Shadows of the Moon
Dawn bled slowly over the mountains, painting the mist in shades of silver and ash.
Aiden Cross stood at the edge of the woods, bare-chested, trembling. The last traces of his transformation clung to him — mud streaked across his skin, blood under his fingernails, and a distant ache in his bones that didn't feel entirely human.
He could still taste the night — the forest, the blood, the wild.
And the freedom.
It terrified him.
The sound of rushing water drew his attention. He followed it down to a narrow stream where he knelt, staring at his reflection in the rippling surface. For a long moment, he didn't recognize himself. His eyes glowed faintly gold beneath the morning light.
He plunged his face into the cold water, gasping as it hit him like knives. "Get a grip, Aiden," he whispered hoarsely. "You're still you."
But deep down, he wasn't sure he believed that.
He found an abandoned cabin near the clearing — half-rotten, roof sagging, but with a few forgotten clothes inside. He pulled on an old flannel and jeans, wincing at the bruises along his ribs.
When he finally stumbled back into town, the stares began immediately. People whispered from behind cracked windows, their fear thick enough to taste. News of the murders had spread again — and rumors always traveled faster than truth in Black Hollow.
By the time he reached the station, Chief Marlowe was waiting for him.
"You look like hell," the chief said, his expression unreadable.
"Rough night," Aiden muttered.
"I'll say. You disappeared for twelve hours. Harper said you stormed out after midnight, and now…" Marlowe slid a photo across the desk — another body, mangled in the woods. "We found this two miles from your motel."
Aiden's chest tightened. "You think I—"
"I think I've known you long enough to know when you're lying," Marlowe interrupted. His voice was low but steady. "And right now, I don't know what to believe."
Aiden's hands curled into fists. "You think I killed that man?"
"I think something's wrong with you," Marlowe said softly. "You look… different. Pale. Wild-eyed. Like your father did before—"
"Don't." Aiden's voice cracked like thunder.
The chief studied him for a long moment before sighing. "You need to tell me what's going on, Aiden. Off the record."
Aiden hesitated. He wanted to tell him everything — the attack, the curse, the transformation — but how could he? The truth sounded like madness.
"I'm working it out," he said finally. "Just trust me."
Marlowe shook his head. "Trust doesn't work like that, son."
That evening, Aiden sat alone in his motel room, the weight of suspicion pressing down on him. The pendant he'd found in the woods lay on the table beside his gun, glinting faintly under the lamplight.
He couldn't stop replaying Lyra's words in his head: The curse doesn't choose the willing — it chooses the broken.
His phone buzzed. Unknown number.
He answered. "Cross."
A woman's voice came through — calm, familiar. "You shouldn't be in town when the moon rises."
"Lyra," he said. "You're the last person I want to hear from."
"And yet I'm the only one who can keep you alive."
"I don't need your help."
"You already do. The pack knows who you are now. They're moving."
Aiden's jaw tightened. "Let them come."
She laughed softly. "Still pretending you're just a man with a badge? The hunter doesn't realize he's already part of the hunt."
Before he could reply, the line went dead.
He stared at the phone, pulse quickening.
Then came a sound from outside — a soft thud, followed by the creak of the motel's porch.
Aiden's instincts kicked in. He grabbed his gun, moving silently toward the window.
A shadow shifted just beyond the glass — large, quick. Then came another. And another.
Wolves.
The first one leapt through the window before he could react. Glass exploded inward. Aiden hit the floor as the creature snarled, claws raking across the carpet.
He fired twice — bullets slamming into the beast's shoulder. It staggered, snarling, eyes glowing gold. Then it lunged again.
Aiden rolled aside, grabbed the lamp, and smashed it across its head. Electricity sparked, and the room filled with the stench of ozone and blood.
Before he could reload, two more wolves crashed through the door.
Aiden backed against the wall, heart hammering, gun raised.
"Come on, then," he hissed.
But they didn't attack.
They circled him instead — low growls vibrating through the air, like thunder in their throats. Then, from the doorway, a figure appeared.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Eyes burning like molten gold.
The Alpha.
Aiden knew it instantly. The air shifted around the man — heavy, electric, commanding. He wore no shirt, only a necklace of bones and teeth that clinked softly when he moved.
"Detective Cross," the Alpha said, voice deep and rumbling. "I've waited a long time for you."
Aiden leveled his gun. "You're not going to wait much longer."
The Alpha smiled. "You're brave. Like your father."
"Don't you dare talk about him."
