Page 9 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter eight

Shadow of the Curse

NOAH

I lean back in my office chair, jaw tight as I listen to the faint crackle of static through the receiver. Her voice—low, steady, too steady—slips through the static like smoke through cracks.

The police are running her through a gauntlet of questions. Where she was during each of the wildfires? Why she took this job? Who’s she been speaking to in town? She answers coolly, with that same measured confidence she carries even when lifting a jaws-of-life rig like it weighs nothing.

I cross my arms, staring down at the black recorder—pulled from her neatly hung uniform, a secret tucked between the folds.

I had no choice after locating the listening device in the old conference room the night before.

Stuck to the bottom of the table, barely detectable.

I didn’t set out to find this, but the wolf in me never sleeps.

It sniffed out the lie before I did. There was something tugging at me—something beyond curiosity.

I rub my thumb over the recorder’s edges, unsure what’s more dangerous—what she’s hiding, or how I feel knowing she’s hiding something.

She’s not clean. She’s not safe. But the image of her exposed—cornered—claws at something raw inside me.

My chest tightens, breath shallow, like instinct is trying to outrun reason.

Damn it. This would be easier if I didn’t care.

I should turn her in. I know that. I don't know who she works for, but this confirms it—she’s not just a probie with something to prove. She’s spying for someone. On the firehouse. On me.

But still… I can't help rooting for her.

As the police finish their questions, I catch the hint of nerves in her voice—just a flicker—but enough to make my instincts bristle. She’s lying. That much I know. But when the polygraph technician signals she passed, I exhale before I can stop myself.

Why the hell am I relieved?

I stand abruptly, pacing the length of my office. My wolf paces with me, scratching at the inside of my skin. Protective. Restless. Agitated.

I growl under my breath. “This isn’t good.”

She lied to the cops. She’s hiding something big. And instead of confronting her, all I can think about is her insides cringing when they asked about the wildfires—the ghosts clinging to her like smoke.

I kill the audio and head to her dorm to tuck the recorder back where I found it.

Not to protect her.

Just... to keep the truth closer.

I know what I have to do.

The forest still smolders with the ghost of fire as I stalk through the blackened underbrush, boots crunching ash with every step.

Maybe something new will turn up. It has to. The next full moon is too close, and I need something to share with the Captain. Something I can share with the Captain.

My nostrils flare, catching the tang of burned bark and something new… metallic, faintly coppery—like blood gone stale—as I stalk through the cindered wreckage, boots crunching ash with every step.

Then I see it. A scorched hollow at the base of a tree, ringed with darker, clumped ash.

I crouch down, brushing it aside with a gloved hand. Beneath the loose debris is a partial arm—bone and char fused together. Another victim. Another silent scream left behind in the dirt near Firehouse 333.

My gut twists even as I recognize the importance of this find.

I stay crouched longer than I need to, staring at the remains.

Another person turned to ash and silence.

The fire didn’t just take them—it left a brand, seared into bone and memory, a haunting that lingers beneath the ash and heat.

Whoever did this wanted them forgotten. But the land remembers. And so do I.

I straighten and dial the Captain. “Another body,” I rasp. “Ridge Hollow.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then: “Jesus. That makes four."

I take a moment to assess while preparing an evidence bag. Something isn’t adding up.

"Has anyone reported these victims as missing?"

"No one’s come forward,” The Captain responds. "Weird, huh?"

“Have we tried other counties?" I offer.

The Captain exhales, and I can hear the unease in that breath. “I'll let the Sheriff know.”

I hang up the phone, grateful to have some evidence…and concerned Forensics may actually uncover some clues from it.

Back at the station, I scrub my hands in the sink, the scent of ash still clinging stubbornly to my skin. I watch my reflection in the mirror above the basin—eyes rimmed with fatigue, jaw shadowed with stubble, and a weight behind my gaze I can’t quite shake. I'm not just tired; I'm haunted.

In the common room, Captain Greene is already waiting for me, arms folded, sitting in his favorite chair, watching the late news flicker across the ancient television.

“The Sheriff told the Mayor and now he’s breathing down my neck,” he mutters.

“Tourist season. Doesn’t want the town looking like a scene from a monster movie. ”

I toss a towel aside and join him. “I don’t care about tourists. I care about people getting killed.”

