Born Under Blood Moon

I've been afraid of the dark for as long as I can remember. It's strange for a werewolf to fear darkness, but I'm not like other wolves. I'm not like anyone.

My name is Aria Stone, and tomorrow I turn eighteen. Most wolves would be excited—eighteen is when you might find your mate, when your wolf becomes strongest, when your life truly begins. But for me, eighteen just means another year of surviving in a pack that wishes I was never born.

I live in the basement of the Shadowfang Pack house. It's cold down here, even in summer. The small window near the ceiling barely lets in any light, and the walls are gray concrete that always feels damp. My bed is just a mattress on the floor with thin blankets. I have a wooden box for my clothes—not that I have many—and a cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

The mirror shows me what everyone else sees: a too-thin girl with long black hair and unusual violet eyes. Most wolves have gold, brown, or green eyes. Mine are purple, like bruises. They mark me as different, as wrong. Then there's the silver streak in my hair, right at the front. I've had it since birth. Another sign that I'm not normal.

I hear footsteps above me. The pack is waking up for breakfast. I need to hurry. My job is to prepare the food before anyone comes to the dining hall. If I'm late, I'll be punished.

Quickly, I change into my work clothes—a plain gray dress that's too big for me and worn-out shoes. I wash my face in the tiny sink in the corner and tie my hair back. Then I climb the stairs to the kitchen.

The pack house is huge and beautiful. Wooden floors, high ceilings, big windows that let in sunlight. Everything I don't have in my basement room. I walk quickly through the halls, keeping my eyes down. If I make eye contact with pack members, they either glare at me or look away in disgust.

In the kitchen, I find the head cook, Mrs. Peterson, already working. She's one of the few people who doesn't treat me like garbage. She's not kind exactly, but she's not cruel either.

"You're late," she says without looking at me.

"I'm sorry." I grab an apron and start helping with the breakfast. We make eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. Enough food for fifty pack members.

"Your father wants to see you after breakfast," Mrs. Peterson says quietly.

My hands freeze. My father. Marcus Stone, the Beta of our pack. A strong, respected wolf who hates me more than anyone else does.

"Did he say why?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"No. But he looked angry." Mrs. Peterson gives me a quick glance that might be pity. "Be careful, girl."

I nod and continue cooking, but my stomach twists with fear. My father only calls for me when something bad is about to happen.

Breakfast is served in the big dining hall. I carry trays of food and place them on the long tables. Pack members file in, talking and laughing. They fall silent when they see me, then start whispering. I hear the words they always say: curse, killer, freak.

I ignore them. I've had eighteen years of practice.

The only person who smiles at me is Luna. She's seventeen, with curly red hair and green eyes that always sparkle with mischief. She's my only friend, and I don't know what I'd do without her.

"Happy almost birthday," she whispers as I pass her table.

"Thanks," I whisper back.

"Meet me at our spot after you're done here," she says. "I have something for you."

Before I can answer, someone throws a piece of bread at my head. It hits my ear, and laughter erupts from the table of younger wolves. I don't react. I just pick up the bread and throw it in the trash.

"Freak," one of them mutters.

I finish serving and return to the kitchen. Mrs. Peterson nods toward the door. "Go. Don't keep your father waiting."

I take off my apron and walk through the house to my father's office. My heart pounds harder with each step. I knock on the heavy wooden door.

"Come in," his cold voice calls.

I open the door and step inside. The office is nice—leather chairs, a big desk, shelves full of books. My father sits behind the desk, looking at papers. He doesn't look up when I enter.

"You wanted to see me?" I say quietly.

Finally, he raises his head. His hazel eyes are filled with the same hatred I've seen my whole life. "Tomorrow you turn eighteen."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what happened eighteen years ago on your birthday?" His voice is sharp, cutting.

"My mother died." I've heard this story a thousand times.

"Your mother died giving birth to you," he corrects harshly. "She was the best thing in my life. My mate. My everything. And you took her from me."

I want to say it wasn't my fault. I want to say I didn't choose to be born. But I stay quiet because nothing I say will change his mind.

"The pack has been patient with you," he continues. "They've allowed you to stay despite the curse you carry. But tomorrow, when you turn eighteen, that patience might end."

"What do you mean?" Fear crawls up my spine.

"There are pack members who want you gone. Who believe you're dangerous." He leans back in his chair, studying me like I'm an insect. "I've protected you until now because you're technically my daughter. But tomorrow, I might not be able to stop them from voting you out."

Being voted out of the pack means becoming a rogue. Rogues are wolves without a pack, without protection. They're hunted, killed, or worse. Most don't survive a year alone.

"Please," I whisper. "I've done everything right. I work hard, I don't cause trouble—"

"You were born trouble!" His fist slams on the desk, making me jump. "You were born under a blood moon. Do you know what that means? It means you're cursed. It means you killed your mother. It means you're a stain on this pack!"

Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. "I didn't ask to be born this way."

"No, but you were. And tomorrow, you'll face the consequences." He waves his hand dismissively. "Get out. I have work to do."

I turn and leave before the tears can spill. I run through the house, ignoring the stares, and burst outside into the fresh air. The tears come now, hot and angry. I run into the forest, following the familiar path to the place Luna and I call "our spot."

It's a small clearing with a stream running through it. There's a flat rock we sit on, and wild flowers grow everywhere. Luna is already there, sitting on the rock with a small wrapped package in her hands.

When she sees my tears, she jumps up. "What happened? Was it your father?"

I nod and sit on the rock, hugging my knees. Luna sits beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders.

"What did he say?"

"That the pack might vote me out tomorrow." The words hurt to say out loud.

Luna's eyes widen. "They can't! That's cruel!"

"They can. I'm cursed, remember? I killed my mother. I was born under a blood moon." I wipe my tears angrily. "Everyone thinks I'm dangerous."

"You're not dangerous. You're the kindest person I know." Luna hands me the wrapped package. "Here. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I think you need this now."

I unwrap it carefully. Inside is a beautiful silver bracelet with a small moon charm. It's simple but pretty, and it must have cost Luna a lot of money.

"Luna, this is too much—"

"It's not. You deserve something nice." She helps me put it on. "The moon charm is for good luck. And no matter what happens tomorrow, I'll be with you. I won't let them hurt you."

I hug her tight. "Thank you."

We sit by the stream for hours, talking about everything except tomorrow. Luna tells me about the boy she likes, about her training to become a pack warrior, about her dreams of traveling beyond our territory. I listen and smile, grateful for her friendship.

When the sun starts to set, we head back to the pack house. Luna goes to her family's home, and I return to my basement room. I lie on my mattress and stare at the ceiling, the silver bracelet cool against my wrist.

Tomorrow I turn eighteen. Tomorrow my life might end.

But tonight, I'm still here. Still breathing. Still hoping that maybe, just maybe, things will get better.

I close my eyes and drift into uneasy sleep.

In my dreams, I see a woman in red robes standing in a temple bathed in red moonlight. She's calling my name, beckoning me closer. But before I can reach her, the dream shifts. I see a man with silver eyes and black hair, looking at me with such hatred that I wake up gasping.

My skin feels strange. I turn on the small lamp beside my mattress and look at my arms.

Glowing symbols cover my skin, pulsing with violet light. Ancient markings that I've never seen before. They appear and disappear like they're breathing.

I stare in horror. What is this? What's happening to me?

The symbols fade after a minute, leaving my skin normal again. But my heart won't stop racing. Something is changing. Something is coming.

And tomorrow, on my eighteenth birthday, everything is going to fall apart.

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