Velaris, 131 years before the Crimson Eclipse

The moon bled that night.

Over the black forest of Velaris, a crimson halo circled the sky like a warning whispered to gods long forgotten. The ground pulsed. Trees howled. And beneath them, a man knelt over the woman he'd sworn never to touch.

"I shouldn't have come," she whispered, trembling.

"You called me, Lira." His voice was cracked, feral. "You were in heat,do you know what that does to a wolf like me?"

Lira's breath caught. Her shift dress clung to her curves, soaked from the river she had just crossed. "If I let you bite me… the bond will never break."

"You don’t want it to break."

In a single breath, he crossed the space between them. His hands were rough, large, trembling—not from fear, but restraint. He touched her jaw, tilted her head. Her pulse fluttered. His eyes glowed silver.

"You’ll be mine, forever," he growled.

"Then take it," she whispered.

The bite was brutal,cruel in its passion. And when the blood touched the moonlight, a scream shattered across Velaris.

The Moon Queen had been born.

Rhea Voss hated snow.

Not because of the cold,she was used to that. Crescent Valley was blanketed in frost nearly ten months of the year. It wasn't even the way the snow stuck to her boots or soaked through her cloak. It was what the snow hid that made her blood feel cold.

It buried tracks. Covered blood. Silenced death.

Rhea tugged her hood tighter against the wind as she moved between frostbitten trees, her basket rattling at her hip. She’d come out to forage bloodroot and graycap;herbs that only bloomed under the first snow of midwinter,but something had felt wrong since she left her cottage.

The wind didn’t sound right.

She knelt by the base of a twisted yew tree, scraping gently in the snow. Her gloved fingers brushed soft petals there. Bloodroot. Enough for two batches. She reached to pluck it when

A growl split the silence.

Low. Animal. But not quite.

Her body froze. The sound hadn’t come from far maybe thirty, forty paces through the thickets. It wasn’t the usual cry of a wolf or a bear. It was wet, labored. Painful.

She stood slowly, adjusting the knife she kept strapped to her thigh. Her breath puffed in slow clouds, heart pounding as she moved toward the sound.

The snow deepened the farther she went, clinging to her legs like fingers. Trees closed in. Shadows twisted. Then she saw him.

A man,if he could even be called that lay slumped at the base of a tree, blood spreading beneath him like a black flower. He was completely naked, save for the tangled mat of dark hair across his head and chest. His body was marked with gashes that pulsed, healing too fast. His back rose and fell with shallow breaths.

And on his shoulder, burned into the skin, was a mark: three crescent claw-marks, glowing faintly silver beneath the blood.

Rhea’s throat tightened.

She stepped forward, snow crunching beneath her. His eyes flew open.

Silver. Not gray. Not blue. Glowing silver.

"Don’t touch me,” he rasped.

His voice was deep, animalistic like a growl shaped into words.

Rhea didn’t move. “You’re bleeding.”

“I said,don’t.”

“You’ll die if I don’t help you,” she snapped, kneeling beside him anyway. His blood was hot, almost too hot. Steam curled where it touched the snow.

“I’ve died before,” he whispered. Then his eyes closed.

Rhea cursed under her breath and dropped her basket. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human;not fully. But he was hurt. Alone. And something inside her;stupid or brave couldn’t just walk away.

She dragged him, groaning under his weight, through the snow and back to her cottage.

By the time she laid him down before the hearth, his skin had started to shimmer faintly in the firelight. Like moonlight on water. Her fingers trembled as she cleaned the blood from his neck.

She didn’t notice the tiny silver crescent glowing just beneath her own collarbone until much later.

The man hadn’t moved all night.

He lay still beneath the fur throws on Rhea’s cot, his breaths shallow, but steady, as the fire cracked beside him. Outside, the storm raged on—snow pelting the windows like tapping fingers, wind howling like it carried ghosts between the trees.

Rhea hadn’t slept.

