Wolvenmark - The Forbidden Mate

Chapter 18 : Whispers Beneath the Full Moon

Chapter 18 : Whispers Beneath the Full Moon

Ruby’s POV

I stole a glance at Alaric as he sat rigidly beside me, one hand gripping the overhead handle inside the jam-packed bus like he was hanging from the edge of a cliff. His other hand pressed against his thigh, knuckles taut, while his usually untouchable composure was slowly being chipped away by every bump and jolt of the ride. His sharp suit looked wildly out of place among the crowd of students with backpacks, workers in uniforms, and mothers with grocery bags.

His eyes darted around—suspicious, cautious, uncertain—like the bus was an alien craft he hadn’t been trained to pilot.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I teased, bumping my shoulder lightly against his. “Regretting letting me pick the place?”

He flicked his gaze at me, managing a small smirk that didn’t quite mask his discomfort. “I’ve just never taken public transportation before.”

I stared at him, my jaw dropping. “Never?”

He shook his head, casual as if admitting he’d never seen rain. “Not once.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth, fighting a laugh that bubbled up anyway. “Wow. A whole new world for you, huh? You’re like Aladdin, and this is your magic carpet ride.”

The corner of his lips twitched. “This is no magic carpet. This is… chaos on wheels.”

As if to prove his point, the driver braked hard. The bus lurched, throwing everyone forward. Alaric’s grip tightened desperately, his polished shoes sliding against the floor. Without thinking, I grabbed his wrist to steady him. His skin was warm beneath my palm, the tendons taut with tension.

He let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know how people survive this daily.”

“They’re not fragile billionaires,” I shot back with a grin.

His head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing in mock offense, but he didn’t argue. The flush creeping into his cheeks told me I’d scored a point.

When the bus finally screeched to our stop, he practically leapt out like a prisoner freed from chains. He landed on the pavement, straightening his shirt and smoothing his hair as if he could erase the evidence of what he’d just endured. His expensive white shoes looked almost comically misplaced on the uneven cement, but damn if he didn’t still look good—like a cover model dropped into the wrong backdrop.

The air was thick with the scent of sizzling skewers, roasted corn brushed with butter, fried dumplings popping in oil, and sugar spinning into cotton candy. Lanterns flickered to life as the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow across the park. Families laughed near the playground, couples strolled hand in hand, and food vendors called out with practiced rhythm. The whole place pulsed with life.

Alaric’s gaze swept over the rows of food stalls with mild suspicion, as though one of them might leap out and mug him. His nose wrinkled at the smoky air, though curiosity flickered behind his eyes.

“So, you actually eat this?” he asked, one brow arched in disbelief.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to grin. “Of course, I do. And you will too.”

He crossed his arms, lips twitching like he wanted to protest but knew it was pointless. His eyes lingered on the sizzling skewers for a second too long, betraying him.

I smirked. “Don’t worry, Al. I won’t let the street food assassinate you.”

“Comforting,” he muttered dryly, but the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile.

I led him to a skewer stand and ordered two sticks of grilled meat. The vendor handed them over, and I took a bite without hesitation. Alaric, on the other hand, examined his like it was some rare artifact.

“You’re supposed to eat it, not analyze it,” I laughed.

“I just—” He sighed, then took a careful bite. His expression was blank at first, then his brows lifted slightly. “It’s... good.”

I gasped dramatically. “Oh no. Did the billionaire CEO just admit he likes street food?”

He gave me a playful glare. “Don’t push it.”

We walked through the park, trying different snacks. Alaric struggled with a particularly spicy dish, coughing slightly as he reached for water.

“Spicy?” I asked innocently, suppressing a grin.

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I teased.

The evening passed with lighthearted moments like that—Alaric loosening up, getting his hands messy with food, and even attempting to feed me at one point, much to my embarrassment. It was different from our usual interactions. No formalities, no pressure. Just us.

Eventually, we settled on a bench overlooking the small lake in the middle of the park. The soft hum of conversation and distant laughter filled the air, blending with the gentle rustling of the trees.

“This is... nice,” Alaric admitted after a while. He stretched his arm over the back of the bench, casually close but not quite touching me. “I spend so much time in boardrooms and luxury hotels. But this? It feels real.”

I smiled, leaning back. “See? I told you.”

He turned to me, eyes softening. “Thank you for this.”

“For what?”

“For showing me something different. For making me feel... normal, in the best way.”

There was something about the way he said it, like he wasn’t just talking about the date but about us. My heart did a little flip, but before I could respond, he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I don’t care if it’s a five-star restaurant or a food stall,” he murmured. “As long as I’m with you.”

My breath caught in my throat. The air between us shifted, thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

And then, under the soft glow of the streetlights, he leaned in and kissed me. Slow, deep, and utterly breathtaking.

When we pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “So... did I pass the test?”

I chuckled. “You did better than expected.”

“Good.” He stood up, offering me his hand. “Because next time, I’m taking you somewhere special. My way.”

I took his hand, lacing my fingers with his. “As long as you don’t forget to enjoy the little things.”

