MOONBOUND

CHAPTER 1 | THE CABIN ON CEDAR LANE

Ava didn’t remember locking the door that night.

She must have. The rational side of her; the part that still believed in locks and hinges and the illusion of safety; must have turned the key, twisted the deadbolt, checked it twice. But as she leaned against the inside of the cabin door, chest heaving, she couldn’t recall doing it.

Her hands were shaking too hard.

She dropped the duffel and slid down until she hit the wooden floor, pulling her knees to her chest. The world spun in dizzy circles, fragments of the forest chase flashing behind her eyelids.

The growl.

Lucien’s voice.

The snap of branches as something huge crashed toward them.

Ava covered her ears as if the memories were still too loud.

“Get it together,” she whispered. “You’re safe. You’re inside. It’s over.”

The cabin didn’t answer.

It was small, single-story, and older than the listing photos suggested. Shadows clung to the corners. The faint scent of cedar mixed with dust and something floral; maybe the dried lavender hung along the windowsill.

She forced herself to her feet. One step. Then another.

She needed light.

Her fingers found the switch by the door. A warm overhead glow filled the room, revealing a cozy but slightly worn living area: a stone fireplace, a small kitchenette, a threadbare rug, a couch with claw marks ...

Ava froze.

Claw marks.

Not decorative. Not accidental.

Three long grooves scored the armrest, each one as wide as a finger and deep enough to have torn straight through the fabric.

Her throat tightened.

“Okay,” she breathed, fighting panic. “Maybe a dog lived here.”

But the grooves were too long for a dog. Too curved. Too… intentional.

A chill crawled down her spine.

She turned away quickly, refusing to give her imagination more fuel. One strange detail didn’t mean danger. This was the mountains. People had pets. Or… rustic décor choices. Or ...

A soft thud landed on the roof.

Ava jerked her head up.

Another thud. Slow. Heavy. As though something moved across the shingles on purposeful feet.

Her pulse slammed into her ribs.

The forest had gone silent when she ran. Too silent. Like a beast holding its breath before it lunged.

Ava backed away from the window. “Please let it be a branch. Or an animal. A normal animal.”

Her eyes flicked to the door to confirm it was locked.

It was.

Metal slid against metal from outside.

Ava’s breath caught.

Not footsteps this time. Not movement.

Scratching.

Something was dragging a claw or a nail down the cabin door.

Slow.

Deliberate.

As if testing the boundary between her world and its own.

The sound slithered beneath her skin.

Ava stumbled backward until she hit the wall beside the fireplace. She grabbed the iron poker from its stand and held it with trembling hands, pointing it toward the door like a talisman.

“Go away,” she whispered. “Please go away.”

The scratching stopped.

Silence.

Then

A deep inhale from the other side of the door.

As if something was smelling her.

Ava clamped a hand over her mouth.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears.

The creature, whatever it was, exhaled, hot and low, and the sound curled under the door like mist.

Every instinct she had told her not to move.

Not to breathe.

Not to exist.

Then, just as suddenly as it came, the presence withdrew. Footsteps, heavy, fading moved away from the cabin.

Ava sagged against the wall, the poker slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor.

Her legs wouldn’t hold her.

Tears burned behind her eyes. She pressed her palms to her face and tried to breathe, but the air felt thick, like someone else had already breathed it before her.

She stayed there for a long time; minutes, maybe an hour, until the silence felt too loud, and her heartbeat stopped echoing in her skull.

Finally, she pushed herself to her feet.

She checked the windows. The back door. The kitchen cupboards, for reasons she couldn’t explain. The bathroom. The small bedroom. The closets.

Nothing. No monster lurking.

Just her.

Her fear.

And four wooden walls that suddenly felt much too thin.

Ava sank onto the edge of the bed, hands clenched in the blanket. Her duffel lay by the door where she’d dropped it. She should unpack. She should shower. She should sleep because she hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and the move had drained her down to her bones.

But her mind kept replaying Lucien’s voice in the woods.

Ava. Run.

Why did he calling her name feel familiar?

And what had he been protecting her from?

She rubbed her face and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Just breathe. Just rest. Tomorrow she would find answers. Tomorrow she would ...

Her eyelids drifted shut before she finished the thought.

And the dreams came for her.

...

She stood in a clearing lit by a red-gold moon. The trees towered around her, roots twisting like veins across the ground. A low mist curled around her ankles.

Ava tried to move, but her legs were heavy, her body sluggish. Dream-logic held her still.

Across the clearing, a shadow emerged; tall, broad, eyes glowing pale silver.

