Moon Tides
255 Words
Chapter Three:
The pull between them was quiet at first, like an undertow.
They talked in measured moments: over coffee gone cold, on walks where conversation drifted as easily as leaves on water. Rowan spoke of duty and land, of the balance between human and wolf. Mara spoke of the sea, of storms and loss, of the way starting over felt like standing at the edge of a map.
He never asked her to stay.
She never asked him to choose.
The night of the full moon, the lodge held a festival—music and firelight and laughter that rose into the stars. Mara felt the air tighten as the moon climbed, a silver coin pressed into the dark. She stepped outside, drawn by a thrum she could not name.
Rowan waited at the treeline.
“You feel it,” he said.
“Yes.”
“It’s the bond of the land,” he said. “It calls to those who listen.”
He took her hand. His touch was warm, steady. The world narrowed to the space between them.
“I won’t bind you to a life you didn’t choose,” he said quietly. “But know this—my people need a bridge. Someone who can stand in both worlds.”
Mara thought of the sea, relentless and faithful. Of grief, and how it had taught her the cost of loving anything deeply.
“I don’t know how to be what you need,” she said.
“You already are,” he replied.
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