Chapter 1 — Moonlit Pull
Hendrix
The moon hung low in the inky sky, its silver light spilling through the thin curtains of Hendrix’s modest bedroom. It wasn’t the first night she’d woken up like this—her heart pounding as though it were a warning drumbeat, her skin warm and tingling as if the silvery glow had slipped inside, weaving through her veins. She sat up, kicking off the heavy quilt, and let the cool night air soothe the heat crawling beneath her skin.
The room felt alive. Shadows cast by the moonlight seized her attention, their edges sharp as blades, curling in ways that made her pulse stumble. They seemed to shift, coaxing her toward the window. Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven rhythm. Hendrix pressed a hand to her sternum, as though she could still the chaos within. Too much stress, she reasoned. Too much caffeine. Sleep deprivation.
But the logic felt hollow. Her restless feet found the floor, the boards cool against her soles. Moving almost without thought, she crossed the small room. The wood creaked beneath her weight, the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive quiet. Her fingertips brushed the windowpane, trembling slightly at the cold. A faint vibration buzzed in her hand, as if her pulse had spread into the glass.
Outside, the night was hauntingly still. No chirping crickets. No rustling leaves. Just silence—vast, all-encompassing, unnatural. The moon dominated the sky, its glow draping rooftops and trees in a ghostly brilliance. It was beautiful and terrible, a hunter’s light, and she felt like prey.
Her hand lingered on the glass. Something stirred deep in her chest, primal and magnetic, pulling her toward the night. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was a need, wild and exhilarating, as if her very bones yearned to step outside and surrender to the glow. The sensation sent heat rippling along her arms, down her spine, settling deep under her skin like an unspoken command.
Hendrix blinked hard, forcing herself to break the spell. She shook her head, rubbing her clammy palms together. “Get a grip, Hen,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hendrix?”
A small voice broke the silence, and Hendrix spun, her heart leaping into her throat. Mia stood in the doorway, clutching her well-worn stuffed rabbit by its floppy ear. The faint light from the hallway outlined her tiny frame, making her look impossibly small.
“Mia,” Hendrix said, her voice rasping, still thick with the haze of her thoughts. “What are you doing up?”
“I had a bad dream,” Mia whispered, her wide, tear-brimmed eyes flicking briefly to the window before settling on Hendrix. “And… I heard you moving around.”
Hendrix knelt, holding out her arms. Her protective instincts surged, momentarily drowning the wild, unmoored feeling clawing at her. Mia hesitated only a moment before crossing the room and burying her face against Hendrix’s shoulder. As the little girl’s warmth seeped into her, Hendrix tightened her grip, stroking Mia’s soft curls.
“It’s okay,” Hendrix murmured, her voice steadier now. “It was just a dream. Nothing’s going to hurt you, I promise.”
But even as she whispered the reassurance, her gaze slid back toward the window. The moon loomed like an unblinking eye, and Hendrix couldn’t shake the sensation of something—or someone—watching from the dark.
By the time Mia was tucked back into bed, dawn was just an hour away. Hendrix crawled under her own quilt, her body weighed down with exhaustion even as her mind churned. The pull of the moon still lingered, humming in her blood, relentless. Images floated in her thoughts: flashes of shadow-draped trees, sharp glimmers of light on rushing water, and feral amber eyes staring back at her from the darkness.
---
Sunlight blazed through the kitchen window the next morning, too bright, too cheerful for how Hendrix felt. She poured coffee with a vacant stare as her brother, Ethan, fought a losing battle with the toaster. The acrid scent of burnt bread wafted through the air.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ethan teased, leaning against the counter with a grin. “You look like you’ve been up all night wrestling ghosts.”
“Something like that,” Hendrix muttered, cradling the mug as though its warmth could banish the lingering unease. She glanced at the clock. She was running late but couldn’t summon the energy to rush.
Ethan bit into a charred slice of toast, grimacing. “Did you hear about the wolves?”
