Moonlight Melodies

Chapter 3- Mate

Tae’s POV

“Mate?” Ha-Joon asked, leaning over my shoulder. He squinted at the glowing screen of my phone, his eyes widening as he took in the girl in the photo. “She sure is a beauty,” he whispered, a hint of genuine awe in his voice.

A low, vibrating growl erupted from my chest before I could stop it. “Mine,” I snapped.

“Who is yours? Ha-Joon?” Hye asked, casually strolling into the room with his hands in his pockets.

I let out an exasperated sigh. “When did my room become a public thoroughfare? Is there an open-door policy I wasn’t informed of?”

“Since we became a pack, duh,” Hye replied with a smirk, smacking me playfully on the back of the head. “So, stop being a prima donna and tell us—what are you two staring at?”

“Tae found his mate,” Ha-Joon said, unable to keep the secret for even a second.

Hye froze. His playful expression vanished, replaced by a look of shock. “Oh? Who? Where is she?” He started looking around the room as if she were hiding behind the curtains.

“Here,” I said, holding up the phone.

Hye leaned in, studying the image of the girl in front of the arena. A slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. “Wow. She really is stunning. Honestly, Tae, I think she’s way too good for you. Maybe I should have her instead.”

The joke hit a nerve I didn't know was exposed. My wolf surged to the surface, and before I knew it, I had lunged. I tackled Hye to the floor, straddling him and pinning his wrists down.

“No. She is mine,” I growled, my voice dropping into a terrifying, guttural register. My eyes flashed a dangerous gold.

Hye held his hands up in mock surrender, though he was still grinning. “I yield, dancer! I yield. Just a joke!”

As my wolf receded, the red mist of anger cleared. I felt a flush of embarrassment, realizing I’d just tackled my lead singer over a photo. I got up and offered him a hand to pull him back to his feet.

“But seriously,” Hye said, brushing the dust off his jeans. “Are you sure? How can you tell from a single digital image? My mother always said the bond requires a scent, a touch... a face-to-face meeting.”

“I know what the traditions say,” I replied, looking back at the phone. My heart did a strange, heavy thud. “But the moment I saw her, I couldn't breathe. My wolf didn't just suggest it; he claimed her. No matter what the laws say, she is the one.”

Hye nodded, his expression turning supportive. “Then go get her.” He patted my shoulder and headed for the door. “I’ll go talk to the tour manager. I think we’re long overdue for an unplugged show in a smaller town.”

Ha-Joon stayed behind, his brow furrowed. “Are you really sure about this, Tae? She’s... she’s normal. She’s a human.”

“So?” I glared at him.

“I just mean... look at us,” Ha-Joon gestured to the room, the expensive gear, and then to his own chest, where the wolf heart beat. “We’re celebrities. We’re werewolves. How are you even going to find her without scaring her to death? And what if she doesn't want this life? She has a choice, Tae. Humans always do.”

“We live in the age of social media, Ha-Joon. She’s tagged in the post. I’ve already traced her digital footprint to a small coastal town,” I replied, my mind already racing with logistics. “And there is nothing wrong with being human. Maybe she’s exactly what I need to stay grounded.”

“I’ll make sure the management adds a secret pop-up show to the schedule near her coordinates,” Hye called out from the hallway. “Go find your miracle, Tae.”

“I intend to,” I whispered to the empty room, a smile tugging at my lips for the first time in years.

Babz’s POV

The train ride home was a blur of clicking tracks and passing greenery.

Yesterday had been a bittersweet whirlwind. Once the shock of the cancellation wore off, Tina and I decided not to let the trip go to waste. Instead of nursing hangovers or wallowing in our hotel, we spent the day acting like true tourists in London. We walked until our feet ached and laughed until we nearly missed our train this morning.

“Get home safe! Call me later!” Tina shouted as we stepped onto the platform of our local station. She didn't wait for an answer before disappearing into the waiting arms of her boyfriend.

I waved, feeling a small, familiar pang of loneliness. Tina lived nearby, but I lived on the opposite side of town. They had offered me a lift, but I didn't feel like being the third wheel on their romantic reunion, so I opted for the walk.

As I headed toward the town center, I caught snippets of conversation from a group of teenagers huddled near a bus stop.

“Have you heard?” one girl muttered, clutching her phone. “What?” her friend asked. “The Sweet Boys... they just announced a pop-up show. Right here! At the old Theater Royal!”

My heart jumped into my throat. I pulled out my phone, fingers fumbling as I Googled the band. My jaw dropped. They were right. An emergency Fan Appreciation show had been scheduled for two days from now.

I scrolled frantically to the ticket link. Sold Out.

I let out a long, ragged sigh. Of course they were. A theater that holds a hundred people in a town of thousands? I never stood a chance. I tucked my phone away, the brief spark of excitement extinguished as quickly as it had arrived.

I decided to take the long way home through the park to clear my head. The sounds of children playing and birds chirping usually calmed me, but today, I felt restless. I walked past the seafront, the wind picking up and spraying a fine mist of salt and sand onto my shoes. The sea was restless, the waves crashing against the pier with a rhythmic intensity that mirrored the thumping in my chest.

Finally, I reached my building and headed up to my apartment. As I unlocked the door, a small pile of mail slid across the floorboards. But it wasn't the utility bills that caught my eye.

Sitting on top of the pile was a cream-colored envelope. There was no stamp, no return address—just my name written in a stunning, sweeping cursive that looked like it belonged in a different century.

My heart began to race. I closed the door and leaned against it, my fingers trembling as I tore the seal.

Inside were two front-row tickets to the Sweet Boys concert. My breath hitched as I pulled out a small card tucked behind them. The same beautiful handwriting stared back at me.

Please come to the concert. I will be waiting.

There was no signature. But as I held the paper, a faint, inexplicable scent drifted from the card—something that smelled like mountain air and expensive cologne.