The moon barely showed its face tonight, just a skinny crescent lurking behind a mess of clouds—still, it kinda felt huge, like it was peeping straight at her. Lina hovered at the edge of the training yard, lungs tight, her skin buzzing with leftover magic like static after yanking off a sweater.
The incident during the Trial still replayed in her mind in jagged pieces: fire roaring from her hands, gasps from the elders, the way Rafe had moved toward her—and how Arielle had stopped him.
She wasn't allowed to be alone out here, not after what happened. But rules had never done much to hold her.
The air shifted behind her.
"Come out," she said, "I know you are there."
Rafe appeared from the shadows. His expression was unreadable, that ever-controlled face carved from duty and guilt.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said.
"I needed air."
"I meant after the trial. You're under watch."
She turned to face him fully, arms crossed. "So you're my jailer now?"
He flinched. "Lina…"
"Don't. Not unless you're ready to stop pretending."
A beat passed. Two. Then she asked the question that had clawed at her since the forest:
"Why did Silas say they tried to bury me?"
Silence stretched like a wire between them.
"I don't know what he meant," Rafe said finally, but something flickered—barely a blink, barely a heartbeat—but his eyes changed.
Amber, glowing. Just for a second. But she saw it. He looked away too quickly.
Her voice dropped. "You're lying."
He took a step back, tension rippling through his shoulders like he was holding something back—something more dangerous than denial. "I'm protecting you."
She almost laughed. "From what? The truth? Or yourself?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he turned and walked away—swift, silent.
And that, somehow, hurt more than if he'd screamed.
The next day, Lina skipped breakfast. Too many eyes. Too many whispers. The council hadn't decided what to do with her yet, but isolation was still in effect. She wandered past the market square, down the worn stone path toward the edge of the school where the pups trained.
"Miss Ashford," a voice called from behind her.
She turned to see an older woman with wild grey curls and a patchwork shawl—Mrs. Trellan, a retired teacher and keeper of local folklore. Most thought she was a little unhinged. Lina had always liked her.
The woman stepped closer, her voice low. "Stay out of the woods on the next full moon."
Lina blinked. "What?"
"Don't go near them. Don't even look at them. Something's waking. And you'll be the one it sees first."
Her fingers brushed Lina's arm—and just like that, the mark on her skin pulsed. Hot. Alive.
Lina yanked her arm away, startled.
The woman just smiled faintly. "The veil is burning, child. And eyes that were sealed are opening again."
That night, Lina's sleep came slowly—and when it did, it came poisoned.
She dreamed of the forest first. Of ash coating the leaves, of roots curling like claws. The blood moon hung overhead, massive and wrong, dripping red light like a wound that would never close.
She walked barefoot. Alone.
Until she saw him.
Rafe.
But it wasn't the Rafe she knew. His face was wrong—too still, too calm. His skin was pale, marked with black veins like cracks in marble.
And his eyes…
They were gold at first. Then red. Then something in between—shimmering like molten metal.
He smiled.
Then his bones snapped.
She screamed as his jaw unhinged, as claws tore through skin and blood wept from his eyes. He wasn't shifting like a wolf. He was breaking. Becoming. A creature built for hunger and grief and ruin.
He turned toward her with a voice not entirely his own.
"The moon is just the beginning. You are not its child. You are its flame."
She woke with a scream, covered in sweat, the sheets tied around her like vines.
Her mark was glowing.
And from outside her window, deep in the black curve of the forest, something howled.
Not a wolf.
Something older.
Lina didn't sleep the rest of the night.
She tossed a shawl over her shoulders—didn't even bother to fix it properly—and flopped down by the window. Out there, the horizon was dragging itself from pitch black to this half-hearted, washed-out gray. Honestly, mornings never look as poetic as people claim.
Her skin still buzzed, especially around the birthmark. It had stopped glowing, but she could feel something humming inside it—a frequency just under thought.
She needed answers.
And there was only one person left who might tell her the truth.
Selene Ashford lived in a stone manor perched near the edge of the sacred grove, apart from the rest of the stronghold. It was tradition, she had said. Some roles demanded solitude. Lina was beginning to think it was something else entirely: secrecy.
Her mother didn't look surprised when she arrived unannounced.
"You saw him," Selene said before Lina even spoke.
Lina's voice was a whisper. "In my dream. Rafe… changed."
Selene motioned her inside, closing the heavy door with a click that sounded too final.
"He's changing," she confirmed. "They all are. The blood moon awakens more than prophecy—it awakens bloodlines."
Lina stared at her. "So what is he? What's happening to him?"
Selene's face was pale, tired. "There are shifters like us, and then there are others. Ancient lineages. Hybrid bloods. Cursed alphas. Rafe… his father carried something inhuman. Something buried."
Lina's stomach turned. "You knew this?"
"I suspected. But the blood moon is stirring it faster than I thought. If he turns fully—he won't come back from it."
She backed away. "You knew and you didn't tell me? He—he could hurt someone."
"He could hurt you," Selene said, voice sharp now. "And that's why I kept silent. Because you wouldn't believe me. Because I didn't want you to look at him like a monster."
"But I already do," Lina whispered.
Selene's eyes softened. "He may not be your enemy. But the thing inside him will be."
It was nearly midnight when Lina found herself standing at the tree line—heart racing, the forest ahead whispering her name like leaves on fire. She knew she shouldn't be there. Mrs. Trellan's warning echoed in her skull. But she had to know. Had to see.
She didn't shift. Didn't call for anyone.
She walked in.
The forest was different now. Too quiet. The usual chirps, rustles, and nightbird cries were gone. Even the trees looked wrong—bark too dark, moss too red.
She stepped deeper, and that's when she heard it.
A heartbeat.
Not hers.
A steady thrum, close—behind her.
She turned slowly.
He stood there.
Rafe.
But not.
His shirt was open, chest heaving. His eyes had this weird, almost lazy glow—not nearly bright enough to mean anything good. Mouth hanging open, like he wanted to say something but, nope, nothing came out. Just stuck there, halfway between a thought and a word. And then—his hands trembled. His bones… cracked.
"No," she said, stepping back. "Not like in the dream. Not real."
But his body convulsed again.
"Lina…" he gasped. "Run."
She didn't.
Because just then, his face began to change.
Not like a normal shift. This wasn't fur and fang.
It was like something wearing him tried to tear through.
His jaw stretched. His pupils slit. Veins blackened and pulsed beneath his skin. And that voice—not his—echoed from his mouth.
"We are not bound by your fire. We were here before it. And we will be here after."
The trees bowed inward. The wind rose. Lina raised her hands, fire flickering at her fingertips, but it danced erratically, not responding like before.
Her power faltered in the presence of… whatever he was becoming.
And then—he stopped.
Mid-shift. Mid-nightmare.
His knees buckled.
He collapsed to the forest floor, unconscious—but breathing. Human again. Sweat-soaked. Broken. But alive.
She didn't know what frightened her more.
That something had tried to take him…
Or that next time, it might succeed.
Lina dropped down next to him, fingers twitching just above his heart—like she wanted to touch him but couldn't quite bring herself to do it.
"I saw you," she breathed out, voice barely more than a ghost in the air. "In my dreams. You weren't you. You weren't…"
His eyes fluttered open.
Not gold.
Not brown.
Red.
And from his mouth, a whisper—not his own.
"The veil is thinning."
Lina shot to her feet, every nerve screaming.
The forest moaned.
And somewhere far, far off—a second howl rose.
It wasn't animal.
It was mourning.
Or maybe…
a warning.