The Ancient Moon

Chapter 2: The Blood in the Roots

POV Dorian

The forest breathed louder that night.

I could feel it in my spine — the pull. Not the ordinary restlessness of the wolf, not the usual whisper of the pack bond. This was older. Wilder. Something in the roots trembled as if waking from a long sleep.

And it started when she stepped between the trees.

I didn’t see her at first. I felt her.

A shift in the air. The scent of something... wrong. Not in a dangerous way — in a different way. Human, but not quite. Familiar, but impossible. My body went rigid before my mind caught up. My wolf clawed at my skin, demanding I find the source.

When I saw her — standing on the trail, wide-eyed but unafraid — the world stilled.

She didn’t look like a threat. She didn’t smell like prey. She smelled like—

Moonlight.

I should’ve turned around. Walked away. Let her go.

Instead, I spoke.

"Are you lost?"

The words came out colder than I intended. But cold was safe. Cold kept things contained.

She blinked at me, chin lifting. Not timid. Not submissive. That alone made something inside me tighten. Most people drop their gaze when I speak. She didn’t.

“No. Just walking,” she said.

A lie. No one walks this path by accident. Not at night. Not where we live.

“This trail isn’t safe at night,” I warned.

Another test. Another chance for her to leave.

But she gave me a look that was part stubborn, part reckless — the worst kind.

“Thanks for the warning, but I’m not exactly helpless.”

God help me.

That voice.

Soft. Smart. Bold.

It scraped something raw inside me.

“You’re not from here,” I said, needing confirmation.

She confirmed it with one word: “Nope.”

That should’ve been the end. I should’ve disappeared before the beast inside me rose higher. But I didn’t.

I watched her walk away, and every step she took away from me made my instincts howl.

Mine, said the wolf.

Not yours, I reminded it. She’s human.

The forest disagreed.

—

When the moon rose higher, I went back.

To the trail. To where I’d felt her.

The air still shimmered with her scent — earthy, warm, touched by something ancient. And there, in the shadows, I saw what I feared most.

One of them had seen her too.

A lesser rogue. Hungry. Stupid. But deadly. It had tracked her scent and gotten too close. I arrived just in time to stop it from making a mistake that would end both their lives.

I shifted before the wolf inside could rip it apart. Showed it my dominance. My teeth.

It backed down, but not before I caught the flash of understanding in its eyes — she matters.

I chased it off. Left claw marks in the bark as a warning.

Then I waited.

She returned.

Of course she did.

Curiosity kills more than cats.

She walked deeper this time. And when she saw me again — my wolf form — I expected the usual response.

Screaming. Running. Collapse.

But she didn’t move.

She watched me back.

We held eye contact for three breaths.

And in those three breaths, I saw everything I didn’t want to admit.

The moon loved her.

And my wolf bowed before it.

I shifted again once she dropped her flashlight. Watched her panic. Couldn’t stop myself from stepping forward.

“What did you see?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. She recognized me.

“I— I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Yes, you do.”

She did. I saw it in her face.

“What was that?” she whispered.

I should’ve told her nothing.

Instead, I said, “A mistake.”

Mine.

All mine.

—

Later that night, I returned to my cabin at the edge of the territory. My bones ached from the shift. My mind spun with her voice, her scent, the way she didn’t look away.

Zane was waiting on the porch.

“Late run?” he asked, arms crossed, leaning on the post like he owned the night.

I nodded once. “Trouble.”

His eyebrow lifted. “What kind?”

“Human.”

He pushed off the post. “Need me to clean something up?”

“No. She’s… new.”

He studied me for a beat too long. “You mean alive new, or pack new?”

I didn’t answer.

He whistled low. “Shit.”

“She has the mark.”

Zane blinked. “The Lunar mark?”

“Back. Between her shoulders.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not possible.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“But it is.”

We stood there in silence. The forest groaned behind us, shifting again.

Zane finally muttered, “What do we do?”

I didn’t have an answer.

But one thing was clear.

The moon had brought her to us.

And nothing would ever be the same.

The scent of her hadn’t faded.

It lingered on my clothes. In my skin. In my thoughts.

I scrubbed my hands under cold water, as if that would erase the way she looked at me. Like she saw me. Not just the man. Not just the wolf. But both. And that was dangerous. For her. For me. For the entire damn pack.

