I BECAME HIS LUNA

Selene's POV

They say rogues don't last long.

Most get hunted down before they reach twenty. Some go feral. Others just vanish, swallowed by the woods, or something worse.

Me? I'm still here.

Barely.

"Move it, Wilder," I whisper to myself as I dart between trees, my boots sinking into the mud. Branches slap against my arms like they're trying to hold me back. They never win. Not anymore.

"She went this way!" a voice yells behind me, too close for comfort.

Damn it. That's the third patrol tonight.

I push harder, lungs burning. My wolf claws at the surface, begging to shift, to run faster but I shove her back down.

No. Not now. Not here. Shifting means scent. Scent means death.

The wind shifts. I duck low beneath a fallen log just as footsteps thunder past the clearing. Three wolves. All male. Blood Moon Pack crests stitched on their shoulders.

I curl tighter beneath the log, holding my breath.

"Smell anything?" one growls.

"Nothing. But Alpha said she's dangerous. If we see her, don't engage...just report."

"Dangerous?" the youngest scoffs. "She looked like a half-starved rabbit."

You have no idea.

They move on. Silence creeps back in like fog. I exhale slowly and crawl out from my hiding spot.

One more mile. Just one more mile and I'll be in the neutral zone.

I take off again, sticking to the shadows, letting instinct guide me through the dark. Every snapped twig makes my spine tighten. Every rustle sends my fingers twitching toward the dagger hidden in my boot.

"Why do you always run?" I ask myself out loud, just to hear something other than my own heartbeat. "You could've shifted. You could've fought."

But I already know the answer.

Because shifting means remembering.

Because fighting means someone might recognize me.

And because running is the only thing I've ever been good at.

The cabin appears like a ghost in the night, a crooked little thing buried beneath thorns and fog. It's half-collapsed, reeks of mildew, and still it's the closest thing I've had to home in months.

I slip inside and latch the door behind me. No lights. No fire. Just shadows and silence.

"You're late," Milo's voice murmurs from the corner.

I don't jump. I never do with him.

"Didn't realize you were keeping a curfew," I say, peeling off my soaked jacket.

He steps into the moonlight. Same old Milo: dark hair in his eyes, smirk tugging at his lips, a hint of blood on his knuckles.

"What happened?" I ask, nodding to the crimson smear.

"Had a little run-in with some pack boys on the ridge. Nothing I couldn't handle."

"You're going to get caught one day."

"And you're going to have to stop running eventually."

We stare at each other for a moment. Same old argument. No one wins.

"Any luck?" he finally asks, softer now.

I shake my head. "Their borders are locked down tighter than ever. Patrols every ten minutes. I had to crawl through brambles just to get this far."

Milo frowns. "Then it's time we head south. Blood Moon territory's heating up."

"No," I said immediately.

"Selene-"

"I'm not leaving. Not yet."

He sighs. "You think your answers are here? All I see is a pack that'll kill you on sight."

"Then they'll have to try," I mutter, turning toward the boarded-up window. My hands tremble against the frame.

He watches me for a beat. "This isn't about answers anymore, is it?"

I don't respond.

Because he's right.

It's not just about the visions. Or the whispers in my dreams. Or the fact that my magic's been twitching under my skin like it wants to wake up and burn everything down.

It's about something pulling me here.

"Do you remember anything else?" Milo asks, quieter now. "About the prophecy?"

I close my eyes. I've tried. Moon, I've tried.

I remember flashes. Screaming. Fire. A woman's voice: "She will rise under the Blood Moon..."

And then...nothing. Just cold. Darkness.

"I remember... her eyes," I say finally. "The woman who saved me. She had silver eyes. Like the Goddess."

Milo doesn't speak. He never pushes when I reach this part.

Instead, he says, "You should rest. I'll keep watch."

"Thanks." I lie down on the moth-eaten mattress. The cold creeps in fast, curling around my bones.

I let it.

I dream of wolves.

Their eyes glow like stars, and they circle me in silence. The biggest one steps forward...jet black, scarred, regal. His presence pulls at something inside me.

Do you remember now? he says, but his voice is not a voice. It's a feeling, ancient and deep.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be," I whisper back.

You were never supposed to be hidden.

The dream shifts. The black wolf bleeds light, turning into fire, into his face.

Alpha Aidan Blackthorn.

His eyes burn into mine. Not angry. Not cold.

Curious.

And then...I wake up gasping.

"Milo," I whisper, heart pounding. But the cabin is quiet.

Too quiet.

"Milo?"

I sit up. The door hangs open, a soft breeze curling through it.

He wouldn't leave the door open.

I grab my knife.

And freeze.

A shadow moves outside the window. A figure. Broad shoulders. Tall. Moving fast.

I scramble to the back door, but it's too late.

Boots crunch outside. The front door slams open.

And there he stands.

The black wolf.

Aidan Blackthorn.

His eyes ...those same storm-gray eyes from my dream...lock onto mine.

For a moment, the world forgets how to breathe.

Then he growls, low and lethal: "You've crossed into my land, rogue. And you're not leaving."

I raise my knife, trying to mask the tremble in my hand. "Touch me and I'll gut you."

His lip curls. "You're trembling."

"I'm not scared of you."

"You should be."

He steps forward. I step back.

But it's too late.

Because the moment his fingers graze my wrist, the world shatters.

A spark erupts in my chest. White-hot and blinding.

A mate bond.

No.

No, no, no.

He jerks back like I've burned him. His eyes widened.

"You..." he breathes. "You're..."

I don't let him finish.

I run.