The first light of dawn crept through my window, soft and hesitant, as if even the sun was reluctant to disturb the fragile peace of my little world. I lay there for a long moment, listening to the familiar sounds of our cottage coming to life the creak of floorboards as my father moved about downstairs, the distant clang of the blacksmith's hammer already at work, the rustle of leaves in the old oak tree outside my window. These were the sounds that had lulled me to sleep and greeted me each morning for as long as I could remember. Safe. Predictable.
I stretched beneath the quilt, my fingers brushing against the well-worn spine of the book I'd fallen asleep reading yet again. The pages were dog-eared from countless readings, the story as familiar to me as my own reflection. Not that my reflection had ever held much interest for me just the same ordinary brown eyes staring back, the same unruly brown hair that never quite stayed where I put it, the same soft curves that made my dresses fit just a little too snugly in places the village matrons liked to tut about.
"Elara!" My father's voice shattered the quiet, sharp with that particular edge that meant he'd called me more than once already. "Get down here now, girl. The day's half gone!"
I rolled my eyes at the exaggeration the sun had barely risen but swung my legs out of bed anyway. The wooden floor was cool beneath my bare feet as I padded to the washbasin, splashing icy water on my face to chase away the last remnants of sleep.
The mirror above the basin showed the same face I saw every morning, though today there were shadows beneath my eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. I'd dreamed again last night—strange, unsettling dreams of running through dark woods, of being chased by something I couldn't see but could feel, hot breath on the back of my neck, the certainty of teeth—
"Elara Vale, if I have to call you one more time"
"I'm coming!" I shouted back, shaking off the lingering unease as I quickly braided my hair. The thick brown strands slipped through my fingers like they always did, refusing to be neatly contained. A few tendrils escaped immediately, framing my face in what Mira would call "artfully disheveled" and what my father called "looking like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."
I tugged on my simplest dress—a soft blue thing that had faded with many washings—and laced up my boots before hurrying downstairs. The scent of porridge and woodsmoke greeted me, along with my father's impatient glare.
"You're needed at the market," he said without preamble, shoving a list and a small pouch of coins into my hands. "And don't dawdle with that redheaded menace you call a friend."
I opened my mouth to protest, Mira wasn't a menace, she was just... enthusiastic but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was something off about him this morning, a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there yesterday. His fingers drummed an uneven rhythm on the table, and his gaze kept flicking to the window like he expected to see someone or something there.
"Father? Is everything"
"Just go," he interrupted, his voice strangely tight. "And be back before noon."
The door closed behind me with more force than necessary, leaving me standing in the dusty lane with a growing sense of unease prickling at the back of my neck. The morning was perfectly ordinary birds singing, the distant laughter of children playing near the well, old Mrs. Harlow sweeping her front step like she did every morning but something felt... different.
I tucked the list into my pocket and adjusted the strap of my market basket, trying to shake off the feeling as I started down the path toward town. The walk was familiar enough that my feet knew every stone and dip in the road, leaving my mind free to wander.
Mira would be at the market already, no doubt. She always rose with the sun, claiming the "best hours" were the ones most people wasted sleeping. I could already picture her wild red curls escaping from her braid, freckled nose scrunched in concentration as she haggled over the price of eggs, her quick hands darting out to snatch a berry from a vendor's stall when she thought no one was looking.
The thought made me smile. Mira had been my only real friend since we were children, the one person in Blackwood Hollow who didn't treat me like I was made of glass. Where I hesitated, she charged forward. Where I overthought, she acted. We balanced each other, though my father had never approved. "That girl will get you into trouble one day," he'd grumble whenever she dragged me into one of her schemes.
He wasn't wrong.
The market square was already bustling when I arrived, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and ripe summer fruit. I wove through the crowd, nodding politely to familiar faces as I checked my list. Flour. Salt. A new whetstone for Father's knives. The usual.
I'd just reached for a loaf of bread when a hush fell over the crowd. The hair on the back of my neck stood up before I even turned, some primal instinct screaming at me to run, to hide, to....
"Elara." Mira's whisper was urgent as her fingers closed around my wrist. "Don't look. Just keep walking."
But it was too late. I'd already turned.
And there, at the edge of the market, stood four figures that didn't belong in our quiet village. Four figures that made my blood turn to ice even as something deeper, darker, twisted low in my belly.
The Bloodmoon Pack had come to Blackwood Hollow.
And the way their leader's golden eyes locked onto mine, I had the terrible feeling they hadn't come for trade. The moment my eyes met his, the world narrowed to a single, terrifying point.
Kael, the Alpha Prime of the Bloodmoon Pack, stood at the edge of the market like a wolf among sheep. He was taller than I remembered—broader, too, his shoulders straining against the dark leather of his coat. Golden eyes burned into me with an intensity that made my breath catch. Around him, the villagers shrank back, their chatter dying to whispers.
Mira's grip on my wrist tightened painfully. "Elara," she hissed again, tugging me backward. "Move. Now."
But my feet were rooted to the ground.
Kael's lips curled, revealing a flash of sharp canines. He didn't approach well not yet. He just watched me, as if he already knew I wouldn't run. As if he enjoyed the fear rolling off me in waves.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand and crooked a single finger.
Come.
My stomach lurched. No. No, this couldn't be happening.
Mira stepped in front of me, her voice shaking but fierce. "Don't you dare."
But it wasn't her they wanted.