Moon’s Call (Alexa’s POV)
1984 Words
“It’s starting… isn’t it?”
My voice cracked on the last syllable, barely louder than the wind rattling the leaded windows of our tower suite. The eighth full moon had risen an hour ago—huge, blood-tinged, hanging low enough that it felt like it was pressing down on my chest.
Zyrus stood frozen at the foot of the bed, still wearing the same black leathers from the solarium confrontation. His eyes—usually storm-gray—had bled to molten silver, pupils blown so wide the iris was only a thin ring.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead he crossed the room in two strides, dropped to one knee in front of where I sat on the edge of the mattress, and pressed his palm flat against my sternum—right over the place where the white-hot pulse had been building all day.
His hand trembled.
“Yes,” he said. Voice rough. Ruined. “It’s starting.”
Pain lanced through my ribs—sharp, electric—like someone had driven silver needles into every joint at once. I gasped—doubled forward—clutched his forearm so hard my nails drew blood.
He didn’t flinch.
He caught my other hand, pressed it over his own heart so I could feel the frantic, uneven thud.
“Breathe with me,” he ordered—low, steady, Alpha-command wrapped in desperation. “In… out… slow. You’re not doing this alone.”
I tried.
Couldn’t.
The next wave hit harder—spine arching, vision whiting at the edges. A sound tore out of my throat—half sob, half growl—something that wasn’t entirely human.
Zyrus surged forward—arms banding around me—lifted me like I weighed nothing and settled us both on the bed, me cradled against his chest, legs tangled with his.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my temple. “I’ve got you, little moon. Just hold on.”
Tears burned tracks down my cheeks.
“It hurts,” I choked. “Everywhere. Like my bones are trying to tear themselves apart.”
His hold tightened—almost crushing.
“I know.” His voice broke on the words. “I know it hurts. I felt it too—the first time the monster woke. But you’re stronger than I ever was. You’re going to come through this.”
Another spasm—deeper this time—my back bowing off the furs.
I cried out—loud, raw—claws extending involuntarily, shredding the silk sheets.
Zyrus caught my wrists—gentle but unyielding—pressed them to his chest.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I forced my eyes open—vision swimming.
His face was inches from mine—expression carved from anguish and fierce, obsessive devotion.
“You are mine,” he said—each word deliberate, anchoring. “This body. This heart. This power. Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to hold through every second of this. Do you hear me?”
I nodded—frantic—tears spilling faster.
He kissed my forehead—lingering—then my eyelids—then the salt tracks on my cheeks—soft, reverent kisses that contrasted brutally with the violence ripping through my system.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmured against my skin.
“You,” I sobbed. “Just you. Don’t let go.”
“Never.”
He shifted us—rolled so I lay half atop him—his arms locked around my back, one hand cradling the nape of my neck, the other splayed protectively over the small swell of my belly.
Every time a new wave of agony hit he absorbed it—murmuring low, steady nonsense against my hair.
“You’re so f*****g beautiful,” he whispered during one particularly brutal contraction. “Even when you’re breaking. Especially when you’re breaking. Gods, Alexa… I can’t breathe when you hurt like this.”
I buried my face in his throat—inhaling cedar, smoke, iron—his scent the only thing keeping me tethered.
“Talk to me,” I begged between gasps. “Keep talking. Don’t stop.”
He pressed his lips to my temple.
“Remember the night we first met?” His voice was soft—almost tender. “You were sixteen. Standing in the great hall wearing that ridiculous silver gown your mother forced you into. You looked like you wanted to set the entire room on fire and walk away.”
A watery laugh escaped me.
“You stared at me like I was a monster.”
“You were.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Still are. My favorite monster.”
Another wave—smaller this time—but it still stole my breath.
He rocked me gently—slow, soothing motion.
“When this is over,” he continued—voice thick, “I’m taking you north. To the black-sand beaches where the moon reflects three times brighter. No elders. No politics. Just you, me, and the tide. I want to watch you run in wolf form under that sky. I want to chase you until we both collapse laughing in the surf.”
Tears slipped faster.
“I want that,” I whispered. “So bad.”
“You’ll have it.” His fingers threaded through my hair—massaging slow circles against my scalp. “I swear it on every life I’ve ever taken. You’ll have it.”
The pain shifted—deeper now—settling in my marrow.
My skin felt too tight.
Too hot.
Something moved beneath it—alive, impatient.
I whimpered—claws retracting, then extending again—uncontrollable.
Zyrus felt it.
His breathing changed—rougher—more primal.
“She’s close,” he rasped. “Your wolf. She’s fighting to come out.”
I nodded—teeth clenched.
“It feels like… like she’s clawing her way through me.”
He rolled us again—gently—until I was on my back, him hovering above—arms caging me without trapping.
“Let her,” he said—voice dropping to gravel. “Don’t fight. Guide her. She’s not your enemy. She’s you. The strongest part of you.”
