Page 10 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter nine

Crossing the Line

SERA

J ust after midnight, I check in with Noah, masking the lie in my voice—then slip away from my post, each step fueled by the weight of secrets I can no longer ignore, heart racing with equal parts fear and resolve.

Tonight isn’t about obedience. It’s about answers.

I leave the body cam perched on a low branch, angled just right to capture a whole lot of nothing. A decoy. It’ll hold for a while, I hope. Just long enough for me to do what I came out here to do.

The forest swallows me whole. Trees loom like sentinels, their branches whispering spells in the cold wind. My boots crunch through dry needles and moss, each step humming with an eerie charge—like I'm walking straight into a prophecy I can't escape.

Tonight’s the full moon, the apex of magical potency. It sings in my veins, calls to every part of me that I’ve buried deep for this mission. I follow the path I’ve marked—stones pressed into a spiral, burned herbs strung between branches. My circle.

This is my new magical sanctuary, where I come to ground myself, to reach for clarity, control. To try and summon my familiar under moonlight like this—well, it’s risky. But if the arsonist is connected to magic, they might show up too. That’s part of the goal. And I am the bait.

I crouch low in the center of the spiral, pulling out the small pouch of herbs and the flint I keep stashed in my boot. I draw the sigil in the dirt and close my eyes.

"Ignis... audi vocem meam..." I whisper, voice tight but steady. Fire, hear my voice.

The flames flicker in my mind before they spark in reality, curling upward in a brief plume from the dried herbs.

I can feel the familiar’s presence approaching, distant but real. The bond between us stretches thin and taut.

Then everything shifts.

A gust of wind. The crack of a twig.

My eyes snap open.

Too late.

A low growl precedes the weight that slams into me, knocking the breath from my lungs. Teeth flash. I catch the glint of yellow eyes inches from my throat.

A werewolf—snarling, and far too real to be a dream.

I thrash beneath it, clawing at its furred chest, shoving with my forearms. My magic reacts faster than I do—a burst of heat surges from my palms, searing its flank. It howls, but doesn’t let go.

I gasp a chant, reaching for the spell again. My circle’s still active. I just need a few more seconds—

It lunges for my face.

I scream.

And then out of nowhere, a sudden blur slams into us, fast and forceful, knocking the air from my lungs and twisting the chaos into something new. The impact sends me rolling to the side, stunned. A second werewolf—larger, faster—tackles the first with a snarl.

Claws rake. Teeth snap. The fight is brutal. Blood spatters the pine needles.

I can’t move. My limbs are lead.

All I can do is stare at the feral heat of the fight, wondering why the wolves are fighting one another. Are they fighting over their meal… or is one of them trying to protect me? That thought lodges in my chest like a spark ready to ignite—unsettling, impossible. And yet, somehow, it makes sense.

At last, I return to the present. I force my shaking fingers toward the flame and mouth the final line of the spell.

The fire flares.

A roar slices through the trees—not a wolf’s cry, but a predator’s purr turned battle cry. Ember-born and primal, the mountain lion bursts from the flame like it’s always been waiting to serve me. My familiar, massive and spectral: a mountain lion cloaked in shimmering flame.

It leaps toward the wolves with an earth-shaking growl. The attackers stumble back. My lion lunges again, a final warning. The first wolf flees into the dark, whimpering.

The mountain lion turns its head to the second wolf. A nod.

And then it vanishes, just like that—flames sucked back into the night.

The remaining wolf—my protector—pads toward me, head bowing low, as if sensing my trembling thoughts.

Its eyes meet mine—intense, searching—and something in my chest lurches, an unspoken recognition sparking beneath the fear.

Is it possible he knows me too? My heart thuds in my ears, a chaotic mix of fear, awe, and confusion spiraling through me.

I want to run, to speak, to scream—but instead, I’m rooted to the spot, staring into eyes that seem far too knowing, too human. What the hell is happening? And before I can speak, it gently nudges me, then lowers to the ground. An invitation.