He smirked. “As long as you’re with me.”

And just like that, we walked off together, into the night, into something neither of us could deny anymore.

Alaric’s POV

The full moon shone brilliantly tonight, casting its silver glow over the land. I had only two full moons left, but for the first time, I wasn’t worried. I had already found my Luna. The only thing left was for him to accept me as his Alpha.

The real question was—would he be ready to face the truth?

~Flashback~

I woke up much later than usual, something that rarely happened. My mind had been restless all night, consumed by the conversation I had with Stone. He claimed that the scent I’d been drawn to belonged to my Luna. Which meant… Ruby was my mate.

But there were too many unanswered questions.

First—how could my mate be a man? Out of all the women in the world, why would the bond choose a male? Was such a thing even possible?

Second—was Ruby truly human? If he was, this would only create more complications. I had always believed it was impossible for werewolves to be mated to humans. Then again… what if he wasn’t? What if he was a werewolf in hiding? But if that were the case, why had I never sensed his wolf? No matter how strong a spell was, a wolf’s scent couldn’t be completely erased. Was he suppressing it? And if so… why?

I had no answers, only more questions.

That was why I decided to seek out the Luneveil Archives—the ancient library where the truth of our kind was said to be written. Stone told me about it once:

A massive, centuries-old library, one of the last places where true werewolf history is recorded. The name Luneveil signifies its connection to the moon and the secrets it "unveils" to those who seek it. It is rumored to hold records of lost bloodlines, rare transformation rituals, and even forbidden knowledge about Lycans, hybrids, and the supernatural laws that govern them.

The library was said to be hidden beneath an abandoned cathedral deep within Blackwood Forest. Only those with werewolf blood could pass through its enchanted entrance. If I wanted answers, that was where I needed to go.

I slung a satchel across my shoulder, checked the dagger at my hip, and whistled low for Shadow. My wolf-brother emerged from the shadows of the mansion, eyes gleaming like molten gold in the moonlight. He was already geared and ready, as if he’d been waiting for my call all night.

“Are you ready?” I asked, my voice steady though my pulse thrummed with anticipation.

Shadow gave a short nod. No hesitation. No fear.

Without another word, we shifted. Bones snapped, muscles stretched, fur spilled across skin. The night air filled my lungs as paws hit the earth, the transformation grounding me in wild clarity. Together, we launched forward, two streaks of silver and dark across the sleeping land.

We tore through the forest, following Stone’s directions with unerring precision. The Silver River ran beside us, its surface shimmering with moonlight, a liquid ribbon guiding us north. The air was sharp and cool, carrying the scent of pine, moss, and distant rain. The rhythm of our paws drummed against the forest floor—swift, silent, relentless.

Time bled away in the rush of the run. Hours passed, yet our wolves carried us tirelessly, hunger for answers driving us harder than any fatigue could slow.

At last, the trees thickened, looming taller and darker than before. The forest ahead was different—older, heavier. The moment our paws crossed into the border of Blackwood, the atmosphere changed. The very air seemed to press against my fur, thick with a primal energy that tasted of iron and earth. Old magic clung here, woven into bark, soil, and shadow. My hackles rose, instincts whispering warnings I couldn’t ignore.

We had arrived.

But the real trial was ahead. Somewhere within this endless stretch of trees lay the forgotten cathedral, the remnant of a pack swallowed by history. Finding it would be like chasing smoke through fog.

Hours dragged on as we searched, weaving through gnarled trunks and tangled undergrowth. The silence was suffocating—no owls, no rustle of deer, no chorus of night insects. It was as if the forest itself had stilled to watch us trespass. Every crack of a twig beneath our paws echoed too loud, every shift of wind carried the weight of unseen eyes.

Then—movement. My gaze snagged on something unnatural in the undergrowth.

“There,” I whispered through the mind-link, my voice low and taut.

Shadow’s head snapped toward it too. Through the dense growth, fragments of stone jutted from the earth, half-swallowed by roots and moss. We slowed, shifting back to human form as we stepped cautiously onto a path of broken flagstones, their once-grand design fractured and overrun by time.

The ruins stretched wider the farther we followed the trail. Fallen pillars lay like bones across the forest floor, arches crumbled into jagged teeth pointing skyward. The air grew colder as if the past itself lingered here, mourning.

And then, emerging through the dark weave of trees, it stood—monstrous and magnificent even in ruin. A cathedral, skeletal but enduring, its towering spires fractured against the night sky. Stained glass shattered long ago still glittered faintly in the moonlight like shards of frozen blood. Vines clawed at the stone walls, strangling beauty into decay.

I swallowed hard. This had to be it.

But before we could draw closer, a new scent knifed through the air. Musky. Strong. Undeniably wolf.

I stiffened, nostrils flaring. More than one.

A pack.

My pulse quickened. Shadow’s shoulders tensed beside me, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade. The scent grew thicker, closer—wolves circling, their presence pressing in.

The question burned hotter than the fear rising in my chest: were these the remnants of Blackwood… or rogues waiting for prey?