Chapter Three -the moons call
1203 Words
It got way colder at night than Clara thought it would.
She and Damien ran what felt like forever. Her lungs burned, and her legs were screaming, but he finally slowed down near some woods. The city lights were far behind them, gone in the fog. Up ahead was a beat-up cabin, hidden by vines and huge pine trees. Barely any moonlight got through.
This should be safe, I guess, Damien said, his voice rough from running.
Clara was still trying to catch her breath. Her legs hurt, her throat was dry, and her heart was pounding. Safe from who?
Them.
She knew who he meant. The sound of boots chasing them, the shouts, the silver blades shining under the streetlights were still in her head. She could still smell the gunpowder, the sweat, and the fear.
Damien pushed the door open. It creaked, but it held. Inside, it smelled like dust and old smoke. A lamp was flickering in the corner, casting shadows. There was a broken cot, a cracked table, and a rusty stove—that was it.
Get some rest, he said, turning to her. His silver eyes caught the light.
Clara crossed her arms. I’m not tired.
He smiled a little. It looked real, but there was something dark there, too. You’re human. You’re beat.
Am I? she muttered. I felt off, not like myself.
Things got quiet.
Then the sun started going down, turning the sky gold and red. The cabin got colder. The wind changed, bringing the smell of pine and wet dirt – plus something wild.
Damien, she said softly after a while, you didn’t nap.
Gotta stay awake, he said, still looking out the window. He had one hand on the window, and he seemed tense. So they don't catch us.
Clara remembered what he’d said earlier, back in the alley: You’re not just human. You’re special. You’re mine.
All she could think was: Who am I?
She asked herself that because being a werewolf seemed crazy. The word felt wrong, like a lie.
She turned to him. They looked at each other. She felt something cold, like goosebumps in her bones. What is all this? she asked, trying to sound strong. Why are hunters and werewolves after us?
Damien didn’t answer right away. He stepped closer and crouched down. The lamplight made his face look sharp—high cheekbones, a scar over his eye, and stubble on his jaw. He looked like he’d been through a lot.
It’s because you’re not just any werewolf, Clara, he said, his voice low. You’re the Luna. The Moon Goddess said you’d be back.
She laughed. It was a bitter sound. You say that like I’m supposed to know that. I don’t. I’m scared.
He reached out slowly, giving her a chance to move away. She didn’t. His fingers touched her cheek. You will. Tonight.
The lamp flickered. Outside, the wind changed again. A howl went through the trees – not sad, but like a call. Her skin prickled. She gasped.
Damien’s hand dropped. The moon’s coming up.
Clara looked at the window. The sky was turning purple, and some moonlight was poking through the clouds. Her heart skipped a beat. The howl came again—closer, inside her.
I can’t, she choked out, voice cracking.
Damien caught her. Breathe. It's starting.
Her vision got weird. The cabin walls warped. The smell of pine changed to blood. She grabbed at her throat as something moved under her skin.
Damien
Look at me.
She did. His eyes weren’t just silver now—they glowed. And she saw something: a memory that wasn’t hers. A woman who looked just like her, standing over a bunch of wolves in a battlefield. A dagger in her lover’s hand. Her blood in the snow. A scream that lasted forever.
The howl burst out of her—it was hers, but not human.
Bones cracked. Fur grew. Everything was a mess of sounds and smells and power. She hit the floor on all fours, panting, silver-white fur shining in the lamplight. Her claws scraped the wood. Her tail lashed. She could see everything clearly: every bit of dust, every shadow.
Damien knelt, not scared. There she is, he said, sounding amazed. My queen.
Outside, the moon was over the trees—full, red, and hungry.
And for the first time, Clara felt the call answer back.
It was more than just in her blood; it was in her soul. The need was older than anything. The forest was buzzing with it.
She stood up, shaking, and went to the window. The glass was cold against her nose. She saw the moon, huge and red. Underneath it, there were shapes in the trees. Wolves. A lot of them. Their eyes glowed.
They’re waiting, she thought. For me.
Damien was behind her, his hand on her side. They felt you shift. The bond. They know the Luna is back.
She turned to him, her ears flat, showing her fangs. And the hunters?
They felt it too.
The cabin door rattled. Not the wind. Footsteps.
Damien’s claws grew. He growled. They followed your scent. They know what you are now.
Clara’s back arched. She growled, without thinking. The wolves outside growled back.
How many? she asked.
Too many for the cabin.
She went to the door. Then we leave.
Damien looked happy. Yeah. Time to hunt.
He kicked the door open. Moonlight came in, lighting them up. The forest was alive, wolves coming out of the trees, surrounding the cabin.
A man came out of the shadows wearing a hunter’s vest covered in silver. He had a crossbow. Behind him were more people, maybe twenty.
Clara Blackwood, the leader said, Give us the Luna, or we burn this forest with you in it.
Damien stepped forward, changing, his bones cracking and fur growing until he was a huge black wolf, twice her size.
Clara showed her teeth. My name is not Blackwood, not yet.
She jumped.
She bit the first hunter’s throat, and silver fell on the ground. Blood filled her mouth. She spun, clawing another one across the chest. Damien was tearing through people.
The wolves attacked.
It was a mess. Guns, howls, silver, claws. Clara moved without thinking, faster, stronger, and deadlier than ever. She felt the pack, their thoughts in her head: Protect the Luna. Kill the silver.
A crossbow bolt hit her side. She snarled and jumped, and slammed the shooter into a tree. He didn't move.
Damien yelled, Clara—behind you!
She turned. A hunter with a silver knife lunged. She ducked and rolled, then bit his wrist.
When it was over, the forest was quiet except for the breathing and the sound of blood hitting the ground.
Clara stood in the middle. The pack was around her, their heads down. Damien changed back to human, covered in blood.
He walked to her and knelt.
One by one, the wolves did the same.
Clara looked at them at her pack.
The moon above was red and full.
She
howled.
The forest answered. The city shook. And somewhere, a dark goddess smiled.
The Luna was awake.
And the hunt was just starting.
- Writer