Greene raises a brow. “Any theories?"

I shrug, jaw ticking. “The full moon shows up in every fire report. Every single one. That’s not a coincidence.”

The Captain continues with great disdain. "So lone psycho thinks he’s a werewolf?”

“I think someone’s hunting during the full moon. And they’re organized. Strong. This wasn’t random. The body was buried deliberately. Ritualistic, even.”

That gets Greene’s attention. His jaw sets. “You think this is a cult thing?”

I don't answer. I just shake my head. My mind flashes back to the scent in the ash—earthy, feral, laced with something sharp and wrong. Not a natural predator. Not even a rogue.

A pack.

Captain Greene gets up. "God, what I wouldn't give for an old-fashioned angry arsonist. Those were the days!"

I can't help but chuckle, but it's short-lived. "I think we should do a lockdown of Lolo. Just during the full moon. Quietly. No big announcements. Just… increased watch. A warning to the locals.”

Greene shakes his head, the edge of doubt creeping into his expression. “Oh, the Mayor would love that. Talk about driving tourists away!"

“Then at least put more boots on the ground. Have every firefighter posted and reporting in. Let me draft a schedule. We’ve got to get to the next one earlier…before all the evidence disappears.”

Greene sighs. “Fine. But keep it tight. I’ll say it’s a wildfire watch protocol. And nothing about the full moon to the crew. Understood?”

I nod, already strategizing. “We’ll need body cams. Just in case we catch something no one’s willing to talk about.”

The Captain looks at me sideways. “And you?”

“I’ll be circling.” I pause. Let the word hang. “Everywhere.”

But that’s only half the truth.

I won’t just be on duty.

I’ll be hunting.

I tear into my steak with a feral sort of hunger, blood-red juices streaking across my plate.

The meat’s still bleeding. It’s how my body demands it now—on the cusp of the full moon, when hunger means more than flavor.

Each bite keeps the gnawing edge of the beast at bay.

I eat quickly, almost mechanically, like I'm fueling up for war.

Marcus sits down with his small steak and potatoes. He considers my plate with awe. "A little hungry tonight?"

I punch him in the shoulder. Enough said.

The others at the firehouse gather around the table, passing around printouts of maps and assignments. I've drawn up a rotating watch schedule. I'm careful, deliberate, assigning each firefighter to a post with overlapping visibility and strict check-in times.

I make sure the body cams are handed out last. “Wear these,” I say, tone sharp. “Even if it feels stupid. It’s not just for accountability—it’s for your safety. I want a visual record of every step taken tonight.”

Marcus snorts, tossing his camera in the air and catching it. “Expecting trouble?”

I give him a hard look. “Just be ready for anything.”

Around the table, the levity fades. I can feel it in the air now—the shift. A nervous edge under their skin. They know this isn’t routine. Even Sera seems ill at ease.

What I don’t tell them is I’m not just preparing for an emergency. I’m preparing for war.

As the sun begins to set, casting the firehouse in burnt orange light, I walk the perimeter one last time. Everything is in place. Everyone is where they need to be. I don't smell anything out of the ordinary

And I would.

My wolf senses sharpen to a razor’s edge under the full moon—every rustle of leaves, every shift in the wind, charged with possibility. I sniff the air again, alert for whatever threat might be lurking just out of sight.

As midnight approaches, the night appears to be uneventful. Some of the firefighters are being relieved from their posts. The body cams are transferred, and each fighter has checked in with me, except for...

As I think it, Sera checks in.

Nothing to report.

I breathe a sigh of relief...at least for now.

Could I have been wrong? The pattern was consistent. Every full moon.

Unless we scared them off?

Thank God for that. But then that begs the question: who would have known we were keeping watch tonight?

My mind races through a list of names at the firehouse. In the Mayor’s office. I don’t want to believe any of them are involved.

And then it happens...

A sharp tug slices through my ribs, like a thread snapping under pressure—a burn that has nothing to do with fire. It coils inside me, primal and instinctive. Something’s wrong. Deeply, dangerously wrong.

I turn my face to the wind and inhale.

My chest tightens.

“Sera,” I breathe, heart suddenly pounding.

I sprint toward the edge of the trees.

Somewhere in the darkness, my fated mate is in danger.

And my wolf is wide awake.