Chapter 3 The hunters moon

Chapter Three: The Hunter's Moon

Mara didn't sleep the next night.

Her body still ached in strange places-her ribs, her fingers, the soles of her feet. But it wasn't just the physical toll of the shift that kept her awake. It was the silence.

The silver-blue wolf hadn't returned.

She felt its absence like an echo. Something had changed during the Binding, something permanent. Her senses remained sharpened. She could hear the creek behind the house from her room. Smell Clara's tea brewing before the kettle even whistled. But that deep connection-the wordless voice in her mind-was gone.

Clara said it would return, in time. That the forest didn't speak twice unless it had reason.

But Mara couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching her. Not the forest.

Something else.

Raven Hollow had a way of noticing change without admitting it. The day after Mara's transformation, whispers chased her through the streets.

"She looks different," someone muttered at the bakery.

"Blackwood girl's been walking funny," said another near the well. "Too quiet."

Mara ignored them. She'd grown up with their stares. Their fear. But now, she understood it. They weren't afraid of her. Not really.

They were afraid of what she might become.

"Let them talk," Clara said, slicing herbs on the kitchen table. "The more they whisper, the less they act. But stay alert. The next full moon is the Hunter's Moon."

Mara raised an eyebrow. "That's just a name, right?"

Clara gave her a look. "No. The Hunter's Moon is the blood moon. The forest calls its own to test them again. And not everyone who roams that night is a wolf."

Mara frowned. "You think someone's coming?"

Clara didn't answer.

That evening, Mara ventured to the edge of the forest again. Not to shift-she wasn't ready-but to listen.

The trees were alive with the hum of autumn. Leaves whispered secrets in the breeze. A fox darted past her boots without fear. She was one of them now, in a way. But that didn't mean she belonged.

She felt it before she heard it: a disturbance in the rhythm of the forest.

Something unnatural.

Then-footsteps.

Not her aunt's. Not a villager's. Heavier. Measured. Hunting steps.

She ducked behind a tree and held her breath.

A man emerged through the underbrush. Tall, cloaked, his face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. On his back hung a blade nearly as long as his torso, silver glinting at the edges.

A hunter.

He paused at the clearing, sniffed the air, then knelt. His fingers brushed the dirt, right where Mara had shifted nights ago.

"She's near," he murmured.

Mara backed away slowly, heart pounding. The hunter didn't hear her-but something else did.

A low growl echoed through the trees. Her growl.

No. Not hers.

The silver-blue wolf stepped into the clearing, hackles raised, teeth bared.

The hunter rose to meet it. "You again," he muttered. "Still guarding the cursed?"

The wolf growled louder, but didn't move.

"I'm not here for you tonight," the hunter said. "But the moon rises soon. And when it does... she's mine."

With that, he turned and vanished into the trees.

The wolf didn't chase him. It turned to where Mara stood hidden, locked eyes with her.

He knows what you are.

Then, like mist, it was gone again.

Back at the cottage, Mara slammed the door behind her. "There's a hunter. In the woods. He's tracking me."

Clara paled. "What did he look like?"

"Tall. Silver sword. Wears a dark coat. Like something out of a nightmare."

Clara's hands gripped the table edge. "I hoped we had more time."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Alaric Dorne. He's from the Eastern Orders. They train to kill anything touched by old magic-especially the Bound. They see us as abominations."

Mara paced, the floorboards creaking. "Why now?"

"The Binding left a mark," Clara said. "You're not just a werewolf anymore. You're a symbol. To some, that's sacred. To others, it's a threat."

Mara clenched her fists. "So what do we do?"

"We prepare. You'll need to shift again. Control it. Learn to fight as both girl and wolf. Because when the Hunter's Moon rises, he'll come for you."

The next week passed in a blur of training.

Clara taught her how to run without sound, how to recognize magical wards, how to channel the wolf without losing herself. Each night, Mara shifted beneath the half-moon, holding her form longer, mastering the voice inside.

But something else grew too. A heat in her chest. Not rage. Not fear.

A hunger.

It scared her.

"What if I lose control?" she asked one night, panting after a shift.

"You won't," Clara said. "Because you care. That's your anchor. Don't let the hunger define you-use it."

Mara nodded, but in the dark, she could still feel the wildness pushing at the edges of her soul.

On the night of the Hunter's Moon, blood red and swollen in the sky, Mara stood at the edge of the clearing once again.

She no longer trembled.

She was ready.

Alaric emerged from the shadows, blade drawn, eyes burning.

"I gave you a week," he said. "To run. You stayed. Foolish."

"No," Mara said. "Prepared."

She dropped the cloak and let the shift take her.

Bones broke.

Fur bloomed.

Her eyes glowed violet.

The silver-blue wolf stepped out beside her.

And Alaric smiled grimly. "So it's true. The forest stands with you."

He raised his sword.

The forest held its breath.

And the battle began.