Elara Matthews stood in the small back room, eyes closed as she traced her fingers over the worn silver pendant at her throat—a habit before every performance. The necklace had belonged to her mother, one of the few possessions Elara had kept during years of running. The pendant featured an unusual spiral pattern that curled inward like a shell, or perhaps a musical note caught in mid-transformation.
"Five minutes, Elara," called Mack, the pub owner, his voice gruff but kind. "Good crowd tonight, considering the storm."
Elara opened her eyes, revealing irises of such a deep blue they appeared almost violet under certain light. "Thanks, Mack. I will be ready."
As his footsteps retreated, she took a deep breath. The familiar knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. Two years in this small town, and still, every performance brought the same fear: what if tonight was the night she lost control again?
She studied her reflection in the cracked mirror. At twenty six, her features had a haunting quality. High cheekbones, and full lips, often pressed into a guarded line. And those unusual eyes that seemed to shift color with her moods. Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, a streak of silver running through it that she had not dyed. A reminder of the night everything changed.
"Just a normal night," she whispered to herself. "Just songs. Nothing more."
The lie was familiar. Her songs were never just songs.
Across town, a sleek black Range Rover pulled up outside the sheriff station. The rain intensified as if responding to the vehicle's arrival.
Inside the car, Damon Blackwood studied the police report on his tablet, his jaw clenched tight. Three missing hikers in the past month, all last seen near the northern border of his territory. His territory—though the humans of Ravenwood had no idea that the vast forests surrounding their town belonged to the Crescent Moon Pack, or that their wealthy, reclusive neighbor was not merely a businessman but an Alpha werewolf.
"The reports mention unusual animal activity," said Reed, his head of security, from the driver seat. At thirty five, Reed was five years older than Damon, with the weathered face of someone who had seen too much and said too little. "Could be Viktor testing our borders again."
Damon did not respond. His wolf stirred beneath his skin, agitated by the mention of his rival. Viktor Stone had been pushing boundaries for months, each incursion more aggressive than the last. But something about these disappearances felt different—more calculated.
"The last victim's personal items were found near Howler Ridge," Damon finally said, his voice deep and controlled, betraying none of the rage his wolf felt at the intrusion. "That is less than a mile from the sacred site."
Reed's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "The ritual grounds? You think that is what he is after?"
"I do not believe in coincidences." Damon looked out at the rain slicked streets of the town that had no idea of the supernatural war brewing on its doorstep. "The Blood Moon is six weeks away. Viktor has been unusually focused on that area."
A police officer emerged from the station, hunched against the rain. Damon recognized Sheriff Mills, a competent woman who, thankfully, did not ask too many questions when Damon's security team "assisted" with issues near his property.
"I will handle this," Damon said, reaching for the door. "Check in with the pack patrols. I want extra security at all border points tonight."
"And if we find signs of Viktor's people?"
Damon's eyes flashed gold for just a moment—a glimpse of the wolf beneath the tailored suit and careful control.
"Warn them once. After that, protect our land."
The Hollow Oak hummed with conversation and the clink of glasses as Elara stepped onto the small stage. The lighting was deliberately dim, with just a single spotlight illuminating her space—at her insistence. She preferred to be heard more than seen.
The crowd quieted gradually as Mack introduced her. Most were regulars who knew what to expect, but Elara noticed a few unfamiliar faces near the back. Tourists, probably, or travelers passing through. She carefully avoided making eye contact, focusing instead on the battered microphone.
"Evening, everyone," she said softly, her speaking voice already carrying a melodic quality that made heads turn. "Thanks for coming out on such a dreary night."
Her fingers found their position on the acoustic guitar, an extension of herself that sometimes felt more familiar than her own body. She began to play, the notes flowing around her in gentle waves. For the first few minutes, she kept her voice restrained, singing covers that required little of her power—an unspoken warm up ritual that allowed her to gauge her control.
Halfway through her second song, the door to the pub swung open. Elara did not look up, but she felt a sudden shift in the room's energy—a pressure change, like the air before lightning strikes. Her fingers faltered for just a heartbeat before she forced them back into rhythm.
The third song was one of her own. As she moved into the chorus, she finally allowed herself to pour more of her true voice into the performance. The effect was immediate. Conversations stilled completely. Glasses paused halfway to lips. Eyes grew unfocused, entranced.
"Carry me away on midnight tides,Where secrets sleep and shadow hides,These whispered words between two worlds,Are all that is left when truth unfurls."