I climb onto its back, dazed. My body folds over thick fur, warm and strangely comforting. I can feel the rhythm of his heartbeat under my left leg. My heartbeat syncs with it as if we have done so a thousand times. The connection is strange and natural all at once.

We vanish into the trees, leaving a trail of blood behind us.

As we near the edge of the woods, I see the faint glow of the firehouse in the distance. My post is still empty, my body cam blinking faintly in the moonlight. The wolf slows, easing to a stop just in front of a thick oak. It crouches low, and I dismount.

I turn, and the wolf is gone.

I grab the body cam from the tree and prepare to put it on when...

the unmistakable crunch of boots approaches. My breath catches. My heart stops.

Noah emerges from the shadows, crimson-rimmed eyes catching the moonlight, his face a mask of both man and beast. The faint shimmer of fur along his arms, the sharp tilt of his jaw—he's not just half-wolf, he's a creature straddling two worlds, dangerous and divine. He’s shirtless, barefoot, and impossibly calm.

Despite my confusion and fear, I cannot help but be drawn to his magnificence.

He marches straight up to me, grabs the body cam and crushes it beneath his heel.

Then he turns to me.

"That was a very stupid thing to do," he says, voice low, rough. "Are you alright?"

I nod, too stunned to form words. My heart is still galloping, but now for an entirely different reason.

The air between us feels charged. His eyes lock on mine and I can’t look away.

Noah doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me like I’ve peeled off all my layers and laid myself bare in the dirt.

My pulse pounds in my throat.

“Why did you go alone?” he asks, voice roughened by anger—or fear. I can’t tell.

I open my mouth to answer, but his hands are already on me. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just checking—arms, shoulders, the side of my ribs where the wolf caught me.

His fingers graze a tender spot beneath my ribcage, and pain flares sharp and sudden—I can’t bite back the hiss that escapes me.

“You’re hurt,” he growls.

“It’s nothing,” I whisper.

But the tension snaps like a live wire. Because I’m lying. Not just about the injury, but everything.

And he knows it.

Still, instead of backing away, he moves closer. One hand cups my face, his thumb brushing over the apple of my cheek like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he’s not sure if I’m real.

“You shouldn’t have gone out there,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what hunts these woods.”

“I have some idea.”

I reach up, fingers stroking a deep, bloody claw mark across his chest. My body is still humming—shock, adrenaline, magic—but now something new creeps in: desire. Sharp and impossible to ignore.

Before I realize it, his breath is upon my throat, lips brushing over the pulse point, pounding beneath my skin. A little voice in my head questions whether he can restrain himself. Part of me hopes he can’t. My hands explore every part of him, palms skating over muscle and warmth and scars.

I want to memorize every inch of him.

He growls into my neck, the sound vibrating through my spine like a primal vow, sinking into the hollow between want and warning.

I can feel him losing control. His fangs surface.

“Tell me to stop,” he says.

But I don’t.

Because I don’t want him to.

Then he pushes me away, breaking the spell.

"Come on," he says. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

He leads me to his room in the dorms and gives me one of his shirts to wear. He takes my torn, bloodied clothes and disappears for awhile. I don’t ask where.

When he returns, I’m standing in the middle of the room, his shirt swallowing my frame.

I can sense blood from a fresh kill on his breath. A coyote perhaps. I can see that his wounds are nearly healed.

"Thank you," I say. "For everything."

He just nods.

But his eyes never leave mine.

And neither of us moves.

Not for a long time.

Then, just when the silence feels endless, a scream erupts. It tears through the stillness like a blade, shattering the fragile moment between us.

Not a distant echo. Not a fox or an owl or someone joking around.

This is human. Terrified. Frenzied.

Noah’s entire body tenses—mine too.

We’re out the door a second later and heading toward whatever danger lurks.

The moment lingers, burned into my skin—but now there’s no time for heat or electricity or stolen looks.

Something’s gone very, very wrong.