Page 31 of Howling Love (Hunter’s Moon Ritual #1)

Gracie

It seemed like an impossibility. The book in front of me was large—one of the texts Elowen had helpfully provided—and it was completely focused on god scars.

Despite its immense amount of information, somehow, it didn’t mention a single thing about the physical changes that could occur because of a god scar.

Like my wolf changing fur colors.

Of course, that was fairly minor in the midst of everything that had happened—like interacting with a god—but I couldn’t let it go.

Not that my wolf cared or even thought twice about it; she was moving around and offering the occasional happy yip , her presence vibrant in my subconscious now that we’d shifted.

I’d always imagined my wolf within my own head, moving and interacting with the world through my eyes.

I hadn’t realized that over time she had turned from a flash of crimson to a mere shadow, existing on the sidelines of my mind.

I was beginning to understand how someone’s wolf could disappear over time.

For years, my wolf had been my only constant.

The thought of losing her was enough to tighten my throat and sting my eyes with grief.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, I found myself thanking The Eight for something.

I thanked them for keeping her with me, even after all these years without a shift.

My thoughts drifted to the last time I’d felt my paws hit the earth before the raid.

The cool breeze rushed over me as I darted through the woods, trying to keep up with Owen. He was bigger and faster than me, but he also pushed me—and my wolf.

When I went to school after the holiday break, I wanted to be able to keep up with the other kids during recess. I just wasn’t as fast as some of them because my wolf was smaller than theirs. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d wished to be taller.

A familiar howl had me pushing forward. I was almost catching up to him—but then my vibrant red paws slid in the snowy mud, and I slammed into the ground. I immediately shifted back, scowling at the sky.

Owen’s worried face appeared before me as he instantly shot out a hand to help me up. “Are you okay? I didn’t even think about how slippery it is here. My bad, Gracie.”

At fourteen, three years older than me, Owen had managed to get down all the cool wolf stuff that I hadn’t. I was glad he was teaching me, but it still stung that I wasn’t as fast or as strong.

“It's just frustrating that even when I am going fast, I can’t keep my footing.”

“You’re getting there,” he promised. “Now come on, let’s get back and ask Mom to make hot chocolate.”

I nodded, feeling frustrated but hopeful. Hot chocolate made almost everything better.

It was odd to consider that such a simple memory now held so much weight. Not only was it the last time I’d shifted, but the last time I’d seen Owen before the raid. Although, according to Ravik, it might not have to be. I still couldn’t quite believe that.

A cool breeze came in through the bedroom window as I stood, closing the tome and making my way to the balcony doors.

Shutting one side of them, I looked at the approaching storm that highlighted the mountaintops in flashes of light.

I was eager to see what a storm would be like from up here, so close to the sky.

A chill rolled over my recently showered skin as I made my way back to the bed and pulled the covers up over my lap.

I would just watch from under the blanket, where I could be cozy .

Small luxuries weren’t things I would ever take for granted.

The bath I’d taken after shifting had left my body warm and clean, my damp hair braided back against my sweatshirt-covered back.

Sometimes I had flashes of life from before the raid, a similar sensation of comfort from sitting by the fireplace with my family, but the new memories were so much more intense.

It was silly to want to cry over something like a long bath, but after having nothing for so long, I couldn’t feel completely weird about the urge. It didn’t help that the men I lived with had gone out of their way to ensure my comfort.

Macarons sat in their ribbon-tied box on the table next to me, perfect little pastel treats I wouldn’t have imagined daring to hold, let alone eat, less than two weeks ago.

The journal from Ravik sat across the room, its pages already containing pressed wildflowers from the garden.

I might not have been ready to write yet, but I could do that .

My fingers itched to add more, especially the ones Basir had brought me after their meeting, silently placing them at the table in front of me.

I felt as if keeping them safe between pieces of paper might keep the beauty of this place from fading.

I knew why I had the urge to preserve the beauty of the natural world around me—one not cursed and dead by Ivan’s hand.

For so long it felt as though he had tainted everything.

Now I was being released from that. Even if there were things I didn’t understand about my connection to Nyxarra, I was becoming confident in two important things:

One, that my bond with these men was real, something I saw evidence of with every moment I spent near them. Two, that it was going to take work to unshackle myself from the physical and mental chains Ivan had put on me.

I could only hope that it would lead to a metamorphosis—that I could become my true self.

A soft noise near the window had my gaze snapping over.

A flicker of lightning caught the shape of a man in the doorway of the balcony, the shadow so still it made my breath catch.

Basir’s hair was mussed, shirt half undone, his eyes fixed on me with an unreadable mix of confusion and intent.

For a moment, the world quieted between us before the sound of rain started against the glass.

“You’re not asleep,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair.

There was a slight pink to the tops of his ears as I quickly put together what had happened.

The three of them had said they would stay up for a bit, so I’d gone to shower and—they thought—fall asleep.

It had probably been about an hour, and when I didn’t return, he assumed I had.

“Why didn’t you just come through the door?” I asked, his damp shirt clinging to his muscles.

“I…” He paused for a long moment, leaning in the doorway. “I didn’t want to wake you by opening the door.”

Something about that didn’t ring completely true. There were balconies that ran along the outside of our suites, so I assumed he’d scaled them.

