In the quiet, forgotten town of Luneville—where nights stretched longer than days and the moon hung too close to the earth—there lived a girl with a secret too big for her fragile human body.
Her name was Lysandra Vale.
And though the world believed she was ordinary,
she was anything but.
Every full moon, when others slept under their blankets or hid behind locked wooden doors, Lysandra walked alone through the moonlit forest behind her small cottage. Her hair—dark as midnight ink—glowed faintly under the sky's silver sheen, and her eyes, usually soft and grey, shimmered with a strange pale light.
Because inside her, caged beneath bone and blood, lived something ancient.
A wolf.
Not just any wolf—
a Moon Wolf.
The rarest, most feared, and most hunted creature in all the realms.
She discovered the truth when she was fourteen—
the night her bones cracked, her skin tore, and her breath caught fire under the cursed red eclipse.
They called it the Blood Crescent—
a forbidden moon that birthed monsters.
Except Lysandra was not a monster.
At least, she prayed she wasn't.
Her wolf slept most days, silent and waiting.
But on nights like this—
where the moon whispered against the treetops—
Lysandra felt the beast stir inside her chest, restless, pacing.
Tonight, the forest felt different.
Too quiet.
Too still.
As if holding its breath.
Lysandra clenched her cloak tighter around her shoulders and listened.
Owls cried. Leaves rustled.
The wind carried something cold—
something familiar, yet terrifying.
A scent.
Smoke.
Shadow.
And… wolf.
"Not again…" she whispered.
But deep inside, her wolf answered with a low growl.
He is near.
"Who?" Lysandra whispered aloud, though she knew the answer.
The one her dreams warned her about.
The one the ancient moon markings on her wrist reacted to.
The one she feared almost as much as she feared herself.
The Shadow Heir.
Her opposite.
Her enemy.
Her destiny.
Lysandra stumbled backward until her spine hit a tree trunk. She felt the bark bite into her skin, but she didn't move. She couldn't. Her wolf was pacing violently now, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.
"He's not supposed to be this close," she whispered.
"We have protections. Boundaries. Wards—"
But the wards flickered tonight.
The moon felt too alive.
The shadows felt too curious.
And then—
she heard it.
A howl.
Low.
Dark.
Painfully beautiful.
It rolled through the forest like the sound of a broken heart—deep enough to awaken bones, soft enough to steal breath.
Her breath.
Her wolf pressed harder against her consciousness.
He calls you.
"No," Lysandra gasped.
"He's not calling me. He's hunting me."
Suddenly, the forest lit up—
not with moonlight,
but with a sharp, bright crack.
A branch snapped behind her.
Her heart slammed.
She whirled around—
—and froze.
A pair of eyes stared at her from the darkness.
Not wolf eyes.
Not golden.
Not amber.
But glowing violet.
Violet—
the color of corrupted moons.
Her lips parted in a silent gasp.
The Shadow Heir.
He stepped forward slowly, like a predator who already knew his prey wasn't going anywhere. Tall, lean, dressed in black that blended into the night itself—like the darkness obeyed him.
His voice slid into her mind like silk dipped in venom.
So the rumors were true.
Lysandra stumbled backward, breath shaking.
"You… you shouldn't be here."
The Heir tilted his head.
And yet, he whispered inside her mind,
you felt me coming.
She gripped her chest, trying to steady her racing heart.
"Get out," she hissed.
"You have no right to be in my mind."
He laughed softly.
Little moon wolf,
he purred mentally,
your mind was wide open the moment the moon rose.
Her wolf snarled inside.
Lysandra flinched.
"Stop calling me that."
He took another step forward, eyes gleaming.
Then what should I call you? Lysandra Vale?
Moonblood Heir?
Or… something else?
Her breath froze.
"H-how do you know—"
He touched the tree beside her, fingers gliding lightly over the bark as if he wasn't inches from the girl he was sent to destroy.
I know everything about you, he whispered.
I have been waiting for you.
She swallowed.
"You're lying."
His smile widened.
Am I?
Her legs weakened.
Her wolf's voice whispered urgently—
RUN. NOW.
Lysandra spun—
but the Shadow Heir lifted a hand lazily.
Shadows wrapped around her ankle.
She screamed, collapsing onto the forest floor.
He crouched beside her, one knee sinking into the soft soil.
He leaned close, breath brushing her cheek.
"You can't run from destiny, Lysandra."
His eyes glowed brighter.
"Because fate marked you… for me."
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears burning her lashes.
"Stay away from me."
A long moment passed in silence.
Then he whispered:
"I will.
For now."
The shadows vanished from her ankle.
She gasped—
looked up—
But he was gone.
The forest fell silent again.
Except—
Footsteps.
Real ones.
Not shadow.
Not magic.
Human.
Lysandra's heart jumped painfully in her chest.
Someone ran toward her through the woods—
fast, desperate, breathless.
"Hey!" a male voice shouted.
"Are you hurt? I heard you scream—"
She looked up.
And her breath left her lungs.
A boy with stormy eyes and messy dark hair stumbled into the clearing, chest rising and falling rapidly. Human. Alive. Real.
And the moment he saw her—
his face softened with concern.
"Are you okay?"
Lysandra stared at him.
Her wolf went silent.
Her magic froze.
Her heartbeat—
did something strange.
Because his scent—
warm, grounding, familiar—
wrapped around her like safety.
She whispered the name she didn't know until that moment.
"Evander…"
He crouched in front of her, worry etched across his face.
"You're trembling," he said softly.
"Let me help you."
She didn't pull away.
She couldn't.
And that night—
under the cursed moon—
Lysandra learned the first truth of her destiny:
There were two boys tied to her fate.
One born of moonlight.
One born of shadows.
But only one of them
had managed to reach her heart
before touching her magic.
Evander.
And the war between them—
had just begun.