Mysteries of the Moon - Dreame best-chosen series

Book 1 Chapter 2 | Whispers of Destiny

Blair’s POV

The school bell’s chime resonated through the halls, marking the end of the day’s captivity. Relief cascaded over me like a cool stream on a scorching summer afternoon. Yet, little did I suspect that this ephemeral joy was destined to be snatched away. John and his clique had plans that would twist my fleeting happiness into something unrecognizable.

John, the beta of our pack, was inseparable from Blake, a formidable duo that struck an imposing silhouette. With his soft, chestnut hair and a demeanor that could freeze the sun, John’s arrogance was as palpable as a storm brewing on the horizon. Approaching like a brewing tempest, his smoldering anger threatened to erupt like a volcano’s molten fury.

A sneer curled his lips, his voice a venomous whisper, “Look who’s here – the girl supposedly tainted with the blood of her own parents.” The words cut deep, slicing into my heart with their false accusations. My truth had been repeatedly shouted, yet the darkness of their assumptions persisted, staining my innocence.

To shield myself from their cruelty, I chose silence, curling into a small, vulnerable ball on the floor, feigning tears in the hope that they’d lose interest and retreat. Deep down, I knew it was futile; fate seldom cast a compassionate glance my way.

“Pathetic,” John spat, crouching beside me, his fingers like iron around my throat as he yanked me upward, only to thrust me back. My skull met the unforgiving metal of a locker with a brutal collision, pain igniting across my mind like a lightning strike. The tang of metal flooded my mouth, copper mixing with the taste of my own blood.

Vision blurred as the world around me spun, and I couldn’t suppress the question that nagged at my battered mind: why did he choose such force? Wetness trickled behind my head, fingers encountering a sticky substance – my own blood. Fear gnawed at me, wondering what horrors might follow this cruelty.

“Deserves that for luring the rogue to our doorstep,” Cindy chimed in, her gaze a venomous arrow aimed directly at me. She moved with predatory grace, her blonde hair a weapon in itself, leaving little to imagination with her barely-there skirt. Disgust surged within me as I observed John’s captivated gaze on her.

Cindy, once a cherished friend, had morphed into a stranger draped in hostility. I was lost in a sea of confusion, unable to grasp the sin that had birthed her hatred. The memory of a little girl in pigtails, once inseparable from me, mingled with the agony and bewilderment of her transformation.

Just as the tension thickened, Tom intervened, his voice a lifeboat in the storm. The pack meeting loomed ahead, a reminder of unity amidst chaos. Tom, a beacon of unwavering friendship, had been a lifeline when others turned against me after the rogue attack left me broken and still.

Through a haze of pain, I had seen him approaching, fear morphing into terror. But the touch of his hand, the solace of his words, transformed my terror into trust. He healed me, the injuries fading into nothingness within minutes. Disheveled hair and oversized clothes framed his face, a puzzle piece that fit perfectly into my storm-scarred heart.

“Shh, it’ll be okay,” he whispered, and his touch weaved magic, knitting my broken pieces back together. Within fifteen minutes, I was restored. My gratitude for his unyielding support blossomed into an unbreakable bond, a pact of loyalty that transcended the physical realm.

Our connection was a lifeline, a lifeline that weathered every storm, navigated every trial, and held steadfast against the tide of adversity. The simplicity of his questions and the depth of his concern etched a lifeline across the pages of our story.

“Fine, let’s go. No point wasting time on her,” John’s voice carried a dismissive note as they turned, retreating like a retreating storm. The breath I hadn’t realized I held escaped in a rush, my heart still galloping from the encounter. As they melted into the distance, I lowered my hand to the ground, willing my trembling limbs to support me as I stood, brushing off the dust of degradation.

Slung over my shoulder, my bag felt like a burden, heavier than ever. With heavy steps, I departed from the school, setting my course for the packhouse. Thoughts swirled, a whirlpool of emotions stirred by the tempest I had just weathered. The walk, typically a fifteen-minute affair, passed in a blur, my werewolf speed propelling me forward.

Home embraced me, the packhouse a sanctuary where the chaos of the world ebbed away. My bag thudded beside the kitchen counter, and the rhythm of preparing dinner acted as a balm, offering a semblance of normality. The pack trickled in, gravity pulling them together, faces heavy with the weight of unspoken news.

Blake shattered the silence, delivering words that sent ripples of unease across the room. Rogues had united, fangs bared in a bid for dominion, an impending tempest threatening to engulf us all.

“Ugh, early morning training again,” John’s grumbling shattered the tension, a collective chuckle rising in response. His aversion to dawn was a constant, a comic relief amidst the shadows.

Curiosity seized Jack, and his question floated, a beacon of intrigue, “Is it true they’re hunting a hybrid?”

Blake’s sigh confirmed the rumor, casting a dark veil over the room. “Yes, it’s true. They seek a hybrid, a being part-werewolf, part-something else. The full truth remains concealed, locked away like a secret waiting to be unveiled.”

John leaned in, a conspiratorial air as he glanced my way, their whispers conspiring like shadows in the corner. But they erred in underestimating my acuity, assuming my humanity by my lack of shift. My senses were my allies, carrying their every word to me, unfiltered and undeniable.

Resentment kindled within me, an ember that glowed with determination, fueling my resolve to depart on my 16th birthday. The Moon Goddess had etched a destiny in the tapestry of my life, a purpose intertwined with the strands of fate. It was not mere volition that drove my departure; a higher calling beckoned, a mission to protect and to prevail.

Pasta strained through my fingers as memories surged, fragments of a dream painting themselves across my mind’s canvas. A waterfall cascaded under moonlight, its beauty transcending reality. A voice, celestial and commanding, sliced through the dream’s fabric.

“My child,” the voice called, an embrace of authority and comfort woven together.

Startled, I echoed, “Who’s there? Reveal yourself.”

A figure emerged, ethereal and regal, draped in a flowing gown. A staff in her grasp, the crescent moon on her forehead marked her as the Moon Goddess herself. Recognition struck like a bolt, her presence a revelation.

Kneeling in reverence, I paid homage to her divine grace. “No need for deference, my child,” she soothed, guiding me to rise. “I am your mother, guiding you through Hailey’s form to fulfill a sacred mission. The rogue leader threatens both human and werewolf realms. On your 16th birthday, leave your pack, seeking refuge in another. Train, conceal your scent, and safeguard your Alpha heritage.”

Since that ethereal encounter, my days unfurled like pages in a tome of training, each step a brushstroke on the canvas of destiny.

Amidst companionship in the dining hall, I slipped away, my hands still smelling of dinner’s creation. My room cocooned me, and the ticking of time intensified the anticipation of midnight’s arrival, the gateway to freedom and purpose.

In the quiet hours, I lay in bed, a sea of thoughts and emotions churning within. Midnight would soon unfold, inviting me to run under the moon’s gentle gaze, a communion between the wild and the heart. The destiny set in motion by the Moon Goddess, the mission that pulsed within my veins like a song of power, would soon claim its next chapter.