The town of Black Hollow slept under a trembling moon. The kind of moon that didn't glow — it bled, spilling red across the ridgelines and the pines that stood like sentinels around the valley. People whispered that when the moon turned crimson, the wolves came out not for prey… but for retribution.
Aria Vale didn't believe in curses. Not until that night.
The air was sharp with pine and frost as she trudged down the lonely dirt path, her boots sinking in the damp earth. The festival lights from the town had faded behind her, swallowed by the forest. She shouldn't have wandered this far — not alone, not after midnight — but curiosity was a stubborn thing, and she wanted one glimpse of the moon from the cliffs. Her camera hung around her neck, her fingers itching to capture the beauty of the bleeding sky.
A branch snapped behind her.
She froze. The sound was too heavy for a deer, too deliberate for the wind.
"Hello?" Her voice trembled. "Is someone there?"
Silence. Then — a growl. Low, guttural, vibrating through the trees.
Aria spun around, heart hammering. The woods were empty — until she saw eyes. Two burning embers hovering in the dark, watching her with unblinking hunger. Her breath hitched. The shape that emerged from the shadows wasn't human. It was too tall, too broad, moving with an animal's grace but a man's purpose.
She stepped back. The growl deepened, then — impossibly — shifted into a voice.
"Run."
It was deep and broken, a sound that scraped against her spine. She didn't think — she ran.
Branches clawed at her hair and jacket as she sprinted, her lungs burning. The forest echoed with the thunder of pursuit — heavy footfalls, snarls, the crack of branches giving way. She didn't dare look back. The cliffs were close. If she could reach the ridge, maybe she could—
Her foot caught a root. The world flipped, and she hit the ground hard, the taste of iron filling her mouth. Pain radiated through her knee. She tried to crawl, but the thing was already there, towering over her.
A shadow under the blood-moon sky.
Aria whimpered as claws brushed her cheek — not slicing, just tracing. Curious. The creature leaned closer, its breath hot and wild, smelling of rain and ash. For a heartbeat, its eyes flickered — from gold to gray, from beast to man. And in that flicker, she saw him.
Lucian Draven.
The reclusive man everyone in Black Hollow whispered about. The one who lived deep in the woods, the one who never came to town except on moonless nights. The one who'd lost his family in the last pack war.
But now his face was different. Twisted. Tormented.
He growled, gripping the earth as if fighting himself. His claws dug trenches in the dirt.
"Get out of here," he rasped. "Before I lose control."
She should have run. Every instinct screamed at her to flee. But fear did something strange to her — it rooted her where she stood. Her heart pounded, yes, but her gaze held his. Behind the monster's rage, she saw a glimmer of humanity. Of pain.
"I'm not afraid," she whispered, though her voice shook.
Lucian snarled, snapping his head back as if the words burned. His body trembled violently, shifting — bones cracking, muscles convulsing, fur receding until he was half-man again. Blood streaked his arms. His breathing was ragged.
"You should be," he said hoarsely. "I killed the last one who said that."
The forest wind carried the scent of rain and blood. Aria's eyes darted to his wounds — deep gashes across his chest that refused to heal. Silver burns. Hunters' work.
"You're hurt," she said. "Let me—"
"Don't." He staggered back. "You touch me, and you'll be marked."
She didn't understand. But the fear in his tone — not for himself, but for her — sent chills through her.
"Marked by what?" she asked.
His eyes flicked to the bleeding moon. "By me."
A howl erupted in the distance — long, mournful, and close. Lucian's head snapped toward it, his expression hardening. "They've found me," he muttered. Then his gaze locked on her again, fierce and desperate. "Go home. Forget you ever saw me."
Before she could respond, he was gone — a blur vanishing into the black trees, the echoes of his growl swallowed by thunder.
Aria sat in the dirt, shaking, trying to make sense of what she'd seen. A man who turned into a beast. A warning about a mark. A moon that bled like a wound in the sky.
She touched her neck, where his claw had grazed her. The skin burned faintly, like a brand just beneath the surface. When she looked at her fingers, a faint silver glow pulsed there — fading as quickly as it came.
The clouds rolled over the moon. The forest went still. And in the silence, something deep within her stirred — a whisper, not in words but in instinct.
You're not safe anymore.