Chapter Four: The Beast Beneath the Bone
The moon hung almost full in the sky.
Not quite a blood moon yet, but close enough that the air felt thick with tension. Every muscle in Luna's body felt tight, as if something inside her was bracing itself for impact.
She didn't sleep. Not again.
Instead, she found herself in front of the tall mirror in the guest room, taking in parts of herself she usually avoided—
The curve of her collarbone. The scar on her thigh.
The faded birthmark shaped like a crescent moon beneath her ribs.
Her mother used to kiss that spot softly and murmur, "La mia stella spezzata."
My broken star.
Now it felt more like a brand. A warning.
With a sigh, she pulled down her shirt and turned away from the mirror, only to come to a halt as the growl echoed in the air.
Deep and low.
Not human.
Her blood turned to ice.
She found him in the west courtyard on his knees, shirtless, shaking.
Not Dominic the mafia prince.
Dominic the wolf.
He was barely keeping it together. His back arched in unnatural ways, skin slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched so tight that blood stained his teeth.
Luna took a step closer, cautiously.
"Dominic…"
His head snapped towards her, eyes glowing with an unnatural gold. For a terrifying moment, he didn't recognize her.
He lunged at her.
But she didn't scream.
He halted, inches from her throat, breathing like a creature possessed.
His claws had broken through his fingertips. His fangs were fully out. His scent was different too—wilder, earthy, a mix of firewood and blood.
Yet, he didn't attack.
She didn't back away.
Instead, she did something reckless.
She reached out and touched him.
Her fingers brushed against his jaw, then traveled down the side of his neck where his pulse throbbed like a war drum.
His eyes fluttered shut.
"You're in pain," she spoke softly.
"It's the moon," he hissed. "It's too close. I—"
He couldn't finish his thought. He was trembling.
Luna leaned in closer. "Then shift."
His head snapped towards her, bewildered. "What?"
"Shift. Let it out. Stop fighting it."
"No."
"Why?"
He growled, the sound low and threatening. "Because the last time I shifted in front of someone… I ripped them in half."
She stood there in silence, witnessing his trembling and whimpering. She didn't try to interfere or leave.
She just remained near him.
And she realized for the first time that she was seeing him vulnerable, scared, and weak.
Eventually, he collapsed.
Right there on the cold marble of the courtyard. Not asleep, just exhausted. The wolf within receded like a tide, leaving him human once more, but barely hanging on.
Luna dropped to her knees next to him.
"Let me help."
"I don't want your pity."
"It's not pity."
He opened his eyes and met her gaze. Really met her.
"I didn't want this life," he whispered. "I didn't want the blood, the pack, the curse. But it was thrust upon me, and now I carry it alone."
"You're not alone."
"I should be."
She reached for his hand.
But this time, he didn't pull away.
Later that night, she roamed the halls, restless.
Dominic had locked himself away in his wing. His scent still lingered on her skin, and she hated that she noticed it. Hated that her heartbeat reacted as if he was still close.
But more than anything?
She didn't want that feeling to fade.
She needed to distract herself.
So she made her way back to the archives—and into a memory.
The book was older than the rest. Bound in black leather with no title. She opened it on instinct.
Inside were photographs.
Old ones.
Of wolves mid-shift. Blood rituals. Packs forming and falling apart.
And then—
A photo that took her by surprise.
A woman with dark eyes and thick curls.
Her mother.
Alive.
Smiling.
And next to her…
Elena.
She stumbled back, her heart racing in her chest.
They knew each other?
Why hadn't Elena told her?
Suddenly, every warning, every deflection, every protective spell felt like a deceit.
Luna slammed the book shut.
If there were secrets, she would burn them all. Even if that meant starting with Elena.
Back in her room, Luna paced like a caged animal. The air felt stifling. Her skin was hot. Her thoughts wouldn't calm down.
And then, three knocks at the door.
She opened it without thinking.
Dominic stood there.
He was cleaned up, shirt on. But his eyes… still wild.
"I can't sleep," he said.
"Welcome to the club."
"I keep thinking about what you said. That I should shift."
"Then do it."
"Not without you."
Her breath caught in her throat.
She stepped aside.
He walked in.
Silent. Controlled. Barely.
She closed the door behind him, and they stood there, staring at each other like two people at the edge of a cliff.
Then—
She moved towards him.
Her hands found the hem of his shirt.
He didn't stop her.
She pulled it up, revealing the lines of his body—scarred, strong, marked.
He shuddered as her fingers brushed against the sigil over his heart.
"What is it?" she asked.
"My father's crest. I was branded with it the day I turned sixteen."
"Did it hurt?"
"Like hell."
She leaned in closer.
Pressed her lips to the mark.
He made a sound—half gasp, half growl.
She felt him shake.
Then—his hands found her.
Not harsh. Not hurried.
But needy. Urgent.
As if he feared she might vanish.
He kissed her.
Finally.
It wasn't gentle.
It was war.
And she embraced it.
But just when things began to escalate, when it turned into something hotter, something deeper—
He pulled away.
Breathless. Shaking.
"I can't," he said.
Her lips felt swollen. Her voice was wrecked. "Why not?"
He cupped her face with his hand.
"Because once I claim you… the prophecy begins."
"And?"
"And I don't know how to stop it.