Not Lucien.

Not human.

Not fully creature.

Something in between.

It stepped closer, its breath fogging the cold air.

Mine, the voice thundered inside her skull.

Ava stumbled back. “No!!!”

Mine, the creature repeated, teeth glinting through the darkness.

She turned to run.

The forest folded in around her.

And she woke with a gasp.

...

Ava bolted upright, drenched in sweat, chest heaving like she’d been running for miles. Her throat felt raw, as if she’d screamed.

The cabin was quiet again.

Morning sunlight streamed through the single bedroom window. The storm of fear in her chest eased slightly; daylight had always made her feel safer. Less hunted.

She inhaled slowly and rubbed her face. “Just a dream. Just another damn dream.”

But she couldn’t ignore how familiar the forest in her dream had looked.

As if she’d been there before.

As if she’d lived there once, in some life she couldn’t remember.

Her stomach tightened with unease.

The clock beside the bed read 10:13 a.m.

Too late. She was supposed to meet with the homeowner this morning at ten. She’d planned to ask him about the odd scratches on the couch. Maybe about the cabin’s history too; if it had one.

And maybe, maybe, about Lucien Vale.

She dressed quickly, grabbing jeans, a sweater, and her jacket. She hesitated before stepping outside but forced herself to open the door.

Nothing waited for her.

Just quiet morning air and the distant sound of wind sweeping through the trees.

She almost let out a shaky laugh. Almost.

Ava stepped onto the porch, locked up behind her, and started down the gravel path toward town.

Each crunch of gravel seemed too loud.

Each shadow moved just a little too far out of the corner of her eye.

But nothing attacked her. Nothing breathed on her door. Nothing followed.

It was a normal morning.

Or it should have been.

...

Lucien

Lucien Vale was already waiting for her.

He stood across the road by a weathered fence, arms crossed, posture rigid enough to snap. His dark hair was pushed back from his face. His jaw was clenched. His eyes silver again in the daylight tracked her like a predator taking inventory.

He knew she would come out eventually.

He’d known the moment her scent drifted from the cabin; warm, bright, threaded with something ancient he didn’t want to name.

Ava Sinclair.

He had sworn her bloodline was gone. Buried. Lost with the old war.

But the moment he saw her, he knew the truth:

Fate wasn’t done with him.

Or with her.

Lucien pushed off the fence as she approached. “You slept late.”

Ava stiffened. “Were you watching my cabin?”

“Yes.”

She blinked. “You’re not even going to deny it?”

“No.”

Her brows drew together. “That’s creepy.”

“Necessary.”

“For what?”

Lucien looked toward the dark line of the forest. “You had company last night.”

Ava’s breath hitched. “So it wasn’t … just me? It wasn’t a dream?”

“No.”

Her pulse quickened. “What was it?”

Lucien didn’t answer.

“Answer me.”

“Not here.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Not in the open.”

Ava crossed her arms. “If it was dangerous, I deserve to know.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Everything here is dangerous.”

She swallowed. “Including you?”

Lucien held her gaze for a long moment.

“No,” he said finally. “Not to you.”

Her stomach flipped at the certainty in his tone.

“Come,” he said. “Your homeowner canceled your meeting. I’ll take you to town.”

“How do you know he canceled?”

“Because I told him to.”

Ava stared at him, stunned. “Why would you ...”

“To keep you alive.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Anger flared. “Lucien, you can’t just decide where I go or who I see.”

He stepped even closer, his presence radiating heat.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I can’t.”

Then his eyes hardened.

“But if you stay here without understanding what hunts these woods, you won’t survive the week.”

The world seemed to tilt.

Ava’s voice shook. “What hunts the woods?”

Lucien exhaled slowly.

Finally, he answered.

“A rogue.”

Ava frowned. “A rogue … what?”

Lucien met her gaze with quiet, brutal honesty.

“Werewolf.”

The word settled between them like a stone dropped into still water.

Ava’s heart stopped.

Lucien watched her expression shift from confusion to disbelief to something he hadn’t expected;

Recognition.

Not shock.

Not rejection.

Recognition.

Ava’s eyes widened, and she stumbled back a step as if a memory slammed into her chest.

Lucien reached for her instinctively. “Ava?”

She shook her head, breathing shallowly. “No; no, that’s not possible. That’s ...”

But her voice fractured.

Because something deep in her blood knew he wasn’t lying.

Lucien saw the truth flicker through her eyes.

He stepped close again, but this time his voice gentled. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“To the only place in this town where you’re safe.”

“Where’s that?”

Lucien held her gaze.

“With me.”