MOONBOUND

The Snare

Lyra didn’t realize she was alone until the forest felt wrong.

It wasn’t silent—not entirely—but the sounds were scattered, uneven, as if the night itself had been disturbed. She slowed her steps, fingers curling around the edge of her cloak.

Rowan had told her not to wander.

She told herself she was only going as far as the stream.

The moon was thin tonight, a pale curve hanging low in the sky. Its light brushed the path just enough for her to see the roots beneath her feet. Her mark throbbed faintly, not painful—warning.

She stopped.

The air shifted.

Something sharp bit into her ankle, yanking her off balance. Lyra cried out as she hit the ground, breath knocked from her lungs. A wire snapped tight around her leg, cold and unforgiving.

A trap.

Panic surged, but she forced it down, heart hammering as she reached for the snare. The metal burned against her skin, etched faintly with symbols she didn’t recognize—but felt.

Moon-dampening.

Her mark dulled instantly, the warmth fading to a distant ache.

“No,” she whispered.

Footsteps approached.

Three figures emerged from the trees, cloaked and deliberate. Their faces were partially hidden, eyes reflecting the moonlight with unsettling focus.

“The bond weakens when she’s restrained,” one of them said calmly.

Lyra pushed herself up on her elbows, fear tightening her chest. “Let me go.”

A laugh, soft and humorless. “You don’t get to make demands.”

She tried to pull free. The snare tightened.

Pain flared—but worse than the pain was the sudden absence. The moon felt far away. Muffled.

One of them crouched, examining the mark at her collarbone with unsettling interest. “She really is bound,” he murmured. “The Alpha will come.”

That was the point.

Lyra’s heart sank.

They weren’t just hunting her.

They were baiting Rowan.

A sharp howl split the night—furious, powerful, unmistakable.

Rowan.

Relief crashed into her, followed instantly by dread.

The hunters stiffened. “Too soon.”

Branches snapped. The forest erupted with movement, growls echoing from all directions.

Rowan burst into the clearing, eyes blazing silver, control hanging by a thread. His gaze locked on Lyra, pinned to the ground, fear etched across her face.

“Touch her again,” he said, voice low and shaking with barely contained violence, “and you die.”

The hunters retreated, melting into the trees with practiced ease—but the trap remained.

Rowan dropped to his knees beside Lyra, hands gentle even as rage rolled off him in waves. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re safe.”

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I broke the rule. I’m sorry.”

He cupped her face, forehead resting against hers. “You don’t apologize for surviving.”

He broke the snare with a savage twist.

As he lifted her into his arms, Lyra clung to him, the moon slowly warming her mark once more.

But deep in the forest, unseen eyes watched.

And the hunt was far from over.