"Oh, I will," the Alpha said, stepping closer. "Because he was one of us. He was my brother before he betrayed the pack."
Aiden's pulse raced. "You're lying."
"Ask your blood," the Alpha said. "It remembers."
He moved faster than sight — one second across the room, the next, his hand wrapped around Aiden's throat. The pressure was crushing.
"You can't run from what you are," the Alpha growled. "You are born of the Hollow. You are ours."
Then something inside Aiden snapped — not in fear, but in rage.
He twisted free with impossible strength, shoving the Alpha back. His eyes flashed gold, his voice deepened.
"I'm not yours."
He punched the Alpha square in the jaw. The sound echoed through the motel like a gunshot.
The wolves snarled and lunged, but Aiden was faster now — moving on instinct, half man, half beast. He fought like something ancient, primal. The world slowed around him, every heartbeat a rhythm of survival.
He shot one wolf, slashed another with his knife, then kicked the Alpha hard enough to send him crashing into the wall.
The Alpha laughed even as blood trickled from his mouth. "Yes. There it is. The Hollow in your bones."
Then, before Aiden could strike again, the Alpha and his wolves vanished into mist — fading like ghosts under the flickering lights.
Aiden stood trembling, covered in blood and dust, his breath ragged.
Outside, the sirens were already wailing.
He grabbed his jacket and bolted out the back, disappearing into the woods just as police cars skidded into the motel lot.
Hours later, he found Lyra waiting for him by the old church ruins.
"You look like hell," she said.
"You have no idea."
She nodded toward his arm. The wound had healed completely — smooth skin where the blood had once burned.
"It's begun," she said quietly. "Your body's accepting the curse."
"I don't want it."
She looked at him with something like pity. "Neither did I."
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. "That Alpha — he said my father betrayed them."
Lyra's expression hardened. "He did. Your father wanted to end the curse. To destroy the magic that binds the Hollow. But betrayal comes with a price. He was hunted… and he died for it."
"And me?" Aiden asked. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Finish what he started."
She stepped closer, her voice almost a whisper. "But to do that, you'll have to embrace what you are. The curse isn't just a punishment—it's a key. Only one born of both worlds can break it."
Aiden's throat tightened. "You're saying I have to become the thing I've spent my life hunting."
"Yes," she said simply. "Sometimes the only way to destroy a monster… is to become one."
The forest wind rose around them, carrying distant howls.
Lyra's eyes flicked toward the sound. "They're moving again. The Alpha won't stop until you choose—pack or prey."
Aiden looked out into the mist, his mind a storm of duty, guilt, and rage.
"I'm not choosing," he said. "Not yet."
She smiled faintly. "Then the moon will choose for you."
Later that night, Aiden found himself back at the edge of town, drawn by the scent of something familiar — blood. He followed it through an alley behind the diner and froze.
A young woman lay on the ground, her neck torn open, still breathing shallowly. Her eyes fluttered open when he knelt beside her.
"Help me…" she gasped.
He reached for his phone to call it in — but the scent of blood hit him like lightning. His veins burned. His teeth ached.
The wolf inside him wanted.
"No," he whispered, clutching his head. "Not this."
His heart raced. His vision flickered gold. The urge was unbearable — the hunger crawling up his throat, whispering to taste, to kill, to feed.
He staggered back, fists shaking.
Then Lyra's voice echoed faintly in his memory: You can control it. Or it will control you.
Aiden dropped to his knees beside the woman again. With trembling hands, he tore his sleeve and pressed it against her wound.
"Stay with me," he muttered. "You're not dying tonight."
Sirens wailed in the distance — getting closer.
When the paramedics arrived, Aiden was gone. Only a blood-soaked piece of flannel remained, and a faint mark of claws in the concrete.
As the moon climbed over Black Hollow, Aiden stood alone on the ridge overlooking the valley. His breath came out in clouds, his eyes burning gold in the silver light.
The town below was quiet. For now.
He knew what came next — the war between what he was and what he had to become.
Behind him, Lyra appeared from the shadows, her gaze fixed on him.
"You saved her," she said.
"I almost didn't."
"That's the point," Lyra replied. "You're walking the edge between man and monster. Stay balanced… or the Hollow will claim you completely."
Aiden turned toward her, the night wind in his hair. "Then teach me."
Her lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. "Welcome to the rebirth, Detective."
And somewhere deep in the forest, the Alpha's howl answered hers — two forces of the same curse, bound by blood and fate, ready for the storm that would decide the future of the Black Hollow Pack.