Elara didn't realize she had started screaming until Dominic burst into the room, his eyes wild and shirt unbuttoned, as if he had flown out of bed mid-dream. Her hands were clutched to her face, blood dripping from her nose and mouth, and her body curled on the marble floor of the penthouse bedroom like a dying animal.
The dreams had come in layers—visions wrapped in emotion. A silver moon drowning in red, ancient voices whispering in languages she didn't know, and worst of all, the sensation of her very bones pulling toward the sky. Something in her blood had stirred awake.
"Elara!" Dominic shouted, sliding across the floor and pulling her up into his arms. "Elara, talk to me!"
She blinked up at him, dazed, her body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Her lips formed words, but they came out broken. "The moon... it wants me... the blood... it's calling me."
Dominic froze.
"Was it a nightmare?" he asked, brushing her hair from her clammy forehead.
"No," she whispered. "It was a warning."
She woke hours later in the infirmary wing of Dominic's penthouse. Yes, he had an infirmary wing—complete with high-tech monitors and an on-call healer named Dr. Jules, a former pack doctor turned private physician for the elite Lycans of the North American Council.
Dr. Jules had given her a sedative, bandaged her nose, and done a full scan of her vitals. But none of it explained the blood or the visions.
Dominic hadn't left her side.
He was seated in the leather chair beside her bed, arms crossed over his chest, dark circles under his eyes. His jaw was clenched tight.
"You shouldn't have seen that," she murmured.
"You shouldn't be bleeding from the face in the middle of the night like something's crawling through your veins," he growled.
She looked away. "It's not your concern."
"It is now. We're mated. Fake or not. If something is happening to you, I need to know."her
She hated the sincerity in his voice. It was too soft. Too vulnerable. It threatened the wall she had carefully built between them.
He leaned forward. "Elara. What was that?"
"I told you. The moon was calling me."
"That's not a normal dream."
"It's not a dream," she admitted. Her voice trembled. "It's a curse."
Dominic didn't react. Didn't laugh or scoff. Just wait.
So she told him.
"When I was born, the midwife screamed," Elara said. "She said the moonlight turned crimson the moment I came out. My mother saw it too. They claimed it was a sign—of what, no one knew."
She sat up slowly in the infirmary bed, the blanket clutched tightly around her.
"I was the first daughter in generations of witches to be born during a lunar eclipse. A 'Blood Moon baby.'"
Dominic inhaled sharply. "Blood Moon births are rare. Dangerous."
"Exactly. My family tried to bind it—my abilities. Tried to hide it. My mother gave up her magic to protect me. But there are consequences. Once the moon calls us... there's no ignoring it."
"What does it want from you?"
"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "But the blood... the dreams... it's starting."
He stood, pacing. "Why now?"
She looked at him. "Maybe because I signed the contract. Maybe because the mark appeared. Maybe because I said yes to a wolf when my blood belongs to the moon."
His eyes darkened.
"Elara," he said, voice low and haunted. "What if this curse can't be hidden anymore? What if it unravels everything?"
She didn't answer.
Because deep down, she feared it already had.
Later that day, while Dominic attended a secret Alpha council meeting, Elara wandered the upper levels of the penthouse.
She found a solarium—glass panels arching toward the sky like a cathedral of stars. A telescope stood nearby, and moon charts lined the walls. It felt ancient and sacred and cold.
The moment she stepped inside, her ears began to ring.
Not just ringing—howling. A high-pitched wail that vibrated in her bones.
She stumbled to the center of the room and collapsed to her knees. Her hands gripped her stomach, and a vision flashed before her eyes:
A
A woman in white robes.
A circle of blood on snow.
A wolf with silver eyes.
Then pain.
Hot, blinding pain ripped through her spine. Her nose began bleeding again.
"Elara!"
She opened her eyes to find Dominic crouching beside her, panic in his face.
"How did you find me?" she gasped.
"I smelled your blood across the floor."
He picked her up in his arms, bridal style, and carried her out of the solarium.
He placed her gently on the living room couch and wiped her face.
"I think," she whispered, "this place is triggering me. It's... connected to my bloodline somehow."
Dominic cursed under his breath. "You said your family was from a moon-born line.
What's their name?"
"Elthara."
He went pale.
"You're an Elthara?"
She blinked. "Why?"
"Because your family didn't just serve the moon. They were the moon's guardians."
Elara stared at him.
Dominic continued, "The Elthara line was hunted nearly to extinction. Your curse—it's not a punishment. It's an inheritance."
And suddenly, everything made sense.
That night, Elara stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapped in a white robe.
Her nose had stopped bleeding, but a dull headache pounded behind her eyes.
She turned her head.
Something shimmered on her neck.
She leaned closer.
It was faint—but there.
A second mark.
Not the mating mark. Not the one Dominic had placed during the ceremony.
This was ancient. Celestial.
It looked like a crescent moon carved in silver flame.
She touched it, and a whisper echoed in her ear:
"Remember who you are."
She stumbled backward, knocking over the lamp.
Footsteps thundered down the hall, and Dominic appeared again.
"What now?"
She turned to him slowly, her robe slipping from one shoulder.
"Dominic," she whispered. "I think... I think I'm not just cursed."
He frowned. "Then what are you?"
She met his eyes, fear and wonder blending into one. "I think I'm chosen."
His breath caught.
And somewhere above, in the skies beyond the city, the moon pulsed in time with her heart.