His Moon Her Bane

|c.5|

The dreams wouldn’t stop.

Each time Nyrielle closed her eyes, she was dragged back to a forest thick with mist, to shadows that moved with the shape of a man—tall, imposing, and cloaked in the scent of smoke and pine. His eyes were like embers—alive, burning, and ancient. And always, always, the name echoed in her mind like a curse wrapped in silk.

Bane.

When the first streaks of dawn split the sky, casting her room in a watercolor of golds and oranges, Nyrielle sat upright in bed, her sheets tangled around her legs like vines. Sweat clung to her brow. She didn’t move. She just stared out the dew-laced window, breathing deeply, trying to calm the storm churning inside her chest.

But it was no use. She felt bound… tethered.

“Bane,” she whispered aloud, tasting the name on her tongue like forbidden fruit. It sent a shiver racing across her skin, curling hot and sharp in her gut. There was power in it. Power and… something else. Recognition? Lust? Dread?

She didn’t know.

And that terrified her more than anything.

Rising from the bed, she paced across the stone floor, her bare feet silent against the cold surface. The air was laced with pine and lavender, scents meant to soothe, but nothing could cut through the haze gripping her thoughts. Why did that name feel carved into her soul? And who was he?

She clenched her jaw, forcing the thoughts aside. There were more immediate dangers to prepare for.

Tonight was the Sacred Moon Festival, and she was to be presented—paraded, more like—before three rival packs. Her father’s decision had been final. It was not born of affection or pride. He never celebrated her survival, only her strength. He had forged her into a weapon because that was the only value she held to him.

While other daughters of Alphas were groomed in diplomacy, alliance-making, and refinement, Nyrielle had been handed swords and scars. She had trained until her muscles ached and her fingers bled. Her body bore the legacy of every strike she had blocked, every foe she had bested.

They thought she didn’t belong in a silk gown.

They didn’t know she could still slit a throat in one.

Gripping the window frame, she stared out across the sprawling estate of the Silverrest fortress, where stone walls and iron gates promised security but delivered only a cold indignation. The festival would draw leaders and warriors from every major territory. And she, the Moon-touched bastard daughter, was the offering.

A sharp knock on her mind from the wolf inside stirred her. Steady, Nyrielle. You’ve been through worse.

She dragged herself into the bathroom, shedding her nightclothes and stepping under a surge of steaming water. The shower hissed like a serpent, wrapping her in heat. Her muscles unwound, slightly. As she lathered her hair, her mind returned to that name.

Bane.

It burned behind her eyes. The pull of it was maddening.

When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged, but even the blurred outline of her reflection startled her. The transformation that came with the Moon-gift still caught her off guard. Her once lanky figure was now honed, curved with lean muscle. Silver shimmered through the lengths of her wet locks like strands of starlight. Her eyes had deepened into a bluish silver—bright as moonlight, rimmed in a darker ring that pulsed with something primal. Otherworldly. Goddess-like.

Would the packs see her as a blessing or a threat?

She rubbed lotion across her skin, letting the scent of sandalwood and cedar ground her. She was halfway through, lost in thought, when the door creaked open behind her.

She froze, instincts snapping into place.

Footsteps. Light. Quiet. Controlled.

She snatched her robe from the hook and spun, her wolf ready to pounce—only to stop dead at the sight of Logan setting a tray of food on the table by the window, completely unaware—or at least pretending to be.

“Logan!” she shouted, voice sharp as steel as she clutched the robe to her chest and yanked it on in one swift motion. “What the hell are you doing?”

He jerked around, then immediately turned back toward the wall, his face flushing redder than sunrise. “s**t—I—sorry!” he stammered. “I didn’t hear you. I didn’t think you were out yet. I just—brought breakfast and came to escort you to the strategy briefing.”

Nyrielle narrowed her eyes. Logan had been one of her oldest sparring partners, her closest friend in the shadows of the court. But even he had started to look at her differently since the Moon chose her. Not with lust… not completely. But with awe. And wariness.

She moved past him, tying her robe tighter as she sat down at the table. She picked up a piece of toast and stared at it like it might explode.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

Logan, still awkwardly facing the wall, shifted on his feet. “You okay?” he asked carefully. “You’ve been… distant lately.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

She sighed, putting the toast down. Her eyes lifted to him. “Do you know anyone named Bane?”

The shift in him was immediate and visceral.

His entire body stilled. She watched his shoulders tense, watched the way his jaw clenched. When he finally turned, his expression had darkened.

“Mathias Bane?” he asked slowly, cautiously.

The name landed like a blow.

Nyrielle’s breath caught, her heart leaping to her throat. She didn’t know why, but hearing the full name released something inside her. Heat pooled low in her belly, her limbs tingling with unnatural awareness. It was like the wolf in her recognized the name on a level she couldn’t understand.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice small. “I just… I saw him. In a dream. And I’ve been hearing his name over and over since the Blood Rite.”

Logan’s face paled.

“You weren’t supposed to know that name,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “No one says it here. Not out loud anywayz.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he moved to the window, staring out as if expecting the shadows themselves to respond.

“Mathias Bane is the leader of the Lycans,” he finally said. “Not just any Lycans. The old ones. The blood-sworn. The first children of the Moon, twisted and corrupted. He leads them… but some say he is them. That he’s not a man at all. He hasn’t been seen in over two decades—not since the last great culling.”

Nyrielle’s skin went cold. “And why would I be dreaming of him?”

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted. “But if he’s in your dreams… you’re not just being haunted. You’re being called.”

A long silence passed between them, thick with unspoken truths.

Nyrielle finally stood, walking to the window. “Then I’ll answer.”

Logan looked at her, startled. “What?”

She turned to him, her golden eyes hard, glowing faintly in the morning light.

“I’ve never been coddled, Logan. I’ve been trained to fight, to survive. If Bane wants something from me, he can damn well come get it.”

Her voice was steel.

Her determination burned through her like fire.

And far in the distance, beyond the mountains and the reach of her pack’s dominion, something stirred.

Had Mathias Bane heard the call too?