THE FOREST BETWEEN US
The first week outside Silvercrest was the hardest.
Luna Morgan, once revered as the future Luna, wandered through unfamiliar woods with nothing but a half-filled pack and a mind full of screams she didn't let out. Her feet blistered. Her powers flickered. Her wolf stayed silent.
The silence was the worst.
She thought maybe, just maybe, distance would dull the pain. But each step away from the territory where she was born only magnified the void left in her chest. It wasn't just the rejection—it was everything it represented. The years of expectations. The buried fears. The facade she maintained for everyone but herself.
And Asher. His name was still a blade.
She didn't know how far she walked. The forest bled into itself—lush trees, thick undergrowth, birds that sang songs she didn't know. She kept moving. She found water where she could. Ate when berries or herbs crossed her path. She slept under trees and used her pack as a pillow.
She'd always been taught the wild was dangerous.
But for the first time in her life, she didn't care.
One night, while huddled in a rocky alcove beneath a cliff, she felt something stir deep inside. A flicker. Not quite a voice. Not quite a presence.
Her wolf.
It didn't speak. It didn't rage. It just... watched. Waiting. Wounded, but not gone.
That gave her strength.
By the time she crossed into neutral lands, she was gaunt, sunburned, and hollow-eyed—but standing. Every mile she put between herself and Silvercrest made her breath a little easier. It didn't erase the pain. But it made space for other things. Possibilities.
On the twelfth day, she stumbled upon a village.
Not a wolf village. A human one.
Tiny houses with tin roofs and vegetable gardens. Curious eyes followed her as she entered, barefoot and wild-haired. She approached a woman who reminded her of her grandmother—short, brown-skinned, with knowing eyes and strong arms. Without asking questions, the woman gave her water, food, and a place to sleep.
Her name was Mavis.
"You look like someone who forgot what her soul sounds like," Mavis said the next morning, handing Luna a cup of something herbal and bitter.
Luna didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Mavis let her stay. In exchange, Luna helped in the garden, cleaned, and occasionally healed the sick using powers she tried to hide.
But the village noticed.
The children called her 'witch,' but with reverence. The adults avoided her eyes but left small gifts outside her cabin—a loaf of bread, a hand-stitched scarf, dried fruit.
They respected her pain, even if they didn't know it.
Weeks passed.
Seasons shifted.
Luna found a rhythm. Not peace, exactly, but something like it. She planted herbs. She learned the names of birds. She even laughed once when a goat ate her shirt.
And slowly, her wolf began to stir.
The first time she shifted again, it wasn't because she had to.
It was because she wanted to.
She walked into the forest alone, left her clothes folded by a tree, and surrendered.
Her body cracked and changed—but this time, she didn't resist.
The fur felt like a blanket instead of a curse.
The paws hit the earth like freedom instead of burden.
Her wolf ran, fast and hard, through the woods—howling not in pain, but in release.
When she shifted back, Luna cried.
Not from grief. But from relief.
"I'm still me," she whispered into the night.
That was when the dreams started.
At first, they were fragmented. A pair of eyes—green, glowing. A hand reaching through fog. A voice saying her name like a vow.
Not Asher's.
Someone else's.
Someone she didn't know.
Or maybe hadn't met yet.
She didn't tell Mavis.
But the dreams grew stronger.
One night, she saw a face. Sharp jawline. Messy dark curls. A crescent-shaped scar over one brow. He looked at her like he knew her.
And then, he whispered: "Come find me."
She woke up shaking.
That morning, Mavis found her by the fire, staring into the embers.
"Dreaming again?" the older woman asked.
Luna nodded.
"Then it's time."
"Time for what?"
"To stop running. And start seeking."
Luna left the village two days later.
Mavis packed her food, tucked a charm into her pocket, and kissed her forehead.
"You're not broken, child. You were just never meant to live in a cage."
Luna smiled for the first time in months.
The road ahead was unknown.
But she was ready.
She walked for days, following the tug in her chest. Her powers sharpened. Her senses heightened. Her wolf, now fully awake, guided her.
Then she reached Blackthorn Ridge.
It was rumored to be haunted. A place where rogue wolves went to die or disappear. No packs claimed it. No territories marked it.
Which made it the perfect place to find what didn't want to be found.
The forest here was dense. Trees towered like sentinels. Mist clung to the ground like a second skin. Her instincts tingled with each step.
Then she saw him.
Not in a dream. Not in a vision.
But real. Flesh and blood. Standing by a stream, shirtless, his skin scarred but strong. His eyes met hers—and widened.
She knew him.
From her dreams.
He smelled like pine and storm clouds.
He said one word:
"Mate."
Her world cracked again—but not from pain.
From possibility.