As she sang, the lights in the pub dimmed and brightened in subtle pulses, though no one seemed to notice. This always happened when she allowed even a fraction of her true ability to surface. Electronics responding to frequencies only she could produce. But tonight, something else was happening too. A strange heat spread through her chest, and the pendant at her throat seemed to vibrate against her skin.
The sensation was so unexpected that Elara opened her eyes, her gaze involuntarily sweeping the room. And then freezing as it locked with a pair of amber eyes watching her from the back of the pub.
The man stood perfectly still, unlike the swaying, entranced audience. Tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and an expression of shocked intensity, he stared at her as if seeing something impossible. There was an aura of controlled power about him that made her skin prickle with instinctive warning.
As their eyes met, the strange heat in her chest flared painfully. The pendant burned against her skin. And most alarming of all, she could swear she saw the amber of his eyes flash to a brilliant, inhuman gold.
Panicked, she broke the eye contact and forced her voice to soften, pulling back the power that had begun to flow too freely. The lights stabilized. The pain subsided. But the damage was done. She had revealed too much of herself.
As she finished the song, her mind raced with escape plans. She needed to leave town. Again. Start over. Again. The familiar despair threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed it down, focusing on getting through the rest of her set. Her fingers trembled slightly against the guitar strings as she felt those amber eyes still watching her, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle with warning.
The microphone emitted a soft hum. Almost imperceptible to the audience but deafening to her sensitive hearing. Another sign of her power affecting electronics. She needed to rein it in, fast.
Damon Blackwood could not move. He could not breathe. The moment the woman had begun to truly sing, his wolf, always carefully controlled, always leashed by his iron will, had gone utterly still inside him. For the first time in his life as an Alpha, he had felt his shift recede not by his command, but because something more powerful had silenced it.
"Sir?" Reed's voice came from beside him, tense with concern. "What is wrong?"
Damon could not tear his gaze from the woman on stage. She was beautiful, yes, but it was not her appearance that held him transfixed. It was the power that flowed from her, invisible to human senses but blindingly obvious to his. And when their eyes had met, that jolt of recognition had shot through him like lightning.
"Sir?" Reed pressed, hand moving subtly toward the weapon concealed beneath his jacket.
"Stand down," Damon murmured, finally finding his voice. "But watch the exits. When she finishes, I need to speak with her."
The singer had closed her eyes again, but her posture had changed. She was holding back now, constraining whatever power had flowed so freely moments before. Even so, the audience remained entranced, swaying slightly as if in a gentle breeze.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Reluctantly breaking his observation, Damon checked the message from his pack elder, Marlowe:
Border patrol found two of Viktor's scouts near the ritual grounds. Interrogating now. They mentioned a search for a female target in town.
Damon's gaze snapped back to the singer, pieces clicking into place with alarming speed. The timing was too perfect to be coincidence. Viktor's sudden interest in Ravenwood. The strange power that had momentarily silenced his wolf. The ancient legends about the Blood Moon ritual requiring a specific type of power. A power thought extinct.
The crowd broke into enthusiastic applause, still visibly affected by her performance. Some swayed on their feet, eyes unfocused, expressions dreamy. Others whispered to companions, pointing subtly toward the stage.
And for the first time in the decade since he had become Alpha, Damon felt his wolf rage not with protective fury or territorial aggression, but with a desperate, primal need to understand what had just happened to him.
As she took a small bow and moved to leave the stage, the word Marlowe had spoken in hushed tones just weeks before echoed in his mind. A creature of legend. Hunted to near extinction centuries ago by those who feared their power.
Backstage, Elara's hands trembled as she carefully placed her guitar in its case. The pendant at her throat still felt unnaturally warm against her skin. Something had happened tonight that had never happened before. Her power had responded to someone in the audience. It had flared without her conscious control.
She quickly gathered her belongings, nodding a distracted goodbye to Mack as she slipped out the back door into the rain. The downpour intensified as if responding to her emotional state, cold droplets sliding down her neck and beneath her thin jacket. The silver pendant pulsed with lingering warmth against her chilled skin, creating a disorienting contrast of sensations.
As she hurried through the back alley toward the street that would lead to her small apartment above the town bookstore, Elara could not shake the image of those amber eyes watching her. Eyes that had flashed to an impossible gold when her voice had reached its peak. Those were not the eyes of an ordinary man. And whatever he was, he had recognized something in her.
In her experience, being recognized meant danger.
The rain obscured the sounds of the night, but Elara's heightened senses. Another aspect of her abnormality that she kept carefully hidden, picked up footsteps approaching from behind. Heavy, purposeful steps that moved too quickly to be a casual pedestrian.