Hendrix froze mid-sip. The mug’s ceramic edge pressed against her lip, forgotten. “Wolves?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to make Ethan raise his eyebrows.
“Yeah, someone saw them near Moonveil Forest last night. Big ones, apparently.” He shrugged, taking another bite. “You know how people are—see a stray dog, and suddenly it’s a pack of man-eating wolves.”
Hendrix set her mug down, her fingers tightening around the handle. A shiver ran down her spine, unbidden, and she willed herself to stay calm. “Wolves near the forest…” she murmured under her breath.
Ethan smirked. “Don’t get all freaked out, Hen. It’s probably nothing. This town loves its gossip.”
Before she could respond, a knock came at the back door. Stacey’s golden hair and wide grin filled the screen. “I’ve been waiting forever!” she called. “Come on, we’re going to be late!”
Hendrix grabbed her backpack, casting one last glance at Ethan. His easygoing demeanor didn’t match the coiling tension in her chest. With a curt nod, she followed Stacey out the door.
---
The crisp autumn air bit at Hendrix’s skin as they walked to campus, their boots crunching against the cobblestone streets. Stacey chattered beside her, recounting some absurd story about coffee shop drama between professors. Her hands flew wildly as she mimed exaggerated gestures, her laughter bright against the morning chill.
“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” Stacey asked suddenly, snapping her fingers in front of Hendrix’s face.
“Sorry,” Hendrix admitted sheepishly. She forced her gaze away from the tree line of Moonveil Forest. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Clearly,” Stacey said, narrowing her eyes dramatically. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost—or, I don’t know, a wolf.”
Hendrix’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Ethan mentioned something about wolves near the forest.”
“Oh, that,” Stacey said, waving a hand dismissively. “You know this town. Next thing you know, they’ll be throwing a full moon festival or something. Werewolves and all.” She laughed, but Hendrix didn’t join her.
By lunchtime, the campus buzzed with snippets of wolf-related gossip. Hendrix drifted through her classes in a haze, barely hearing her professors. Her friends’ teasing banter over sandwiches in the quad did little to ground her. She felt disconnected, her thoughts orbiting the moon, the forest, and the strange tug in her chest.
Miranda arrived halfway through lunch, her quiet presence immediately calming the group’s energy. She slid into the space beside Hendrix, her dark eyes sharp and observant. As she leaned forward to pluck a grape from Stacey’s tray, Hendrix noticed the faint gleam of the crescent moon pendant against her skin.
“Have you been to the library today?” Miranda asked casually.
“No,” Hendrix replied, tilting her head. “Why?”
Miranda hesitated. Her fingers brushed her own pendant absently, and her eyes flicked away before returning to Hendrix. “You might find something interesting there. You know… with all the wolf talk.”
Hendrix frowned, studying Miranda’s carefully neutral expression. But she didn’t press. Miranda’s cryptic hints had been increasing lately, each one leaving Hendrix with more questions than answers.
---
The pull was impossible to ignore. Hendrix hadn’t meant to wander to the edge of campus after class, but her feet carried her there anyway, moving as if they had a will of their own. The cobblestone paths gave way to dirt trails, the air sharper and cooler as she neared the towering pines of Moonveil Forest.
The forest loomed, dark and wild, its shadows stretching out like fingers to greet her. The metallic scent of damp earth mingled with something sharper—something foreign. Hendrix’s pulse quickened, her breath drawing in shallow and quick. The pull tugged at her chest, insistent and undeniable.
A low growl rumbled through the silence, distant but unmistakable. The sound froze her in place, her blood running cold. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her instincts screaming to turn back, to run.
But she didn’t move—couldn’t. The forest called to her, something deeper than fear tightening its grip around her heart.
Finally, trembling, Hendrix stumbled back. She turned and fled, her steps quick and uneven on the dirt path. The growl echoed faintly in her ears, chasing her all the way back to campus.
Whatever was waiting in the forest, she wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet.
