Chapter 4: The Warning
1169 Words
The black rose stayed on her desk all night. Its petals did not wilt, not even after hours under the dim lamp. It looked almost unreal, as if it had been plucked from a dream rather than a garden. The note beside it haunted her every time her eyes fell on it.
She had tried to convince herself that it was just a prank, something strange that small towns liked to do to newcomers. But deep down, she knew better. There was a meaning behind that rose, a secret message wrapped in its beauty and darkness.
Sleep refused to come. Every sound outside made her heart race. She kept replaying Lucian’s warning in her mind, the look in his eyes when he told her the forest wasn’t for everyone. His voice had been rough yet protective, like someone who knew what danger truly meant.
By morning, the air was thick with mist again. Isabella went downstairs to find the innkeeper, Mrs. Hale, humming softly as she wiped the counter. The older woman smiled, though her eyes were tired.
“Morning, dear. You’re up early,” she said.
Isabella nodded. “I couldn’t sleep.” She hesitated, then asked, “Mrs. Hale, do you know someone named Lucian?”
The cloth froze in the woman’s hand. For a long moment, she did not speak. Then she forced a small smile. “Why do you ask?”
“I just heard the name,” Isabella replied carefully. “I thought he might live nearby.”
Mrs. Hale’s expression dimmed, her voice lowering. “Those kinds of names are better left unspoken in this town, my dear. Nothing good comes from it.”
A chill rippled down Isabella’s spine. “What do you mean?”
The woman sighed and looked toward the window as if the forest might be listening. “Lucian Black used to be the Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack. But that was before the curse.”
“Curse?” Isabella whispered, leaning closer.
Mrs. Hale nodded slowly. “The moon turned against him. They say anyone who gets close to him meets a tragic fate. He vanished years ago, and we all prayed it stayed that way.”
Isabella’s heart pounded faster. She wanted to ask more, but the fear in the woman’s eyes stopped her. “So, you think he’s dangerous?”
“I think he’s cursed,” Mrs. Hale said softly. “And some curses never die.”
The rest of the morning passed in silence. Isabella tried to keep herself busy, but her thoughts kept circling back to the pendant, the rose, and the name that now seemed tied to her heartbeat.
Later that afternoon, the mist grew heavier, curling through the streets like smoke. Isabella went for a walk, needing to breathe. She followed the edge of the forest, tracing the same trail where she had met him. Her hand brushed against the pendant in her pocket, the silver warm against her skin.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of pine and rain. And then she heard it—a voice, deep and familiar, echoing softly through the trees.
“Isabella.”
She froze. No one else was around. The voice came again, closer this time, calm but commanding.
“Go back home.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She turned toward the sound, and for a moment, she saw a shadow move between the trees. It was too tall, too fluid to be human.
“Lucian?” she called out, her voice trembling.
No answer came. Only the wind replied, brushing her hair across her face.
Then, out of nowhere, a figure stepped from the mist. His golden eyes glowed faintly; his expression unreadable.
“Why have you come?” he said again, his voice sharper this time. “Did you read the note?”
She nodded slowly. “I did. But I had questions.”
His jaw tightened. “Questions?”
“Then tell me the truth,” she said, her voice steadier now. “What are you hiding from me?”
Lucian looked at her for a long time. The weight in his gaze made her chest tighten. “You shouldn’t demand for the truth,” he said quietly. “Because once you know it, you will never sleep again.”
The forest seemed to darken around them. The wind whispered through the branches like a warning. And somewhere far off, a howl echoed through the mist—low, wild, and hauntingly familiar.
Isabella turned toward the sound, but when she looked back, Lucian was gone.
Only the silver pendant in her pocket pulsed with warmth, as though it had just heard the cry of its master.
The sound of the howl lingered in the air, echoing through the trees long after it faded. Isabella stood frozen, her pulse pounding so loud she could barely hear anything else. The forest that had once seemed haunting now felt alive, breathing around her, whispering secrets she could not understand.
She turned in a slow circle, trying to spot any sign of movement. The mist was thick, curling around her legs like fingers. Every direction looked the same, and for a brief moment, she felt lost, as though the forest itself had swallowed her totally.
A sudden rustle came from behind her. She spun around, her heart jumping, but it was only a small rabbit darting through the underbrush. She laughed softly, trying to calm herself, though her voice shook. “You are losing your mind, Isabella,” she muttered under her breath.
But as she took a step forward, the ground beneath her gave way slightly, and she stumbled. Looking down, she realized she had stepped on something half-buried in the soil. She crouched to see better, brushing away the damp leaves. Her fingers touched cold metal.
It was another pendant, this one shaped like a wolf’s head, the same silver glow running along its surface. A faint symbol was etched across its brow, one that matched the markings on Lucian’s crescent moon pendant. The two pieces looked like they belonged together.
She picked it up carefully and held it against the one in her pocket. The moment they touched, a spark of light flashed between them, soft but warm. Isabella gasped and almost dropped them both. The forest grew quiet again, as if holding its breath.
Somewhere in the distance, a low growl rumbled. Not threatening—protective. It sent a strange shiver through her, partly fear and partly fascination.
“Lucian,” she whispered, unsure why she said his name. The sound of it felt right in her mouth, familiar, like a word she had spoken in another life.
Then came the faint sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate. She turned sharply, expecting to see him, but what she saw instead made her blood run cold.
Through the mist, a pair of eyes gleamed—not gold this time, but crimson, filled with hunger and rage.
They were not Lucian’s.
- Writer
