The Curse of the Moonborn Lover: Chosen by the Beast with Golden Eyes

The moon wasn't just red-it looked positively apocalyptic, like the gods had taken a razor to the night and left it there, bleeding all over the sky. Not the romantic kind of red, either. This was more... raw. Ugly. Like something out of a fever dream you can't quite shake, no matter how hard you scrub your mind. The cliffs of Vaelith glowed silver, but not in any safe, cozy way-more like they were waiting for something nasty to crawl up out of the black water and gnaw on their roots.

Aria Valebryn stood up there, queen of all she surveyed, or at least that's how it should've felt. But honestly? She was just cold. The wind was howling, properly howling, and her nightgown was no match. It whipped at her like claws, like the ghosts of every dead prince who'd ever tried to win her hand and wound up with a knife between the ribs instead. Down below, the ocean was in a full-on tantrum, waves smashing themselves to froth against the rocks. Somewhere out in the trees, wolves started up, their howls low and guttural, echoing through the dark. If you listened too hard, you'd swear they were chanting her name, or maybe just daring her to come out and play.

Thing is, she was trembling. And not from the wind. It pissed her off, honestly. This was Aria. She'd broken grown men's noses before she was old enough to wear a corset. She'd stitched up her own wounds, spat out teeth, and learned how to lie so well that even her father couldn't spot the truth. The court was a viper pit, and she'd danced through it in bare feet, leaving poison and rumors in her wake. Assassins? Check. Betrayal? Child's play. War? Please. And yet-here she was, death-gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping her from getting swept away. Or maybe she was secretly hoping for the wind to do its worst. Anything to break the tension that'd been building inside her for weeks.

Behind her, the curtains started up their nightly impression of a haunted house. She turned-fast, all nerves and sharp edges, ready for a servant or her father to come stomping in with some fresh disaster. Nope. Room was empty. Just her and her pulse, thumping out SOS in her chest.

These dreams-if you could call them that-were getting out of hand. She'd wake up soaked in sweat, heart jackhammering, thighs slick and aching with need she couldn't explain. Always the same scraps of memory: gold eyes, a voice like thunder, hands she couldn't see but could definitely feel. A promise, dark as spilled ink: "This time, you'll remember me, Aria. Even if I have to burn the world to make you see." It should've been terrifying. Instead, it felt like a dare.

Was she going mad? Maybe. Who would blame her?

She stumbled back inside, wine sloshing out of the bottle as she poured. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and she didn't even bother to wipe up the spill. The fire in the hearth was dying, but the room felt too bright, too exposed, like someone had peeled the skin off her secrets and left them there to sizzle.

And then, as if the universe wanted to prove a point, the fire went blue. Not just a flicker-a full, unnatural flare that painted the walls in ghost-light.

She dropped the goblet. It exploded on the stone, wine everywhere, red as fresh blood. The stain spread across her chemise, warm and sticky, and for a second she thought it really was blood.

She turned, ready to spit in the face of whatever had finally come to collect. And there he was, backlit by the blue flames. He filled the room-no, he owned it. Shoulders you could lay siegeworks on, body carved out of shadow and dusk. His skin shimmered, not quite real. And those eyes... gold, slitted, burning with something ancient and hungry.

"Who the hell are you?" she spat, already moving for the dagger in her boot. No hesitation. The old instincts were still there, sharp as ever.

He just stood there, lazy as a housecat, voice rolling out smooth and slow. "Don't you remember?"

She didn't wait. Dagger out, thrown in a blink. He caught it. Of course he did. Didn't even flinch. The metal in his hand turned to smoke, drifting away like it was nothing. Magic tricks, great.

Her spine was a live wire. Fear and anger tangled up in her chest. "I'll scream," she warned, but it sounded hollow.

He smiled, stepping into the fire's glow. "No one's coming, Lady Aria."

And damn, he was beautiful. Not the pretty, polished kind. No. This was a beauty that hurt to look at, wild and fierce, the sort of face you'd see in a nightmare and wake up wanting. Black hair fell in messy waves, skin bronze, muscles cabled under leather and runes. No crown. No armor. Just this aura of power that made the air stick in her lungs.

"I told you," he rumbled, voice like velvet dragged over gravel, "I'd come for you when the moon turned red."

She squared up. Screw fate. "If you think I'm going to fall into bed because some half-demon says I'm 'fated,' you've got another thing coming."

He actually laughed. Honest to gods, he laughed at her, like she was a child throwing a tantrum. "Oh, I know exactly who you are. You burned me alive once."

That-what? No. The room tilted. Her mouth dried up.

"I-I what?"

He took another step, gold eyes pinning her like a moth. "Three lifetimes ago. You seduced me, then set the temple on fire with me still inside."

The vision hit her like a fist: red silk, bodies tangled, torch in her hand, his scream echoing off stone. Pain, desire, guilt-blurring together.

She jerked back. "No. That's insane. That's not possible."

He shrugged, the set of his shoulders more a threat than any weapon. "Possible or not, it happened. You've always been mine, Aria. And this time, I'm not letting go."

He crossed the space between them. One second, he was across the room; the next, right at her throat. Close enough that her skin prickled, but not touching. All heat and danger and the promise of something she wasn't sure she wanted, but couldn't deny.

Her breath stuttered. His scent was wild-magic and smoke and something hot, like scorched cedar after a lightning strike. Her body betrayed her, muscles clenching, heart hammering out a traitor's rhythm.

He didn't touch her. Not yet. His lips barely grazed her ear, a whisper that burned deeper than any fire.

"When the sun rises, you'll remember everything. Until then... don't run, little flame. It only makes me want to chase."

Then-gone. Smoke, silence, space where he'd been, the room suddenly too big and too small all at once.

Aria collapsed, knees hitting stone, breath ragged, skin flushed like she'd run for miles. That scream she'd been holding back-still stuck, raw and aching in her throat.

Outside, the blood moon pulsed, steady as a drumbeat. And inside her chest, something old and hungry finally woke up. Whatever was coming, she knew it wasn't going to be gentle. Or easy. Or safe.

And honestly? She wasn't sure she wanted it to be.