Marked by Moon

--- **Chapter One**

**The Girl with the Mark**

*"The blood moon gives, and the blood moon takes. The red wolf does not ask to be born. She is summoned."* > -From *The Chronicles of Luphera* ---

The night Elara was born, the moon bled over the sky like a wound. It hung low and swollen above the pines, casting a strange crimson light over the packlands. Wolves howled into the wind, not in celebration, but in something older. Wilder. Fear threaded the air, thick as smoke. They said her mother screamed the whole way through labor-screamed until her throat bled and her heart gave out. There were no midwives, no healing spells, no Alpha's blessing. Only one woman in a cabin deep on the edge of the territory, clutching her swollen belly beneath a cursed sky. When the child was pulled from her mother's dying body, she was not crying. Not breathing. Until the wind changed. A sudden gust blew through the trees like a whisper-like an ancient thing waking from slumber-and the child opened her eyes. And wailed. That was when the elder women saw the **mark**. Crimson red, shaped like the head of a wolf, curved across her shoulder blade like a brand. Faintly glowing beneath the moonlight. They gasped. Some stepped back. One whispered, *"She bears the Curse."* And the child, still nameless, was left to the cold arms of the midwinter wind. --- They didn't give her a name. Not for weeks. They waited, hoping the mark would fade. Hoping she wouldn't survive the cold. Hoping she wouldn't awaken a prophecy best left buried in the bones of time. But Elara lived. A quiet woman from the outer village took her in, fed her goat's milk, and named her after the moon's forgotten child in the old stories-Elara, the silent star. She grew up far from the Howling Hall, where the Alpha court resided, and where power ran like a river through bloodlines. In the outer woods, where ash trees bowed low and the wolves did not speak of fate, Elara learned not to ask questions. Not to cry. Not to look too long at the red stain that curled across her back like a brand. She was ten when she realized she had no wolf. No shifting. No spark of transformation. No whisper in the back of her mind that others called "the beast within." The other children noticed first. They laughed when she couldn't run as fast, mocked her for walking like a girl with one foot in the human world. And so she stayed silent, and still. --- But the forest never laughed at her. The pines bent toward her as she passed. The wind played in her hair when no one else was near. Sometimes, the birds would land beside her on the riverbank, tilt their heads, and sing as if telling secrets. And always, the moon watched. Sometimes, it looked silver. Other times, pearly white. But when it turned red-once a year, without fail-Elara would sit outside her small cabin, feel the warmth in her shoulder, and wonder. Was it a mistake? Was she cursed? Or chosen? She never asked aloud. Not even when her bones ached with questions. --- When Elara turned seventeen, her guardian fell ill. Mira had raised her like a daughter-taught her how to gather herbs, how to hide when the patrols came near, how to braid her hair in a warrior's weave even if she'd never be one. But now she lay in bed, her skin pale, her breaths shallow. "Go," Mira rasped one night. "You'll have to go to the pack village. Ask the healers for foxroot. Or... something stronger." Elara hesitated. "They won't help me." "Don't ask them to," Mira whispered. "Take what you need. And if you see the Moonstone Path-don't follow it. Not yet." "What's the Moonstone Path?" But Mira only smiled faintly. "The stars will know when you're ready." --- The village was worse than Elara remembered. Stone towers ringed the central clearing, and silver wards buzzed in the air to keep out intruders. Wolves in human skin walked with arrogance, heads high, scents of pride thick in the wind. She slipped through alleyways, eyes down, cloak tight. She didn't need them to look at her. She didn't want them to remember. But someone did. "Isn't that the girl?" a voice whispered near the herb stalls. "The cursed one?" "No, she left. Thought she died." "Her mark. It glowed during the last blood moon." Elara kept walking. In the healer's hut, she moved like a shadow, quick and quiet. She found the foxroot and a pouch of wolfsbane-just in case. And just as she turned to leave, a low growl froze her in place. "You smell like smoke and silence," came a voice behind her. Male. Cold. She turned. A tall boy stood in the doorway, golden-eyed, with a hunting knife strapped to his side. Not a man, not yet. But strong enough to be dangerous. "I don't want trouble," Elara said quietly. "Too bad," he murmured. "Trouble follows the cursed." She stared back. Didn't flinch. And for the first time, something flickered in his eyes. "Go," he said finally. "Before the others see you." --- She ran until her lungs burned. But as she neared the forest's edge, she saw it. The Moonstone Path. It shimmered faintly across the ground-a trail of silver embedded in the soil, like the stars had fallen and bled into the earth. She remembered Mira's warning. *Don't follow it. Not yet.* But something pulled her forward. One step. Then another. And then- **A howl. Deep. Commanding. And ancient.** It rolled over the trees like thunder. Every hair on Elara's arms stood on end. From the edge of the woods, a figure appeared. Not a wolf. Not a man. A **Lycan**. His eyes were silver fire. His presence rippled with power. And when his gaze met hers, something inside her chest sparked-so violently, she staggered. "You..." he murmured. "Your scent..." Elara took a step back. Then his eyes widened. "It's you." She shook her head. "No. I don't know who you think I am-" But he stepped closer. Slowly. As if approaching a vision. "You carry the mark," he said. "And the moon just sang your name." ---