THE LUNA THEY BURIED

Chapter 6: The Attack

"Who?" I demanded, my voice cracking as I stepped toward her. "Marianne, who found me?"

She didn't answer. She stood frozen near the kitchen counter, having just set down an armful of dried herbs, her hands trembling so violently that a bunch of dried lavender slipped from her fingers to the floorboards.

"The man in the rain?" I pressed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Lucien? Tell me what is going on!"

"We don't have time," Marianne breathed, her eyes darting toward the front windows with pure, unadulterated terror. "We have to leave. Now. Grab your coat—"

Before she could finish the sentence, the lights went out.

The sudden darkness was total, swallowing the living room in pitch black. The hum of the refrigerator died, replaced instantly by the howling wind outside.

Then came the sound.

A low, guttural growl vibrated through the floorboards, a heavy, animalistic sound that didn't belong to any dog I had ever heard.

"Marianne—" I started.

CRASH.

The heavy glass of the front bay window shattered inward with a deafening spray of shards. Wind and cold rain whipped into the room, bringing with them a stench that made my stomach turn, a sharp, sickening smell of rot, wet fur, and iron.

Three heavy thuds echoed across the floorboards as three figures stepped over the broken frame.

In the dim moonlight filtering through the fog, I couldn't see their faces, but I saw their eyes.

They were glowing, a cruel, molten gold that burned through the dark.

Marianne screamed. "Elara, run!"

Instinct took over. I grabbed Marianne's arm, pulling her toward the kitchen doorway that led to the back porch. We sprinted down the narrow hallway, but before my hand could reach the brass latch of the back door, the shadow of a massive man materialized directly in front of us, cutting off our escape.

He didn't move like a human. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his posture crouched like a predator ready to pounce, his golden eyes locked onto me.

"The girl," the man rasped, his voice a distorted, throaty snarl. "Grab the girl!"

His clawed hand shot out, thick fingers clamping down on my left shoulder with bruising, crushing force. Pain exploded down my arm, and he yanked me forward as if I weighed nothing at all.

Panic surged through me, not a slow fear, but a white-hot explosion of pure survival.

Something deep inside my chest snapped open. Heat flared from behind my ribs, rushing down my arms like a live current. Without thinking, I slammed both palms against the center of the monster's chest.

BOOM.

An invisible, violent shockwave erupted from my hands.

The massive attacker was lifted off his feet, launched backward through the air like he’d been struck by a truck. He crashed through the heavy oak kitchen table, splintering the wood into kindling before slamming hard against the far wall and falling limp.

I stumbled back against the kitchen counter, my knees shaking, gasping for air.

I stared down at my hands. They were trembling, glowing with a faint, dying trace of silver light before reverting to normal skin.

I had done that. I had no idea how, but I had done that.

The remaining two gold-eyed attackers rounded the corner into the kitchen, staring at their fallen companion in brief shock before turning their lethal gazes back to me.

"Subdue her!" one snarled, his teeth elongating into sharp fangs as he lunged.

I backed up, trapped against the sink, my heart screaming.

Then the back door was torn off its hinges.

The heavy timber door flew inward, smashing against the wall with a thunderous bang.

A figure stepped into the kitchen.

Lucien Blackthorne.

The room suddenly felt ice-cold, compressed under an overwhelming, crushing weight that made it almost impossible to breathe. His presence radiated a terrifying, dark authority, an Alpha aura so suffocating that even the air seemed to bow before him. His pale grey eyes were gone, completely swallowed by an absolute, pitch-black dark.

The two attackers froze in mid-stride, their golden eyes widening in sheer terror.

"The... the Alpha King," one of them choked out, backing away until his spine hit the kitchen wall.

Lucien didn't shift. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply took one slow, deliberate step forward, his voice dropping to a low, reverberating growl that shook the glass in the cabinets:

"Leave."

It wasn't a request. It was a command backed by pure supernatural power.

The two attackers didn't hesitate. Terrified, they scrambled over their unconscious comrade, diving headfirst out the shattered living room window and vanishing into the foggy night.

Silence settled over the kitchen, thick and heavy.

Lucien stood motionless among the broken glass and splintered oak. Slow, heavy breaths rose from his chest as he forced the dark haze from his eyes, returning them to their cool, icy grey.

He turned his head slowly to look at me.

I was pressed against the counter, shaking violently, my chest heaving, clutching my bruised shoulder.

Lucien took a step toward me, his hands twitching at his sides, every instinct in his body demanding that he reach out and hold me. But he stopped three feet away. He remembered the boundary I had set in the street. Step back. Don't follow me.

He stayed planted, his jaw clenched, waiting.

I looked at him, at his broad frame, at the terrifying power he wielded, and at the unmistakable restraint in his eyes. My fear of him melted into something far more dangerous: relief.

I took a trembling step forward.

I reached out with a shaky hand and grabbed the damp wool sleeve of his coat, anchoring myself to him.

Lucien went rigid at the contact, a shudder passing through him, but he didn't pull away. He slowly brought his hand up, hovering it gently over mine without forcing a tighter grip.

"They... they weren't trying to kill me," I whispered, my voice breaking as the adrenaline began to fade.

"No," Lucien replied softly, his voice low and firm. "They weren't here to kill you, Elara. They were here to take you."

From the hallway, Marianne emerged, pale and uninjured, clutching the wall for support as she stared at Lucien in horror.

Lucien's eyes flicked away from me, settling on the floor near the shattered kitchen table where the first attacker had been thrown.

Something glinted against the dark wood in the moonlight.

Lucien stepped over, kneeling down to pick up an object dropped in the scuffle.

It was a heavy silver medallion attached to a broken chain. Engraved directly into the metal was a symbol I recognized instantly: a circle enclosed inside a stylized three-pointed crescent. The exact same symbol that had been drawn on the back of my childhood photograph.

Lucien's jaw set hard as he stared at the silver disk.

"What is that?" I asked, taking a step closer.

Lucien looked up, his grey eyes heavy with a dark, ancient truth.

"Aether," he whispered.