Aria.
For everyone else, the Blood Moon was magic. For me, it was a cage.
The drums echoed through the valley, slow and heavy at first, then building, as though the earth itself were keeping time with the heartbeat of the pack. Fires roared in towering pits, sparks crackling into the night sky where the Blood Moon loomed, impossibly large and red. It bathed the clearing in its glow, turning silver fur crimson, making eyes flash brighter, making the air buzz with restless, dangerous energy.
All around me, Silver Ridge celebrated. Wolves ran in circles through the clearing, their paws churning up the soil, their howls rising like a hymn to the Moon Goddess. Others danced in human form, bodies painted with symbols, arms raised toward the glowing sky. Lanterns strung between the trees swung with each gust of wind, their golden light mixing with the firelight until everything shimmered. The night pulsed with power, with tradition, with centuries of reverence.
I smiled when people greeted me. I nodded when elders murmured blessings and touched my shoulder with gnarled fingers. Future Luna, they whispered with reverence. The words stuck to me heavier than the beaded gown I wore, tighter than the braided crown pressing down on my scalp.
They weren't celebrating 'me'. They were celebrating what I represented—the promise of order, the continuation of the pack, the perfect picture of strength standing at the Alpha's side. My choices weren't mine. My path was already laid in stone. My destiny was arranged before my birth.
I felt my mother before I saw her. Her perfume—jasmine, sharp and cold—reached me, followed by the gentle yet commanding press of her hand against my arm. I turned, and there she was: Luna Selene of Silver Ridge, poised as always, her smile delicate and dignified, her eyes sharp enough to pierce through me. She was the embodiment of what a true Luna should look like. She carried herself with elegance and composure.
"Aria," she whispered, her voice low, almost musical, though edged with steel. "Stand tall. Everyone is watching."
I straightened my back at once, as if pulled by invisible strings. My shoulders drew back, chin lifted. Her hand brushed mine briefly, the faintest pressure—a silent reminder of what was expected of me. What I was expected to be.
Beside me stood Damien, the Alpha's son and my intended mate. My betrothed, though no vows had been spoken yet. He looked every bit the part he was born to play: tall, broad-shouldered, his posture sharp, his presence commanding. His dark hair caught the firelight as he lifted his chin and accepted the pack's cheers like they were his birthright.
I watched the way people gravitated toward him, how his smile—polished and practiced—seemed to fuel their adoration. When his hand slid against the small of my back, I forced myself not to flinch.
It should have felt right. It should have felt like home. This was destiny, after all. The Alpha's son and the future Luna, bound to lead Silver Ridge into the next generation.
But instead of warmth, his touch left me cold.
"You're too stiff," Damien whispered without moving his lips, still smiling at the crowd. "Relax, Aria. They need to see us united."
I obeyed, curving my lips into what I hoped was a believable smile. But inside, my wolf stirred uneasily. She did not purr at his touch. She did not press against him like instinct demanded. Instead, she paced, restless, her tail lashing.
I tried to ignore it. I really did, I always tried.
The drums grew louder, vibrating through my chest, until the entire pack began to shift. One by one, wolves replaced men and women, fur bursting through skin, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. The howls rose like a storm, blending into one voice, one song of worship. My father, Alpha Roderick, shifted in the center of the circle, his great gray form lifting his head to the sky, his howl leading the pack.
"Shift," Damien whispered at my ear, his breath hot. "It's tradition."
I swallowed, my body trembling with the urge. My wolf clawed at me, desperate to break free, to join the frenzy of bodies celebrating beneath the Blood Moon. But something held me back.
The moonlight felt wrong tonight—not a blessing, but a lure. It pulled at me, not toward the circle, but toward the trees, the shadows beyond the firelight. My pulse quickened. I felt a surge of adrenaline.
My breath grew shallow.
I looked at Damien, at the smile that never reached his eyes. At my mother, regal and proud, nodding in approval as she watched the pack.
At my father, powerful and unyielding, the embodiment of everything I was meant to honor.
And all I felt was suffocation.
The urge to run clawed through me, so strong it was almost painful. My wolf howled inside my chest, begging me to move, to flee, to seek.
Just one night, I told myself. One night to breathe.
I waited until the frenzy peaked, until everyone was lost in the storm of shifting bodies and howling throats. My mother's eyes were on my father. Damien had shifted, his black wolf tearing through the clearing with practiced precision. No one noticed me. No one cared.
I slipped back into the shadows, the hem of my dress brushing the grass as I moved silently toward the treeline. The drums faded with each step, replaced by the steady thrum of my heart. My lungs expanded fully for the first time all night, drinking in the cool night air.
The forest swallowed me whole.
It was quieter here, though not silent. Leaves whispered with the wind. Branches creaked. The glow of the Blood Moon filtered through the canopy, painting everything in eerie shades of crimson. I tugged at the ties of my gown, loosening them so I could breathe, so I could feel free in my own skin.
I exhaled, long and shaky. My wolf eased, no longer pressed against the cage of my ribs but stretching, content. For a moment, I felt peace.
Then a shiver ran through me.
It wasn't the wind.
It was something else—an awareness crawling along the back of my neck, heavy and electric
. My breath caught. My wolf froze, ears pricked.
I wasn't alone.