She kept to her chair across the room, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, a dagger nestled beneath her hand. She had no idea what he was—or how he had survived wounds that should’ve killed him—but something in her bones whispered that this wasn’t a man who could be trusted.

At least, not by the rules of ordinary men.

At dawn, she moved to change the compress on his head. His body was burning—fevered, sweating despite the cold—but his wounds were... fading. Already, claw marks that had been raw and bloody the night before had closed into faint scars.

And the mark on his shoulder... had changed.

The three crescent-shaped claw marks were no longer red, but black—veined through with silver, like cracks in stone that glowed with moonlight. The lines branched out from the scar, threading along his collarbone like a living tattoo.

"What the hell are you..." Rhea murmured, reaching out to touch it.

Her fingers barely grazed his skin before his hand snapped up—fast as a whip—and caught her wrist.

“Don’t,” he growled, voice thick with something wild. “Don’t touch me.”

His grip wasn’t crushing, but it was strong. Inhuman. She froze, staring into eyes now wide open and glowing like molten silver.

“You’re awake,” she whispered.

He slowly released her hand and sat up, fur sliding down from his bare torso. The way he moved—controlled, deliberate—reminded her of a predator preparing to pounce.

“Where am I?”

“My cottage,” Rhea said, stepping back. “About three miles from the Crescent Valley border. You were bleeding to death in the woods. I dragged you here.”

He blinked, processing. Then his jaw tensed. “You should’ve left me.”

Rhea scoffed. “You’re welcome.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, low. “I’m dangerous.”

“Clearly,” she said, arms crossed. “But you’re also injured and half-naked, so maybe don’t posture like you’re about to kill me.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment too long. “I didn’t kill you. That should worry both of us.”

Rhea’s stomach twisted. She hated the way his words thrilled her.

“I need to know what you are,” she demanded.

The man was quiet for a long time. The fire popped between them.

Finally, he spoke. “Kael.”

“Kael what?”

He tilted his head. “Just Kael. And I’m the thing they whisper about when the wind howls at night. The one they pray doesn’t come through the trees.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes. “You’re a werewolf.”

His smile was grim. “Not exactly.”

Then his gaze flicked to her neck—and he froze.

“What?”

He stood up slowly, ignoring her question, and stepped toward her. For a moment, Rhea stiffened, her hand brushing the dagger on the table. But Kael didn’t attack. He stopped just inches away, eyes locked on the hollow of her throat.

“You’ve been marked,” he said softly.

Rhea’s heart skipped. “What do you mean?”

He raised a hand, slowly, and pointed to the base of her collarbone. She reached up—and felt it. A tiny crescent-shaped ridge beneath her skin. Faint. Cool. And new.

“That wasn’t there yesterday,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“No. It wouldn’t have been.”

“What does it mean?”

Kael’s jaw clenched. “It means the moon sees you now. And that mark… it’s a claim. A warning.”

“A warning to who?”

“To every wolf in Velaris.”

Rhea backed away, confused and suddenly cold. Her skin prickled like it wasn’t entirely hers anymore. The room was spinning slightly, heat rising behind her eyes. And then—without warning—a sharp ache bloomed deep in her stomach. Not pain. Not hunger. Something else.

She gasped, doubling over, clutching the table for balance.

Kael moved toward her, voice suddenly raw. “Your body’s reacting. The mark’s triggering the bond.”

“Bond?”

“Shit,” he muttered, backing away. “I can’t stay here.”

“You’re not going anywhere until you explain—what the hell is happening to me?”

But Kael was already at the door, muscles tense.

“I haven’t touched you,” he said. “But something’s been set in motion. And if I stay... I won’t be able to control it.”

“Then go!” she shouted, her eyes stinging. “I’ll figure it out without you.”

He hesitated for a beat—looking at her like he wanted to say something else—but then turned and disappeared into the snowstorm.

Rhea stood trembling, skin burning, every inch of her body humming like lightning trapped beneath her skin.

And somewhere deep in the forest... a howl echoed.

Her veins lit up like fire.