Chapter 2 — Forbidden Territory
Third Person
The forest pulsed with a quiet energy, its rhythm thrumming in Anjali’s chest like a second heartbeat. She moved cautiously through the undergrowth, her boots sinking lightly into the mossy earth with each step. The Moonlit Pendant against her chest grew warmer, its faint glow pulsing in time with her own breath. The mist thickening around her ankles coiled and drifted like a living thing, its slow, deliberate movements a silent warning she chose to ignore.
She hadn’t planned to venture this far from the cabin. The dream—Selene’s voice, the grove, the altar—had left her restless, the walls of her sanctuary suddenly feeling like a cage. Inside, the heavy air had pressed down on her, suffused with unspoken expectations and memories too sharp to face. Out here, the night was crisp, tinged with pine and damp leaves, the vastness of the forest offering a fleeting sense of freedom.
Or perhaps it was an illusion. Deep down, in the parts of her she refused to examine too closely, she felt pulled. Not just by a need to escape, but by something stronger—an invisible tether, a thread of moonlight drawing her forward.
What was she looking for?
Her fingers brushed absently against the pendant. The cool silver grounded her, a physical anchor to counteract the unease swirling in her chest. She tugged her leather jacket tighter around herself, her breath visible in the chill as she pressed onward. The crunch of twigs and leaves beneath her boots seemed unnaturally loud in the forest’s hush.
The towering evergreens loomed above her, their dark branches weaving a canopy that broke the moonlight into fractured beams. There was a sense of awareness here, just out of reach, as if the forest itself was watching. She paused near a cedar, her amber eyes scanning the shadows.
The sensation crept over her slowly—an itch at the back of her neck, the prickling weight of unseen eyes. She wasn’t alone.
“You’re being paranoid,” she muttered under her breath, though her voice sounded hollow, swallowed by the mist.
A sharp snap cut through the air, freezing her in place.
Her muscles tightened, her senses straining toward the sound. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the nocturnal symphony of rustling leaves and distant howls falling silent.
“Hello?” she called, her voice steady despite the flicker of fear tightening her chest.
No response.
Her fingers flexed at her sides, itching for a weapon she didn’t have. Frustration burned beneath her fear. Once, her wolf would have been enough—keen senses, razor-sharp instincts, a confidence so primal it felt unshakable. Now there was only silence where her wolf should have been, a void that gnawed at her with every step deeper into this wilderness.
Another snap, closer this time.
Her head whipped toward the sound, her pulse quickening. Through the mist, she caught a fleeting glimpse of movement—a shadow, large and fluid, too quick to be human. It slipped between the trees and vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Her breath hitched, the instinct to run screaming through her veins. But she didn’t run.
Instead, she squared her shoulders, her fists clenching at her sides. Her amber eyes burned like molten gold, defiance flaring through her fear. “I know you’re there,” she said, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Come out and stop skulking like a coward.”
The silence stretched, so heavy it pressed against her skin. Then, as if accepting her challenge, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
He moved with the predatory grace of something not quite human, each step deliberate, unhurried. The man—no, not a man—was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark clothing emphasizing his chiseled frame. Silver streaks glinted in his long black hair, and his piercing gray-blue eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
His aura was oppressive, the air around him charged with an unspoken power that seemed to pulse in time with the pendant against her chest. Every instinct screamed what he was.
Lycan.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and deliberate, carrying a quiet menace that prickled her skin.
She lifted her chin, refusing to flinch beneath his gaze. “Walking,” she replied evenly, her tone deliberately casual. “Last I checked, forests were open to everyone.”
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed his sharp features before vanishing. “This is not just any forest,” he said. “You’ve crossed into territory that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Territory?” she echoed, arching a brow. “I didn’t see a sign.”
The growl that followed was low and guttural, vibrating through her chest. His gaze sharpened, the tension in his body coiled like a spring about to snap. “Leave. Now.”
Her pulse quickened, but so did her defiance. She took a step closer, her fingers brushing the pendant as though drawing strength from it. “And if I don’t?” she challenged, her voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding her veins.
The Lycan’s eyes darkened, his posture shifting as he stepped toward her. The weight of his presence pressed against her like a storm about to break. “Then you’ll regret it.”
The pendant grew warmer against her chest, its faint glow intensifying in the corner of her vision. His eyes flicked toward it, his brows furrowing as recognition flickered across his face.
“That…” he started, his words trailing off as his gaze lingered on the pendant.
Anjali’s hand instinctively covered it, her stomach twisting. “What about it?”
His focus didn’t waver, suspicion and something else—something deeper—surfacing in his stormy eyes. “Who are you?” he asked, his tone quieter now, edged with curiosity and wariness.
She hesitated, the question catching her off guard. “No one,” she said finally, her voice tinged with bitterness. “Just a woman trying to survive.”
His expression remained unreadable, though his focus never shifted from her. “That pendant isn’t ordinary,” he stated, his words deliberate.
“It’s a family heirloom,” she replied calmly, her voice firm despite the unease creeping through her. “Nothing more.”
He studied her for a long moment, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then he stepped back, the tension in his stance easing slightly. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice still carrying the weight of warning. “This forest is dangerous, especially for someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” she shot back, her defiance flaring again. “You don’t even know me.”
“No,” he admitted, his gaze narrowing. “But I can sense what you’re hiding.”
Her breath caught, the words cutting far closer than she wanted to admit. She opened her mouth to retort, but the way his eyes bore into hers—like he could see through her, past her defenses and into the parts of herself she barely understood—left her speechless.
“Go back,” he said softly, his tone almost reluctant. “Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it here.”
Anjali swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the pendant. “And what if I’m not looking for anything?” she countered quietly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
He held her gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, his movements fluid and silent as smoke.
The forest seemed to exhale, the oppressive stillness lifting as the sounds of the night returned: the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, the faint howl of a wolf far away.
Anjali released a shaky breath, her legs trembling beneath her as the adrenaline ebbed. She glanced down at the pendant, its glow now steady and reassuring.
Who was he? And why did she feel, deep in her bones, that their paths were destined to cross again?
Turning back the way she’d come, Anjali retraced her steps through the forest. The pull inside her hadn’t lessened; if anything, it had grown stronger. The shadows were converging, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking straight into them.
