Chapter 2 — Echoes in the Moonshadow

Logan Kane

The forest whispered with secrets.

Moonshadow Forest stretched endlessly around Logan Kane, its canopy so dense that only fractured beams of moonlight reached the forest floor. Twisted roots and damp moss formed a treacherous path, but he moved silently, each step deliberate, his movements light and precise. The chill of the crisp night air brushed against his skin, and the familiar scents of pine and wet earth filled his senses. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, its cry swallowed by the rustle of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot.

Logan sucked in a deep breath, letting the forest center him. It had been years since he last ventured into this part of Blackmoor territory. The air here was different—saturated with the tension of old traditions and the ghosts of memories that clung to him like the mist slithering through the trees. What would they do if they saw him now? If they caught a glimpse of the man they had cast out, labeled a traitor? He supposed it didn’t matter. He’d already survived their worst punishment—exile. The rest paled in comparison.

His scar itched faintly—a dull reminder of the past etched into his skin. He scanned the forest with silver-gray eyes, sharp and unrelenting, catching every flicker of movement. The forest was alive tonight, humming with something that set his instincts on edge. A shift. A warning. The kind of feeling that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. If he could feel it, Eliza surely could too.

The thought of her sent a pang through his chest. Eliza.

Her name stirred something deep inside him, a warmth that clashed against the cold bitterness of his exile. The last time he had seen her, she had been younger—her sharp amber eyes filled with wonder and gratitude as she clung to him after he had saved her life. That moment had bound them together in ways neither of them had dared to fully speak aloud. Now, years later, the memory of her still burned bright, even in the shadows of Moonshadow Forest.

Logan’s hand drifted to a small object tucked into the pocket of his jacket: a frayed piece of fabric, soft and faded. A scrap from the scarf Eliza had been wearing the night he saved her from the rogue bear. He had kept it all these years, a talisman of sorts—reminding him of what he had lost but also of what still tied him to Blackmoor. To her.

He had to see her.

Logan stopped at the edge of a narrow river that wove through the forest like a silver thread. Kneeling, he dipped his hand into the icy water, letting it cool the heat rising in his chest. His reflection stared back at him, distorted by ripples. The scar, the unkempt dark hair, the wary eyes—they all belonged to someone who had become a stranger even to himself. He scrubbed a hand across his face and straightened, the faint scent of wolves nearby pulling his focus.

He had been careful to avoid the patrols. The pack had grown more vigilant since his exile, especially with the Lunar Choosing ritual looming. He could sense them in the distance—steady footfalls, the faint crack of a branch, the quiet hum of their presence in the air. They were close but not close enough to notice him. Not yet. He slipped deeper into the shadows, letting the forest swallow him whole. He knew the paths better than most. Exile hadn’t dulled the instincts drilled into him since he was a pup.

As he moved, Logan’s thoughts drifted to the night that had shattered his life. The accusations had come like a storm, swift and unrelenting. He still remembered the voices of his accusers, wolves he had fought beside, trusted. Their words had cut deeper than claws ever could. And his father… Logan’s jaw tightened. His father’s silence had been the final blow. The way Marcus Blackthorne had turned away in that moment was etched into Logan’s memory, a wound that refused to heal.

The anger bubbled to the surface, hot and searing, before Logan forced it back down. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. There were more pressing matters—dangers that lurked in the forest, threats he had pieced together during his years of exile. Adrian’s name surfaced unbidden in his mind, along with the memory of whispers he had overheard from wandering rogues. Something was happening in Blackmoor, something that could tear the pack apart if left unchecked.

A sharp crack echoed through the forest, too loud to be a falling branch. Logan froze, his ears straining as his senses flared. He crouched low, muscles coiled, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife at his belt. The pack? No. The sound came from further away, toward the heart of Blackmoor territory. The air shifted, carrying with it the faint scent of fire—subtle but enough to set his nerves on edge.

His sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something on the ground—a faint set of tracks, irregular and heavy. They weren’t wolf tracks. Logan’s fingers brushed over the indentations, his mind cataloging their depth and pattern. Human. Hunters. The realization sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He followed the trail, moving through the forest like a shadow. As he walked, fragments of his past emerged unbidden. The night of his exile played out in flashes—the accusations, the glares of his packmates, his father’s hardened expression. Most of all, Logan remembered standing on the edge of the clearing, the moonlight pouring down on him as they cast him out, the weight of centuries of tradition slamming into him like a death sentence.

And yet, even then, she had been there. Eliza, standing just behind Marcus, her amber eyes locked on his. There had been no judgment in her gaze, no hatred, just… something else. Something that had kept him alive, even as he left everything behind.

The forest thinned as Logan climbed a gentle slope. In the distance, through the trees, the faint outline of Blackthorne Hall came into view. The structure loomed in the moonlight, a place of power and authority—both of which had been denied to him. He crouched at the edge of a ridge, staying hidden as he studied the hall.

The clearing around it was alive with movement. Wolves moved purposefully, their faces grim, their bodies tense. Even from this distance, Logan could see the strain etched into their expressions. He recognized some of them—wolves he had once called friends. Now they were strangers, their loyalty tied to Marcus and the traditions that had exiled him. Logan’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to focus.

Eliza would be there.

He scanned the clearing, his sharp eyes catching glimpses of faces he hadn’t seen in years. The pack was preparing for something big—his guess was the Lunar Choosing. The thought of it made his stomach churn. The ritual was sacred, binding. And if Eliza had been chosen for someone…

He shoved the thought aside. She wasn’t his to claim. She never had been. But that didn’t change the fire that burned in his chest at the mere idea of her being forced into something against her will.

The wind shifted, carrying with it the faintest hint of her scent. Logan inhaled deeply, his heart pounding as he searched for her in the throng of wolves. And then he saw her.

She stood near the edge of the clearing, half-hidden by the shadows of the towering pines. Her long braid hung over one shoulder, her posture straight and composed. She looked every inch the Alpha’s daughter—strong, confident, untouchable. But even from this distance, Logan could see the tension in her frame, the way her hands clenched at her sides. She was uneasy.

Seeing her again after all these years was like stepping into a memory. But she wasn’t the same girl he had saved in the forest. She had grown into something far more formidable, more radiant. And yet, there was still something vulnerable in her, something that made Logan want to tear through the clearing and stand at her side, to shield her from whatever was weighing on her.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Logan forced himself to retreat, slipping back into the shadows. He would find a way to speak to her, but not here, not with so many eyes watching. He had waited years for this moment—he could wait a little longer. For now, he needed to understand what was happening within the pack, what dangers lurked beneath the surface.

As he moved deeper into the forest, the faint hum of the pack’s activity faded, replaced once again by the quiet whispers of the trees. The tracks he had found earlier lingered in his thoughts, along with the faint scent of fire in the air. The night stretched on, but Logan’s mind burned with questions, with plans, with the faintest glimmer of hope.

He would find Eliza. He would warn her of the dangers he had seen, the threats he had pieced together in his years of exile. And maybe, just maybe, he would find a way to make things right.

The forest held its breath as Logan disappeared into the shadows, the moonlight casting fleeting patterns on his path. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled, its mournful cry echoing through the trees. Logan paused for a moment, his silver-gray eyes glinting in the dark.

Change was coming. He could feel it.

And this time, he wouldn’t run from it.