She quickened her pace, heart hammering against her ribs. The silver pendant seemed to grow heavier, as if warning her. Just as she reached the end of the alley, a deep voice called out.
"Wait!"
The single word carried such authority that Elara found herself freezing in place, even as every instinct screamed at her to run. She turned slowly, rain streaming down her face, to find the man with the amber eyes standing ten feet away. Even through the downpour, she could see the intensity of his gaze. Calculating. Curious. And filled with a shock he was trying to conceal.
Water plastered his expensive suit onto his broad shoulders, but he seemed completely oblivious to the discomfort as he studied her with unsettling focus. Up close, she could see the sharp angles of his jawline. The controlled power in his stance. This was a man accustomed to command, and to being obeyed without question.
"Your voice," he said, his tone a blend of accusation and wonder. "What did you do to me in there?"
Elara's hand instinctively went to her throat, fingers curling protectively around the pendant. "I do not know what you are talking about," she lied, the practiced denial falling easily from her lips. "I was just singing."
A sound rumbled from his chest, something so close to a growl that Elara took an involuntary step backward. The man advanced one deliberate step, and the streetlight at the end of the alley caught his eyes.
They glowed gold for just a moment. Animal eyes on a human face.
"No one just sings like that," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "So I will ask again. What are you?"
Elara felt her back press against the wet brick wall of the alley. Fear constricted her throat, but beneath it surged a different emotion. A defiance that had kept her alive all these years. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and met those inhuman eyes directly.
"I could ask you the same question," she countered, struggling to keep her voice level. "What kind of man has eyes that glow in the dark?"
A humorless smile curved his lips, revealing teeth that seemed just slightly too sharp. "You know exactly what I am," he said quietly. "Just as I am beginning to understand what you might be. Something I thought was only a legend."
He took another step closer, and Elara could feel the heat radiating from his body despite the cold rain. It was as if a furnace burned beneath his skin. The pendant at her throat grew almost painfully hot in response.
"My name is Damon Blackwood," he said, his tone softening marginally. "And I think we have a lot to discuss, singer."
The way he said "singer", with emphasis and significance, sent a chill down Elara's spine. It was the way someone might say "witch" or "monster", a classification rather than a profession.
"I have nothing to discuss with you," she managed, calculating her chances of escaping past him. Slim to none, based on the coiled readiness she sensed in his stance.
Damon's eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly as if listening to something beyond human hearing. "Your heartbeat says otherwise," he murmured. "It is racing like a trapped bird. You know exactly what happened in that pub when our eyes met." He paused, studying her with penetrating intensity. "Your voice suppressed my wolf. That should be impossible."
The blunt statement hung between them, a dangerous truth laid bare in the rain soaked alley. Elara felt the familiar panic rising. The same panic that had driven her from town to town for years. He knew. Not everything, perhaps, but enough to make her a target.
But as Damon stepped even closer, something unexpected happened. Instead of the predatory aggression she expected, his expression shifted to one of cautious wonder. "You are afraid," he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "You are afraid of me, but you are more afraid of yourself."
The accurate assessment struck too close to home. Elara's control slipped, just for a moment, and her next words carried just a hint of her true power.
"Stay back," she warned, the two simple words resonating with harmonics that no human voice should contain.
Damon's body went rigid, his eyes widening as the command washed over him. For a heartbeat, he seemed unable to move, confirming Elara's worst fears about what she could do. Then, with visible effort, he shook off the effect, a mix of alarm and fascination crossing his features.
"Impossible," he whispered, more to himself than to her. Then, louder: "What are you?"
As the rain streamed down between them, Elara realized she faced an impossible choice: flee from this inhuman stranger or confront a truth she had been running from her entire life.
The pendant burned against her skin like a warning. Or perhaps, a guide.
Damon's eyes met hers, the gold now fully eclipsing their human color. "What you did to me," he said urgently, "I have only heard of one kind of creature with this power. A creature hunted to near extinction centuries ago." His gaze flicked to her pendant, recognition flaring in his expression. "A Siren!"
The word hung between them, impossible and terrifying. Elara felt the world tilt beneath her feet as the name connected to a lifetime of unexplained abilities and fears.
A Siren! The word seemed to echo in the rainfall around them. Breaking something open inside her that she had kept locked away her entire life.
As Damon watched her process this revelation, his expression transformed from suspicion to something far more complex. A mixture of wonder, alarm, and realization.
"So it is true," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the rain. "You do not even know what you are."