THE LAST SHADOW LUNA

Buried Things

Catherine’s POV

I had been hiding in the underground refuge for exactly one week, and somehow I had become indispensable.

On my second day, I wandered into the medical bay because I couldn’t stand sitting still with my own spiraling thoughts anymore. A young omega named Lila had sliced her palm open while helping in the kitchen. Without thinking, I grabbed clean bandages and started helping. By the end of that shift, I was changing dressings, brewing pain-relief teas from the limited herbs they had, and organizing the chaotic supply shelves that looked like they hadn’t seen order in months.

By day five, I was running the entire supply schedule for the east wing. Sixty-three outcast wolves lived in this hidden sanctuary beneath the old textile factory—abused omegas with hollow eyes, runaway half-bloods who trusted no one, and broken wolves cast out by their own packs. I learned their names. Finn, the quiet fighter with scars across his back. Mara, who flinched every time a man raised his voice. Little Theo, who hadn’t spoken above a whisper since arriving. Each story they hesitantly shared in whispers over weak coffee mirrored pieces of my own past. The rejection. The beatings. The nights spent wondering what was so fundamentally wrong with me that my own mate had thrown me away like garbage.

At least here I’m useful, I thought bitterly one afternoon while counting bandages. Better than rotting in that laundromat room, pretending I was fine while my body betrayed me every damn day. At least these people don’t expect me to be normal.

My physical changes were getting worse. My wolf wasn’t just waking up anymore—she was clawing her way violently to the surface. Scents were painfully sharp. Sounds clearer. And the power… that strange golden power that had come with Gerald’s bite refused to stay buried.

The incident with Finn happened on day six.

He had reopened an old wound during a supply run gone wrong—a deep, angry gash across his forearm that bled sluggishly despite pressure. I helped him to one of the cots in the medical bay, my hands steady even as panic fluttered wildly in my chest.

“Hold still,” I muttered, pressing a clean cloth to the wound. “You’re going to be okay. Just breathe through it.”

Finn winced, sweat beading on his forehead. “Hurts like hell. Feels like it’s never going to close. I’ve had this damn thing for weeks.”

Without thinking, I placed my palm directly over the cut, trying to apply better pressure. Heat flared from the claiming mark on my shoulder, racing down my arm like liquid sunlight. The deep gash knit itself shut in seconds—skin smoothing over as if it had never been torn, leaving only smooth, unblemished flesh.

We both stared in stunned silence.

“What the f**k?” Finn whispered, flexing his arm in disbelief. The wound was completely gone. Not even a scar remained.

I yanked my hand back like I’d been burned. “It was… a trick of the light. Or maybe the bandages had some special salve on them. Yeah. That must be it. Don’t read too much into it.”

Finn looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Clara. I’ve had that cut for weeks. It wasn’t closing no matter what I did. You *healed* me. With your hand.”

“I did no such thing,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. Sarcasm dripped from every word as I stood up quickly, needing distance. “I’m just a rejected wolf with insomnia and too much time on her hands. Not some mystical healer queen. Go drink some water, rest, and stop imagining fairy tales. The world’s shitty enough without adding magic bullshit to it.”

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in his wide eyes and the way he kept flexing his newly healed arm. But he let it drop, muttering a quiet “thank you” as he left. I sank onto the cot, hands trembling violently.

*What the hell am I becoming?* I thought desperately, pressing my forehead against my knees. *This power isn’t mine. It’s his. Gerald’s mark is turning me into something I don’t understand and don’t want.*

Darius had watched the whole thing from the doorway with that intense, unreadable stare of his. I tried to ignore how aware I was of him lately—how safe and dangerous he felt at the same time.

---

That night, long after most of the refuge had gone to sleep, Darius found me in the empty kitchen. He moved quietly for such a large man, setting two steaming cups of herbal tea on the worn wooden table before sliding into the chair across from me.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said gently, sliding one cup toward me. His gray eyes were calm but searching mine.

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat ground me. “I’ve been busy. People need supplies. Wounds need tending. You know how it is.”

Darius nodded, taking a slow sip. “You’re good with them. They trust you already. That’s rare here.” He paused, then asked the question I’d been dreading. “What’s your real bloodline, Clara? I’m not asking to use it against you. I’m genuinely curious. You carry something old. I can feel it.”

Strangely, I felt like I could tell him things. Maybe it was the quiet way he listened. Maybe it was because he hadn’t pushed or demanded anything from me since I arrived. I took a deep breath and gave him the basic version.

“I’m from the Silvercrest pack,” I said softly. “Or I was. Rejected by my mate on the day of our bonding ceremony. Humiliated in front of everyone. After that, I ran. Suppressed my wolf for four years. Thought I could disappear.” I left Gerald out completely. His name felt too dangerous even in my own head.

Darius listened without interrupting, his expression thoughtful. When I finished, he set his cup down. “Your healing power isn’t normal for a regular werewolf, even a strong one. You know that, right?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah. I know. I don’t understand it either. One minute I’m trying to stay hidden, the next I’m accidentally healing people like some kind of walking miracle. It’s exhausting.”

He didn’t push for more secrets. Instead, he leaned forward slightly. “There’s an old, powerful woman who lives three hours from here in the forests of Ashwick. Elowen. She knows everything about ancient bloodlines and forgotten lunar magic. Strangely… She's been asking for you by name for four days. Even though your location here is a complete secret.”

I stared at him, chills running down my spine. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Darius admitted. “But the old ones have their ways. If she’s calling for you, it’s important.”

---

That night, sleep came uneasily.

In the dream, I stood in an ancient forest under a giant full moon that bathed everything in silver light. I wore old-fashioned clothes—flowing robes embroidered with lunar symbols. Living shadows pooled around my feet like liquid night, responding to my every breath. Across from me stood a tall, silver-haired woman covered in glowing rune tattoos.

“Your blood remembers what your mind has forgotten,” she said, her voice echoing like wind through trees. “The power is waking. You must come to me before your enemies find you. Time is running out, daughter of the buried moon.”

I woke up gasping, sitting bolt upright in bed. My claiming mark glowed brilliant gold, illuminating the entire room. Real shadows drifted lazily from my fingertips, curling like smoke before fading away.

*What the hell was that?*

---

The next morning, I found Darius in the main hall.

“I’m going to Ashwick,” I told him firmly. “Today.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’m driving you.”

I started to argue. “Darius, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not going just to protect you,” he said honestly, meeting my eyes. “I want to understand what you are. There’s something about you that feels important. Not just to the North or the South, but to all of us outcasts.”

His sincerity disarmed me completely with his honesty.

“Fine,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”

We left at dawn in an old, unassuming truck. The forest road stretched east, trees blurring past as silence settled between us. An hour into the trip, the mark on my shoulder suddenly burned with white-hot intensity. I screamed, grabbing it as pain lanced through me.

Darius hit the brakes hard, pulling the truck to a stop in the middle of the empty road.

Through the windshield, standing motionless in the center of the path, was the exact woman from my dream. She wore dark flowing robes, her silver hair braided with runes, tattoos glowing faintly on her visible skin.

Elowen.

She looked directly at me, her ancient eyes full of urgency and something like sorrow.

“You have very little time, child,” she called, her voice carrying clearly despite the distance. “A lot of past damage to fix. The buried moon is rising, and your enemies are already moving. Come with me now.”

My heart hammered wildly. Fear, hope, confusion, and a strange sense of *recognition* crashed through me all at once. Darius gripped the steering wheel tightly beside me, equally stunned.

The woman from my dreams was real.