I stared up at him—vision flickering between normal and sharper, colors too bright, shadows too deep.
“I’m scared,” I admitted—small, broken.
His expression softened—devastatingly tender.
“I know.”
He lowered his head—kissed the frantic pulse at my throat.
“But you’re not alone. I’m right here. Every second. Every breath. I’m not moving.”
Another contraction—violent—my spine arching off the bed.
I screamed—sound echoing off stone walls.
Zyrus caught the scream with his mouth—kissed me through it—deep, anchoring—swallowing every sound of pain.
When it passed I was shaking—sweat-soaked—clinging to him.
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
“Again,” he whispered. “One more big one. Then she breaks free.”
I nodded—terrified, exhilarated.
The next wave built slower—deeper—inevitable.
I felt her—my wolf—pushing, stretching, demanding.
Power surged—white-hot—flooding every cell.
My vision whited out.
When it cleared—Zyrus was staring down at me—eyes wide, reverent, awed.
“Alexa…”
I looked down.
My hands—no longer hands.
Paws—massive, white as fresh snow, tipped with silver claws.
Fur rippled across my arms—my chest—my legs.
The shift wasn’t slow.
It was sudden—explosive.
One heartbeat human.
The next—wolf.
White wolf.
Larger than any I’d ever seen.
Eyes glowing moon-pale.
I staggered—four legs unsteady—paws slipping on silk sheets.
Zyrus dropped to his knees in front of me—hands hovering—afraid to touch.
“Gods…” he breathed. “Look at you.”
I lowered my head—pressed my muzzle to his chest—inhaled.
His scent was overwhelming—home, safety, mate.
A low whine escaped my throat—needy, pleading.
He buried both hands in my ruff—fingers trembling.
“You’re magnificent,” he whispered. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I nudged him—hard—demanding.
He laughed—shaky, wrecked.
“You want out? Want to run?”
I yipped—sharp, impatient.
He stood—slow—opened the balcony doors.
Cold night air rushed in—carrying pine, frost, moonlight.
He looked back at me—eyes shining.
“Go,” he said softly. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I leaped—paws silent on stone—cleared the balcony rail in one bound.
The ground rushed up—snow-dusted lawn—then forest.
I ran.
Wind tore through my fur—moonlight on my back—power thrumming in every muscle.
Behind me—howl.
Zyrus—shifted—black wolf—massive—legendary.
He crashed through the underbrush—caught up in seconds—ran shoulder to shoulder.
We raced—side by side—moonlight and shadow—mate and mate.
Joy—pure, wild—flooded me.
I pushed harder—stretched my stride—challenged him.
He answered—lunged—nipped my flank playfully.
I spun—barreled into him—rolled together in the snow—snarling, laughing, nuzzling.
When we stilled—he pressed his muzzle to my throat—submissive gesture from the most dominant wolf alive.
I licked his cheek—once—slow.
Claim accepted.
We lay there—panting—moon overhead—snow falling soft.
Then—distant howls.
Multiple.
Answering.
The packs felt it.
Felt me.
The White Wolf had risen.
Zyrus lifted his head—ears pricked—body tensing.
I felt it too—power shift—territories waking—alphas stirring.
He looked at me—silver eyes fierce.
They’re coming, his gaze said.
I rose—shook snow from my coat.
Let them.
He bumped my shoulder—once—then turned toward the palace.
We ran back—faster—stronger.
When we reached the balcony—Zyrus shifted first—human again—naked, glorious, breathing hard.
He reached for me.
The shift reversed—slower—painful but bearable.
I collapsed into his arms—human—shaking—alive.
He crushed me to his chest—buried his face in my hair.
“You did it,” he whispered. “You f*****g did it.”
I clung to him—tears mixing with sweat.
“We did it.”
He kissed me—deep—desperate—pouring every unsaid emotion into it.
When he pulled back—eyes blazing:
“The packs felt you rise. Every Alpha in the thirteen territories just bowed whether they wanted to or not.”
My heart stuttered.
“And the elders?”
His smile was feral—beautiful—terrifying.
“They’re coming. Right now. Armed. With chains forged for the White Wolf.”
I felt the power stir again—white-hot—ready.
“Then let them try,” I said—voice steady.
Zyrus’s arms tightened—possessive to the bone.
“They’ll have to go through me first.”
But even as he said it—boots echoed in the corridor outside.
Heavy.
Many.
And a voice—cold, authoritative—cut through the night:
“Alpha Ivonov. Luna Sinclair. Open this door. By order of the Council of Thirteen. The White Wolf will be contained—tonight.”
Zyrus’s growl shook the walls.
He looked down at me—eyes burning silver.
“Ready to show them who they’re dealing with?”
I smiled—slow, dangerous, in love.
“Born ready.”
- Writer
