Forbidden By The Moon

Chapter Twelve

The cabin is silent by the time I reach my study.

Dani is in the guest room with Alana.

Alaric is pacing in his own room, whether he admits it or not.

And the air in the hallway still feels charged — like the echo of Dani’s memory hasn’t fully faded.

I close the study door behind me and let out a long, unsteady breath.

Rest.

That’s what I told them.

But rest is the last thing I’m getting tonight.

I cross the room and pull the oldest volume from my stack. The leather is cracked, the spine fragile, the pages brittle with age. I shouldn’t even be handling it without gloves.

But I don’t have time for caution.

Not anymore.

I flip to the section I already know by heart — the one I hoped I’d never need.

The Lunar Veil.

Not the sanitized version we teach the pack.

The real one.

The one written before our kind understood what we were.

I skim the lines again, pulse quickening.

“When the Veil thins, the world bends.”

Dani didn’t bend the world.

She bent memory.

She bent emotion.

She bent reality.

I rub my temples.

This is happening too fast.

Too fast for her.

Too fast for me.

Too fast for the pack.

I turn the page.

“Those touched by the Veil awaken quickly. Their power grows faster than their control.”

Exactly what I feared.

Exactly what I’m seeing.

I close my eyes for a moment, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose.

“Damn it, Alaric,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re not going to like this.”

I flip another page, scanning for the passage I need — the one that explains what comes next, what I should do, how to slow this down before Dani burns herself out or tears a hole in the world around her.

But the page is missing.

Ripped out long ago.

I curse softly. “Of course it is. Of course.”

I lean back in my chair, staring at the torn edge, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing in on me.

“I know what you’d say,” I murmur, voice low. “You’d tell me to slow down. To protect her. To protect the pack. But we don’t have the luxury of waiting.”

My voice sharpens — the same tone I use when arguing with him.

“She’s accelerating too fast. Faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

I flip back to the earlier page, tracing the ink with my thumb.

“Memory becomes form.

Emotion becomes force.

Thought becomes shape.”

I whisper the words aloud, more to myself than anything.

“She’s manifesting. And she doesn’t even know how.”

A soft creak breaks the silence.

I freeze.

Then turn.

Alana stands in the doorway, half-hidden, eyes wide and frightened. She looks like she’s been there long enough to hear far too much.

“Dad?” she whispers. “Why… why do you sound like you’re talking to my dad?”

My heart drops.

Not because she caught me.

But because she’s right.

I was talking to Alaric.

Not to him — but to the memory of him.

To the version of him who used to sit in this room with me, years ago, when he was young and scared and awakening too fast.

I close the book gently.

“Alana,” I say softly, “you shouldn’t be here.”

She steps inside anyway, voice trembling. “What’s happening to Dani? What aren’t you telling us?”

I study her — her fear, her confusion, her need for answers.

She’s too young for this.

Too untrained.

Too vulnerable.

But she’s also Alaric’s daughter.

And she’s already seen too much.

I stand slowly, placing the ancient book face-down on the desk.

“Alana,” I say carefully, “what I’m researching… it’s old. Older than the pack. Older than anything you’ve been taught.”

Her breath catches. “Is Dani dangerous?”

I shake my head. “No. She’s overwhelmed. And she’s awakening.”

“Awakening what?”

I hesitate.

Because the truth is too big.

Too old.

Too dangerous.

And I don’t have all the answers yet.

So I give her the only truth I can.

“Something we haven’t seen in a very, very long time.”

Her eyes widen.

I step toward her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“And Alana… you cannot tell your father what you heard.”

She stiffens. “Why not?”

“Because I need to understand it before he reacts to it.”

She swallows hard.

Then nods.

I squeeze her shoulder once, then release her.

“Go sit with Dani,” I say softly. “She’ll need you.”

Alana slips out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I turn back to the book.

To the torn page.

To the missing answers.

To the truth I’m not ready to face.

And I whisper the line again — the one that terrifies me most.

“Those who awaken the Veil do not walk alone.

Their presence stirs the bond.”

I close the book.

Because if that line is true…

Dani isn’t the only one awakening.

---

— Alaric

The Pull

I don’t know what wakes me.

A sound.

A shift in the air.

A pressure behind my ribs that feels too much like someone calling my name without speaking.

I sit up in the dark, breath tight, pulse sharp.

Something’s wrong.

Not danger.

Not an intruder.

Something else.

Something… familiar.

I stand, moving quietly through the cabin. The halls are still, but the air feels charged — like the moment before lightning strikes.

I follow it.

Not with my ears.

Not with my eyes.

With something deeper.

It leads me to Hale’s study.

Her door is cracked open, light spilling into the hallway. I hear pages turning, her breath quick and uneven, the scrape of a chair leg on the floor.

She’s not alone.

Someone else is here.

Not physically — but the air is thick with presence. With memory. With something that feels like it’s pressing against the walls.

I push the door open.

Hale jumps, slamming a book shut so fast dust scatters into the air.

“Alaric,” she says, too quickly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

My eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

She hesitates — and that’s all it takes for the pressure in my chest to spike.

“Where’s Dani?” I demand.

“Resting,” she says. “For now.”

“For now,” I repeat, stepping farther into the room. “What did you do?”

Her jaw tightens. “Nothing harmful.”

“That’s not an answer.”

She exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alaric, I don’t have time to argue with you.”

“Then don’t,” I snap. “Tell me what’s happening.”

She looks at me then — really looks — and something in her expression shifts. Not fear. Not guilt.

Recognition.

“Your energy is reacting,” she murmurs.

“My what?”

She stands slowly, circling the desk like she’s approaching a wild animal. “You feel it, don’t you? The pull. The pressure. The way the air changes when she’s overwhelmed.”

My pulse stutters.

Because yes.

I feel it.

I’ve been feeling it since the moment Dani stepped into this cabin.

But I don’t let that show.

“Hale,” I warn.

She lifts the ancient book — the one she tried to hide — and places it on the desk between us.

“Alaric,” she says quietly, “Dani isn’t the only one awakening.”

The room tilts.

My breath catches.

And the pressure in my chest — the one I’ve been ignoring, denying, burying — surges like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

“Nothing,” she says. “This isn’t me. This is the Veil.”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not— I don’t have—”

“You do,” she says softly. “You always have. You just buried it so deep you forgot it was there.”

My hands curl into fists.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was dormant,” she says. “Harmless. And I thought it would stay that way.”

Her voice drops.

“I was wrong.”

The pressure spikes again — sharp, electric, pulling me toward something I can’t see.

No.

Not something.

Someone.

Dani.

I turn toward the hallway.

Hale steps in front of me. “Alaric, wait—”

But I’m already moving.

Because whatever is happening to her…

it’s affecting me too.

And I can’t stay away.

Not anymore.