Chapter Four – Blood Moon Shadows
(Raven's POV, Age 16)
The forest was supposed to be a shortcut. That night, it became a trap.
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. The moon hung low, swollen and red, casting shadows that stretched like claws across the path. My footsteps were quick, restless, but the silence pressed against me.
Then I heard them.
Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Voices low and mocking.
Older boys. They didn't follow quietly; they hunted.
"Thought you could walk home alone?" one sneered, his voice sharp as broken glass. Another laughed, too close. "Pretty little freak. Always running. Let's see how fast you are now."
My stomach twisted.
I tried to walk faster, but they closed in.
"Where you going, Raven?" a third voice taunted. "Don't you want company?"
I kept my eyes forward, forcing my voice steady. "Leave me alone."
They laughed.
One grabbed my arm, yanking me back. Pain shot through me, sharp and sudden. I twisted, nails digging into his skin, but another shoved me hard against a tree. Bark scraped my back, tearing skin. Fear swallowed me whole. My heartbeat thundered, my breath came ragged.
I wanted to scream, but the sound caught in my throat.
"Look at her," one whispered, leaning close. His breath smelled of smoke and cheap liquor. "Eyes like a wolf. You think you're better than us?"
Hands pushed, pulled, bruised. My knees hit the ground, dirt grinding into my skin.
I fought, but I was only human—slim, restless, too small against their weight. My nails tore into one boy's arm, leaving red streaks. He cursed, shoving me harder. Another slammed his elbow into my ribs, the crack echoing in the dark.
"Stop!" I gasped, voice breaking. "Please—stop!"
They laughed louder.
The forest was silent except for them. No wolves, no growls, no voice.
Just me, broken against the earth.
When they finally left, their laughter echoing through the trees, I stayed on the ground, trembling. My arms burned, my ribs ached, blood trickled from my lip.
I whispered to myself, voice shaking. "Why didn't you come? Why didn't you stop them?"
But the forest gave no answer.
I dragged myself home, every step agony. The city streets were empty, the lamps casting pools of yellow light on cracked pavement. My shadow stretched long and thin, a ghost trailing behind me.
The house was empty—my parents gone, the silence heavier than the forest.
I cleaned the wounds myself, hiding the bruises beneath long sleeves. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was pale, hollow-eyed, lips split. I touched the bruises, flinching.
"You're weak," I whispered to myself. "You're nothing."
The girls' messages came that night, sharper than ever: We'll make you pay. You don't belong here.
I stared at the phone until my vision blurred. My fingers hovered over the screen, wanting to reply, wanting to scream.
But I didn't.
Because no one cared. Not the teachers. Not the girls. Not the boys.
And not even the wolves.
That night, I dreamed of the forest again.
The wolves circled me, their eyes burning gold. But they didn't bow. They didn't speak. They only watched, silent and waiting.
I stood in the dream, trembling, blood dripping from my lip.
"Why didn't you help me?" I whispered.
The wolves only stared.
I woke with blood on my sheets, my body aching, my heart hollow.
At breakfast, my mother noticed the way I moved, stiff and slow.
"Raven, are you hurt?"
"No," I said quickly, pulling my sleeves down.
Her eyes narrowed. "You're pale. You're not eating."
"I'm fine."
My father folded his newspaper, his voice sharp. "You're not fine. What happened?"
"Nothing."
They exchanged a look, fear flickering between them.
I wanted to scream, to tell them everything. But the words caught in my throat.
Because I knew, even if they wouldn't tell me, I wasn't like them.
The days blurred.
At school, whispers grew sharper. Boys smirked, girls sneered, teachers stared too long. I felt their eyes on me, heavy, accusing. In the corridors, footsteps echoed behind me, but when I turned, the hall was empty.
At night, the dreams grew worse.
The wolves no longer circled—they lunged. Their jaws split wider than any animal should, teeth stretching into infinity. Inside their mouths, I saw myself, torn and bleeding, eyes glowing gold. The forest twisted into tunnels, walls dripping with black water, shadows crawling across stone. Hands clawed from the cracks, skeletal and wet, grasping at my ankles.
The wolves' voices thundered: OURS.
I woke with claw marks across my arms, though my nails were clean. My sheets were shredded, dirt clinging beneath my fingers.
My parents rushed in, pale and trembling.
"Raven," my father whispered, voice breaking. "You're not like other children."
I stared at him, wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"
He shook his head. "Forget I said that."
But I couldn't forget.
The city itself seemed to turn against me.
Duskmoor's streets whispered. Lamps flickered when I passed. In tram windows, I saw golden eyes staring back. In alleys, shadows stretched too long, following me. Vendors stopped talking when I walked by, their voices hushed, their eyes wary.
I felt the weight of the city pressing down, as though it knew what I was becoming.
One evening, I wandered too far. The fog thickened, swallowing the streets. I heard footsteps behind me, heavy and deliberate. I turned, but the street was empty.
Then a growl cut through the silence.
My chest tightened.
I ran, but the fog thickened, the lamps flickered out, and the city itself seemed to close in. I stumbled into the forest at the edge of Duskmoor, the trees looming, their branches curling like claws.
The wolves were waiting.
Their eyes burned gold, their jaws split wide, their voices thundered: OURS.
I woke screaming, my throat raw, my body trembling.
My parents rushed in, pale and terrified.
My mother clutched my shoulders. "Raven, please, tell us what's happening."
I shook my head. "You know. You know why this is happening."
My father's eyes narrowed. "You're stronger than you should be. Too strong."
My mother's tears spilled. "You're my daughter. That's all that matters."
But it wasn't enough.
The nightmares consumed me.
I stopped sleeping, stopped eating, stopped speaking. At school, I sat alone, staring at the walls, hearing whispers no one else heard. At home, I hid in my room, drawing wolves, eyes, teeth.
My parents argued at night, their voices sharp, their words fragments: bloodline… wolves… claim… ours.
I pressed my hands to my ears, but the words seeped in.
One night, the dream shifted.
The wolves circled me, but this time, they bowed.
Their voices thundered: Queen. Ours. Chosen.
I saw myself crowned in the forest, the moon swollen and red, blood dripping from my hands. My parents stood in the shadows, trembling, their faces pale with fear.
I woke gasping, my sheets torn, my heart hollow.
I knew then, even if they wouldn't tell me, I wasn't like them. I wasn't human. I wasn't theirs. I belonged to the wolves.