The late afternoon light slanted through the trees, painting gold lines across the kitchen counter. Poornima stood by the open window, the faint breeze carrying the scent of wet soil and lemongrass.
Dhruv's backyard was a living pantry — tomatoes heavy on the vine, herbs swaying gently in the wind, rows of beans and gourds climbing up trellises. She couldn't help herself. The colors, the freshness — it reminded her of her grandmother's garden.
So she tied her hair up, rolled her sleeves, and got to work. Within minutes, the cabin filled with the homely smell of sautéed vegetables and garlic.
"Let's see," she murmured, stirring the pan. "Maybe he'll finally eat something that isn't just coffee."
She smiled faintly to herself, unaware of the figure who had quietly entered through the back door.
"Smells divine," came a gentle, mature voice.
Poornima turned sharply. A woman stood at the doorway — poised, silver strands woven into her dark hair, her presence calm yet commanding. Her eyes — deep and perceptive — studied Poornima with quiet recognition.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Poornima said quickly. "You must be—?"
"Rupa," the woman said with a small smile. "Dhruv's mother."
Poornima straightened awkwardly. "Oh! I didn't mean to intrude. I just—his garden was so beautiful, and—"
Rupa raised a hand softly. "Relax, child. You belong here more than you know."
Poornima blinked, unsure if she heard right. "I… what do you mean?"
Rupa stepped closer, her gaze warm yet unsettlingly intense. "You've grown. Just like your mother."
Poornima froze. "You knew my mother?"
"I did," Rupa said, her voice distant now, like she was reaching into memory. "A gentle soul, strong-willed, and marked by the moon's blessing."
Her eyes dropped to Poornima's throat. "You still carry it, I see."
Poornima instinctively raised her hand to her neck. The faint silvery birthmark — a coin sized shaped like a full moon with a light silhouette of wolf howling in it — was just barely visible where her collar had slipped open.
"How—?" she began.
Rupa tilted her head, a faint smile curving her lips. "It's hard to mistake the moon's mark. You've done well hiding it all these years."
Poornima's pulse quickened. She usually kept it concealed — with makeup or high collars — even as a child her mother taught her to conceal it.
Rupa's gaze shifted to the pendant glinting against Poornima's skin — a soft, milky stone set in silver. "And you still wear the moonstone," she murmured. "The Grand Seer would be pleased. His blessing has stayed with you. I was worried you would lose it over the years."
Poornima's brows furrowed. "The Grand Seer? Blessing?"
Before Rupa could answer, the door opened sharply.
Dhruv stepped in, dust still on his boots, his expression instantly darkening when he saw them. "Mother."
Rupa turned, unruffled. "You're home early."
"What are you doing here?" he asked flatly.
"I came to see my son. Is that a crime?" Her tone was calm, but her eyes glimmered with something sharp beneath the surface.
Poornima stepped back slightly, uneasy.
Dhruv noticed the tension in her shoulders and turned on his mother. "Stop it," he said, voice low. "Don't fill her head with your stories."
"Stories?" Rupa's smile didn't falter. "You think hiding the truth will protect her? You forget, Dhruv — she was part of this long before she ever met you."
"That's enough," he said sharply. "Go home."
For a moment, silence stretched between them — a mother and son bound by too many unspoken things.
Rupa finally sighed. "You always did run from what you are." Her gaze softened as she looked at Poornima one last time. "Be careful, dear. Some destinies can't be denied — no matter how much men like my son try to fight them."
And with that, she turned and left through the same back door she'd come in from, the faint jingle of her bangles fading into the forest air.
Poornima stood motionless, heart pounding. "Dhruv… what was she talking about?"
Dhruv ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "She talks too much. Forget it."
But even as he said it, his eyes flicked briefly to the pendant around her neck — and something in them darkened. It was the first time he had seen the moon's mark on her.
"Mark the one with the mark of the moon." The Grand Seer's words resonated in his mind.
And now, he couldn't ignore it anymore.
The Grand Seer's words.
The moon's mark.
And the cursed ones who hunted her.
It was all connected.
No matter what Dhruv said, Poornima couldn't shake off the feeling that his mother knew something about her — something buried deep in her past. And who was this Grand Seer? The name lingered in her mind like a whisper that refused to fade.
The weekend sun filtered through the forest canopy when Dhruv suggested a walk. Myra, Rishi, and Sonu joined in, eager to shake off the week's tension. The forest stretched endlessly — ancient and alive — the air thick with the scent of moss and wild jasmine.
Poornima trailed behind them, entranced. The gnarled roots, the symphony of cicadas, and the occasional flutter of a bird's wings made her heart swell with a strange nostalgia. The deeper they went, the more she felt it — the pull of something old and familiar, as though the forest itself remembered her.
When they reached a clearing, sunlight spilled over smooth rocks, and a narrow stream glimmered like liquid crystal. They sat by the water's edge, laughing softly, dipping their hands into the cool current. Dhruv watched Poornima as she smiled, her reflection rippling in the stream — a fleeting moment of peace he didn't want to end.
Then the mood shattered.
A low whistle sliced through the calm, followed by the sound of snapping twigs. From the thicket emerged a man — tall, broad-shouldered, bare-chested except for a pair of boxer shorts. His presence was commanding, predatory. His eyes gleamed with something darker than curiosity.
Raghav.
The Alpha of the Moonstone Pack — and Dhruv's half-brother.
His gaze swept over them, pausing when he caught Poornima's scent. His lips curled into a mocking smirk. "A human?" he drawled, voice low and edged with malice. "You've been keeping interesting company, little brother."
Dhruv's muscles tensed. Without thinking, he stepped in front of Poornima, shielding her.
It was instinct — and a mistake.
Raghav's smirk deepened. "Ah," he murmured, eyes narrowing with wicked delight. "So that's how it is."
For a long moment, he just stood there — taking in Dhruv's protective stance, the flicker of defiance in his eyes. Then, with a soft chuckle, he turned away, whistling as he walked back into the trees.
When he was gone, the forest seemed to grow still again. Only the distant sound of rushing water filled the silence.
Poornima's hand clutched her pendant unconsciously, the moonstone glinting faintly. A shiver ran down her spine. Something about Raghav's presence — his scent, his stare — made her feel exposed, as if he had seen more of her than she wanted anyone to see.
Dhruv turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Don't let him get to you," he said quietly.
But even as he spoke, Poornima could tell — Raghav had gotten to him.