I stepped outside into the freezing night, letting the wind claw at me. I welcomed the bite. I needed the pain.

Zane found me again before dawn.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said, tossing a thermos toward me. “I brought coffee. You’re welcome.”

I caught it without looking.

“She’s not safe,” I said.

“No s**t,” he replied, stretching his arms behind his neck. “Neither are we.”

“She doesn’t know what she is.”

“She’s human.”

“Not anymore.”

He leaned on the railing beside me. “You think the blood’s real?”

I didn’t answer.

Zane whistled low again — he was good at that. “Dorian. If she’s really marked—”

“She is.”

“Then why haven’t you brought her in?”

Because I can’t.

Because I won’t.

Because if I let her near the pack, they’ll either fear her, or worse — worship her.

And both are dangerous.

“She’s not ready,” I said.

“You’re not ready,” Zane shot back. “You’re acting like you can outrun fate.”

Fate.

That word.

I had no use for it. Fate was for the weak. For those waiting for something to save them.

I never waited. I fought.

But for the first time in years, I felt cornered.

“She’s being watched,” I muttered. “And not just by us.”

Zane stiffened. “Rogues?”

I nodded. “I picked up a second scent last night. Didn’t get close enough to see it, but it was old. Familiar.”

He didn’t need to ask.

He knew who I meant.

There were only a few wolves left who smelled like that — bitter, sour, with an edge of ash.

“s**t,” he said for the third time that night.

Yeah. s**t.

—

I left the territory as soon as the sun broke the horizon.

Northvale was quiet in the morning. The streets still wet with dew, shop windows reflecting the pale sky. I moved through the town like a ghost, keeping to the alleys, watching the humans bustle by in their morning haze.

Then I saw her.

Bangs messy. Hoodie too big. Coffee in hand. Her eyes half-closed as she stepped out of the tiny café near campus.

She didn’t see me.

But I saw everything.

The way she walked — slightly cautious. Like she expected something to jump from the shadows.

She wasn’t wrong.

I followed at a distance, staying low, moving with the wind.

Until she stopped.

She looked directly at me.

Not in my direction. At me.

I froze.

Her eyes narrowed. She couldn’t see me clearly, I knew that. I was in the shade, behind a van. But something inside her… felt me.

The bond was forming.

Too soon.

Too fast.

And I hadn’t even touched her yet.

I turned and disappeared down the side street before she could take a step.

But her gaze burned in the back of my skull all the way home.

—

I was halfway through reading the same report for the fourth time that night when the ache in my chest turned sharp.

Not pain.

Not instinct.

Fear.

Hers.

I stood so fast the chair slammed against the floor.

Something was wrong.

The pull was immediate, unbearable. I didn’t think — I ran.

Shifted mid-step. Felt bones break and reform, skin stretch, breath become a growl.

I was on four legs in seconds, streaking through the forest, crossing roads, leaping fences.

Toward her.

Always her.

I found her dorm building — smelled her through the bricks. Her scent was frantic now. Heart racing. Adrenaline spiked. Someone had been here. A male. Not Zane. Not pack.

Outsider.

I didn’t stop to think. I shifted again mid-sprint, ignoring the pain.

Naked, bruised, I climbed the fire escape like a goddamn lunatic and slammed into her window with my fist.

Glass cracked.

She shrieked.

Good. She was alive.

She opened the window with shaking hands, eyes wide.

“What the hell—”

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward me.

“You’re not safe here.”

“Jesus Christ, what are you—”

“Someone was here.”

She paled.

“How do you—”

“I felt it.”

Her lips parted, confused, afraid, but still not stepping away from me.

Her skin under my hands burned. Not from heat — from connection.

She felt it too.

“I didn’t see anyone,” she whispered.

“He didn’t want you to. But he left a message.”

I turned her gently and lowered the collar of her shirt.

Right where the birthmark was — a single line was scratched into her skin.

Clawed. Not deep. But precise.

A warning.

Or a promise.

I growled low in my throat.

“Dorian…” she said, softly now. “What’s happening to me?”

I looked into her eyes.

The truth was a knife in my throat.

But I said it anyway.

“You’re waking up.”

She didn’t flinch.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

Because if she wasn’t afraid of me, she would never be afraid of what came next.

And that meant I had already lost.