. I grabbed my hoodie off the kitchen counter and went outside. The moving truck was half empty. Only one box left, just like she said. I heaved it up and was halfway back to the front door when a sound stopped me cold. A laugh, it wasn’t loud or threatening, it was Low and sounded like a Male. It was Coming from somewhere down the road. I turned, there were three guys walking along the edge of the road, easy and, unhurried, like they owned every inch of ground their boots touched. I barely looked at the first two. The third one held my attention before I realized I was staring. Tall, Dark jacket, Hair that curled slightly at the ends like he’d been out in the mist long enough for it to settle there. He was saying something to the guy on his left, half smiling, and even from this distance that half smile did something annoying to my chest. Then he turned and looked directly at me. Not in the way people glance at a stranger. Not a polite, passing look. He looked at me the way you look at something you’ve been waiting for. Steady. Certain. Like he already knew every question I hadn’t asked yet. My fingers went numb around the box. I looked away first and hurried inside, dropping the box harder than I meant to. “What was that?” Mom called. “Nothing,” I said. “It Slipped.” Dinner was quiet in the way that meant we were both thinking too loud. Mom made pasta. She always made pasta when she was nervous, something about the repetition of stirring calmed her down. I watched her move around the small kitchen, her dark hair pinned back, her hands steady even when her eyes weren’t. She looked older lately. Or maybe I was just noticing it more. “You’re going to love it here,” she said, setting a bowl in front of me. “You’ve said that three times today.” “Because I mean it.” “You also said it when we moved to Portland. And before that, Ashford.” She sat down across from me and wrapped both hands around her glass. “This time is different.” Something in her voice made me put my fork down. “Mom.” “Eat, Elena.” “Why here? Of all the random, misty, middle-of-nowhere towns in the Pacific Northwest, why this one? You pulled me out of school two months before graduation. My friends, my job, everything I had is back in the city and you won’t even tell me…” “I’ll explain everything.” She met my eyes then. Hers were darker than usual, something moving behind them I couldn’t read. “Just not tonight.” “Then when?” She was quiet for a moment that stretched too long. “Soon,” she said. “I promise.” I picked my fork back up and continued eating. I Didn’t push. But the word soon sat in my stomach heavier than the pasta. I couldn’t sleep after dinner. It wasn’t the new house, though it was strange enough. Old wood, high ceilings, windows that let the mist press right up against the glass like it wanted in. It wasn’t the silence either, because Blackwood Creek at night wasn’t silent at all. The forest breathed. Wind moved through it in long, slow pulls. Somewhere deep in the trees, something called out, low and long, and the sound travelled straight through the walls and landed in my chest like it belonged there. I sat up. My heart was going too fast. My skin felt too warm. I went to the window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass and stared out at the dark tree line. The mist was moving differently now. Slower. Like it was waiting. And then I saw him. At the edge of the yard, right where the grass ended and the forest began, a figure stood completely still. Tall. Dark jacket. The same man from the road. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t doing anything threatening. Just standing there in the dark at the edge of my yard at what had to be past midnight, looking up at my window like he’d known exactly which room was mine. My breath fogged the glass. The fact that I wasn’t surprised was what scared me the most. I pressed my hand flat against the window without thinking, and the moment I did, something happened that I cannot explain and have not been able to explain since. A pull. Not physical, not like a hand grabbing my wrist. As though the part of me that had been asleep my whole life had awakened. And recognized him. I stumbled back from the window. When I looked again, the yard was empty. Just mist. Just trees. Just the dark. I stood there breathing for a long time, telling myself it was the stress of moving, the new place, the bad sleep. I almost believed it. Almost. Morning came damp and grey. I came downstairs to find my mother already dressed, keys in hand, coat on, moving toward the door with the kind of purpose that meant she’d been awake for hours. “Where are you going?” I asked. She stopped. Turned, And the look on her face was one I had never seen before on her. It wasn’t worry or guilt, it was fear. “Mom?” “There’s a town welcome event today,” she said, too quickly. “I thought we should go. Meet people. Settle in.” “You hate social events.” “I’m trying something new.” She smiled but it didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes. I stared at her. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Let me get dressed.” She nodded and turned back to the door, and just before she opened it, I saw her hand on the handle. Knuckles pale. Grip too tight. She was terrified. Of a welcome event. In a town she chose. I went upstairs to get dressed and my mind was already moving, pulling at the loose threads she kept leaving behind her. The sudden move. The refusal to explain. The way she’d looked at that forest last night before she pulled the curtains closed. Soon, she’d said. I had a feeling soon was already here. The town square was small and decorated with effort. String lights, A few wooden stalls. Locals milling around with coffee cups and an easy smile that showed they’ve been here long enough to stop questioning it. I stayed close to my mother at first. Then she got pulled into conversation with a woman who seemed to know her, which was strange because we’d never been to Blackwood Creek before. Or so I thought. I drifted toward one of the stalls, pretending to look at local honey and handmade candles, and that’s when I heard it. “You’re looking at the wrong thing.” I turned. He was right there. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back slightly to look at him properly. Dark jacket. That same quiet certainty in his posture, like the space around him reorganized itself to accommodate him. Up close, he was worse. Not worse bad. Worse as in the annoying kind of good-looking that made you immediately want to find something wrong with it. I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. “Excuse me?” I spoke. “The candles.” He nodded toward the stall. “The ones on the left are better. Old Mae makes those. The ones you’re holding she buys wholesale and marks up.” I looked down at the candle in my hand. Set it back. Picked up one from the left. “Thanks,” I said. Put that one down too. He almost smiled. “Not a candle person.” “Not a being watched through my window at midnight person either.” This time he smiled fully. Like I’d said exactly what he expected. “I wasn’t watching you,” he said. “I was making sure you were safe.” “I don’t know you.” “No,” he agreed. “Not yet.” The way he said it. Not arrogant exactly. More like he was simply stating a fact, the way you’d say the sun rises in the east. Not yet. Like it was already decided. “I’m Silas,” he said. I could feel the heat creeping in under my skin. a part of me felt as if I knew him already. It suddenly became hot here. I took a step back. “I didn’t ask,” I said. I turned and walked away and absolutely did not look back. But I felt his eyes on me the whole way across the square, steady as a compass needle. And the worst part? When I finally found my mother again, she was standing with that same woman, and they had both gone completely still, staring at something over my shoulder. The woman my mother was talking to had her hand on my mother’s arm, gripping it, and she was whispering something urgent and low. My mother’s face had gone the color of old paper. I turned to follow their gaze, And that’s when I heard it, a sound that didn’t belong in a cheerful town square on a Sunday morning. Low. Layered. Coming from somewhere in the trees at the edge of town. A howl. Not one. Several. And every single person in that square went quiet at the same time. Every single person except me knew exactly what that sound meant.