Eileen

The scent grew stronger with every step, wrapping around me like invisible vines. Cedar and mint, yes, but underneath—something richer, darker. Like moonlight given form, like the first breath of winter morning, like nothing I’d ever encountered in my carefully catalogued herb garden studies.

My rational mind was screaming. Turn back. Run. This is dangerous.

But my body wouldn’t listen. My feet moved of their own accord, carrying me deeper into the ancient forest where moonlight filtered through leaves in patterns that seemed almost deliberate, almost designed. The moss beneath my shoes glowed faintly silver, and when I touched the bark of a passing tree to steady myself, I felt warmth beneath my palm despite the evening chill.

The blood-scent intensified. Not the copper tang of a simple wound, but something fouler—corruption, poison, death creeping through living tissue.

I pushed through a final curtain of vines, and the forest opened into a clearing I shouldn’t have been able to find. Ancient standing stones ringed the space, each carved with moon phases that pulsed with gentle light. In their center, beneath the gnarled roots of a massive oak, lay a wolf.

Not just any wolf. Even collapsed and dying, I could tell this was an Alpha—the sheer size gave it away. Easily three times larger than any wolf I’d seen in transformation studies, with silver-black fur that seemed to absorb and reflect moonlight simultaneously. Deep gashes scored its ribs and hindquarters, the flesh around each wound an ugly purple-black that screamed poison to every healing instinct I possessed.

Run, my mind begged one final time. That’s an Alpha. A dying Alpha is the most dangerous thing in these woods. RUN.

Instead, I fell to my knees beside it.

The wolf’s chest barely rose and fell. Its eyes—ice-blue even in the gathering dark—were half-lidded, consciousness slipping away. Around us, the clearing bore scars of recent battle: claw marks gouged into ancient stone, bark stripped from trees, patches of ground scorched black with the characteristic burn pattern of shadow-poison.

Border raiders. The healing texts had warned us about their toxins—fast-acting, brutal, designed to corrupt from within. Without treatment before dawn, when sunlight would amplify the poison’s effects…

My hands moved before I could second-guess myself. I tore a strip from my skirt hem, using it to wipe away the worst of the poisoned blood. The wolf’s breathing was too slow, its body temperature dropping, pupils dilating despite the moonlight—all classic symptoms of shadow-poison in advanced stages.

Moon-vine, silver-leaf, and crushed moonstone, my mind recited automatically. Mixed with dew and blessed under the full moon for maximum potency, but we’re one day early, so the efficacy will be reduced, but it’s better than nothing—

I looked around frantically. The Whispering Woods was sacred to the Moon Goddess—if the ingredients existed anywhere, they’d be here. And they were. Moonstone fragments lay scattered among the standing stones, probably knocked loose in the fight. Moon-vine climbed the ancient oak, its leaves glowing faintly. Silver-leaf grew in the shadows, its distinctive shimmer unmistakable.

I worked with the focused intensity I’d only ever felt in the herb garden, gathering and preparing with hands that barely trembled despite my racing heart. I used a flat stone to grind the moonstone, ignoring the way the sharp edges cut my palms. Harvested the most potent sections of moon-vine, squeezing out the luminescent sap. Carefully uprooted silver-leaf, preserving the essence concentrated in its roots.

When I mixed them together on a broad leaf, using collected dew to thin the paste, I found myself whispering words I’d learned by myself in Advanced Healing Theory—an ancient prayer I’d never actually spoken aloud: “Moon Mother, grant healing, drive back shadow…”

The mixture began to glow. And so did my hands.

I stared at my palms, at the silver light emanating from my skin, and felt something ancient stir in my chest. But there was no time to process it—the wolf’s breathing had grown even more labored, each exhale weaker than the last.

“Please don’t die,” I whispered, cradling its massive head in my lap. “I didn’t come all this way through the forest just to watch you die.”

Lightning.

A naked man.

He was beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. Silver-black hair fell across features that looked carved from moonlight—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that even unconscious held natural authority. His body was all lean muscle and elegant lines, every inch screaming Alpha.

And that scent. Gods, that scent. Cedar and mint overwhelmed everything, wrapping around me, sinking into my lungs, making my head spin and my body feel hot and strange and—

I tore off my jacket with shaking hands and draped it over him. Pathetically inadequate, barely covering anything, but I couldn’t just leave him—

“Just checking for injuries,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Professional assessment.”

My hand lifted without permission, reaching toward a small cut on his forehead—

His eyes snapped open.

Ice-blue. Vertical pupils. Predator’s eyes locked on mine.

His hand shot out, locking around my wrist. The other cradled the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.

He pulled me down.

“Mine.”