MOONBOUND LIES

The sky bled that night. Clouds hung thick like flesh torn open, and the moon—a weak sliver—was drowning in red. The trees whispered low secrets, and even the wolves hesitated to howl. Calla Ashbourne didn’t belong here. Not in this cursed town where the shadows had eyes and the wolves ran with lawless grace. Her boots hit the cracked pavement as she made her way home from the night shift at the diner, every step echoing like a countdown she couldn’t hear. She should have left years ago. But the town had its claws in her—through her dying aunt, through her birth certificate that had no origin, and through the nightmares she had every full moon. Tonight, something was off. The wind bit at her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Trees lined the road in twisted reverence, their branches arching like claws. Her fingers tightened around the pepper spray in her pocket. Not that it would help if it was one of them. The wolves. They ruled under the guise of the Council, and everyone knew who really pulled the strings—Alpha Riven Vale. Young. Unmarried. Unmerciful. He never spoke to humans, never smiled, and was rumored to have killed his own father for power. He had seen her once. Not spoken—just stared. Across the marketplace, eyes like forged steel locking on her like he was reading her sins. He had looked at her like he knew something she didn’t. Like he was waiting for something to wake up inside her. She crossed the old bridge, its wooden boards moaning under her weight. Fog slithered from the river like smoke from a dying fire. That’s when she heard it— A growl. Low. Guttural. Close. She froze. Her breath caught. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Another growl answered it—closer this time. She backed up, slowly, instinct screaming in every nerve. Then came the snap of a branch. Then another. Then— A shadow burst from the woods. Too fast. Too large. A wolf, black and monstrous, launched at her from the trees. She barely had time to scream. It crashed into her, knocking her flat, her head cracking against the bridge’s beam. Pain exploded behind her eyes. The world tilted. Hot breath on her face. Claws digging into her arm. Teeth— Another shadow slammed into the first. Snarls ripped through the night. Fur tangled. Flesh tore. Blood sprayed across the bridge in dark ribbons. She rolled away, her vision spinning, ears ringing. The black wolf was pinned by a larger one—gray, silver-tipped, eyes glowing like coals. The savior. The executioner. The rogue tried to escape, but the silver wolf bit down into its neck. A sickening crunch followed, and silence fell. Calla tried to crawl away. Too late. The silver wolf turned to her. It approached slowly. Its mouth stained red. It was beautiful in a terrifying way—muscles rippling under a coat of war, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Then it changed. Bones cracked. Skin twisted. And before her, naked and blood-drenched, stood Riven Vale. His eyes didn’t leave hers. Not for a second. “You shouldn’t be alive,” he said, voice low. “And yet... here you are.” She tried to speak. Nothing came out. He took a step forward, bare feet silent on the blood-slick wood. “You reek of lies,” he murmured, crouching in front of her. “And this town hates liars.” “I—” “You should be dead.” His hand reached toward her. She flinched. But he didn’t strike. Instead, he brushed his fingers along her neck, like testing the pulse of something fragile. And just like that, her skin burned. Searing heat spread down her collarbone. A mark flared to life—a glowing crescent, faint and golden, like the whisper of an ancient seal. Riven’s eyes widened. His hand dropped. “Moonblood,” he whispered. Not to her—to himself. Like a revelation. And then he stood. Cold again. Distant. “You’re coming with me.” She shook her head. “No.” He didn’t ask again. Instead, he reached down, grabbed her by the wrist, and lifted her with ease. “I saved your life,” he said. “Now I own it.” As he dragged her off the bridge, into the woods, Calla’s heart pounded in her chest like a drum of war. Not from fear. Not from pain. From something darker. Recognition. --- The house Riven took her to wasn’t a house. It was a fortress. Ancient stone walls wrapped around a tall black manor that smelled like firewood and secrets. Carved wolves lined the gates, and thorny hedges twisted like veins around the front path. Inside, it was cold. Dark wood floors. Velvet drapes. No family photos, no warmth. Just shadows and silence. He led her up a narrow staircase, her wrist still in his hand. She tried pulling free, but his grip was steel. “You have no idea what you are, do you?” he said without looking back. “I’m not anything,” she hissed. He stopped at a door. Opened it. Threw her inside. “You’re Moonblood. That’s not nothing.” The room was bare. A bed, a mirror, a closet. The window was barred. “You can’t keep me here.” “Yes,” he said, “I can.” She launched at him, fists flying. He caught both her wrists and slammed her into the wall. “I could’ve let that rogue tear you apart,” he snarled, breath hot against her face. “But I didn’t. Do you know why?” “Because you’re a control freak?” His mouth twitched. A smirk. But not a nice one. “Because I felt you,” he whispered, pressing his nose to her throat. “Before I saw you. Like my blood called to you. And when you touched me, something ancient stirred. Something dangerous.” She trembled. “Get off me.” He did. Slowly. But his eyes never left hers. “You’ll stay here. Protected. Watched.” “Prisoned.” “Semantics,” he murmured, shutting the door behind him. Calla stood in the silence, heart pounding. She touched the mark on her neck—it was fading, but the warmth remained. What the hell was she? And why did it feel so right to be feared by monsters?