“Do you do that often?” I asked softly, standing and approaching him. His jaw tightened. I had a feeling I was close to hitting the mark, but there was something here I didn’t fully understand.

“Do I come into your room while you’re sleeping?

” he demanded roughly, his emerald eyes so dark they almost appeared black.

His posture was relaxed, but I could feel how tense my question made him, and I felt a tinge of nervousness.

I didn’t want to upset Basir, but I also felt the urge to tear down the walls between us—to better understand what was going on in his head.

“Yes.”

After a long moment, he nodded sharply, a heat to his gaze that caused my chest to flutter. He seemed hesitant about my reaction, almost worried I would be mad. I didn’t understand it at all.

“I don’t mind,” I whispered, realizing why the concept was more appealing than I would have expected. “The idea of you watching me makes me feel safe.”

A low rumble caught in Basir’s throat as he tightened his hands at his sides, as if he were holding back physically. I went a step further. “But I would rather you just stay, then. Thornar and Ravik have slept in here…you should, too.”

I hadn’t meant it to sound so forward—so blunt—but my words had an instant effect.

Basir moved into my space, just like that first night, in a flash—like a shadow himself.

I inhaled sharply as his fingers ran over my throat and into my hair, holding me in place as he dipped his head down, brushing his nose against mine.

I shivered at the intensity of his movement, my heart beating wildly, wanting more of his touch.

Somehow, the man was managing to hold me close while keeping me at a distance.

“I can’t be in your bed, glow,” he said in a soft, pained whisper. My eyes grew heavy at the unexpected grief in his voice.

“Why?”

“I just…I can’t.” He grit the words out and then forced himself to add, “Ever.”

Ever? My brows pulled together as pain filled my heart. I tried to pull back, but he kept me against him as he continued, soft and almost threatening. “You don’t realize what you’re asking for when you say that.”

Maybe he was right…

No. He wasn’t, and his implication made me angry. Pulling away, I stepped back, and something about my expression had him looking tormented himself.

“I may not know a lot, Basir, but I know I want you close.”

“Gracie, I can’t be close to you,” he hissed, his fists tightening at his sides. “I can’t hold you like Ravik or Thornar do. I can’t be soft with you—I don’t have the ability.”

“You have before,” I argued. He was erecting a gigantic wall between us, bigger and more daunting than ever before.

He moved a hand through his hair in frustration, my gaze catching on his tattoos, the inky shapes lined with gold. Knowing Basir as I did now, I could see how much they reflected him—a shadow with a vibrance inside that he tried to hide. But I didn’t want him to hide from me.

“Barely,” he whispered, more to himself than to me.

I could practically feel the pain through our bond, and I felt the confusion and the guilt. He didn’t feel good about what he was saying, but he felt like he had to say it. I never wanted him to feel forced to do anything; I’d felt that enough in my life.

Maybe I needed to first figure out why he felt that way.

“Can you tell me why?” I asked softly. It was hard to get the question out—I wasn’t used to the idea of being able to ask, let alone demand an answer. His gaze immediately sharpened on mine. He took a moment to examine my expression, then shook his head.

I tried to hide my disappointment, but then he explained.

“I was born in the Grimfur Skulk territory.”

Oh. That was the one territory I actually knew.

I’d heard Ivan complain about it at dinner often, whenever he had to visit.

The streets were paved with stone and dirt, the air hung with a heavy industrial smog, and the territory itself was violent—filled with predators that acted freely, unlike the harsh structure of the Cold Moon Pack.

Both places were filled with evil, but in different ways.

Basir looked out at the balcony in thought, away from my wide-eyed expression, his voice so low that I had to move closer to hear. “My parents worked and died as shockdust runners. I don’t think I had been part of the plan, but once I was old enough, I became part of their ventures.”

Shockdust. I’d heard Ivan’s men talk about it before. Apparently it could keep someone up for days on end, a stimulant made specifically for soldiers. So Basir’s parents had been drug runners, and he’d been forced to be one as well.

“Basir…”

“It was a dangerous life. I was abducted to pay debts more times than I can count, and I was sold off by them at least twice. It wasn’t until I was old enough and big enough to hold my own that I could stop that shit.

At that point, though, I was completely embedded in the system.

I was running shockdust right alongside them. ”

It was the most I’d heard Basir say at once, and I was captivated.

“The Grimfur Skulk’s drug trade is expansive.

They provide more for Thornfell than any other territory.

The market is drenched with blood. I didn’t even realize how light the world could be outside of those walls…

” His gaze went distant as he ran a hand over the tattoos that stretched down his arm.

“My parents were killed when I was ten, during a conflict between city factions. I managed to escape. I fled the territory because their competition wanted me dead as well.”

“That is horrible ,” I whispered, stepping closer to him. He tensed slightly but didn’t move back. His hand darted out to rest on my waist as he finally met my gaze, the sadness there seeping into my very bones. “No one should be forced into that, especially so young.”

Basir nodded as if he knew that, but it didn’t seem to sink in. “Until I left, my world was bathed in darkness. It was only after I broke free that I saw that light even existed, Gracie. The darkness isn’t gone. It will never be gone.”

I heard his declaration, but I didn’t fully understand. Why would that stop him from wanting to be near me? To be in my room? Did he think he couldn’t be happy—couldn’t enjoy our closeness? Or maybe he was saying that because of the darkness, he didn’t feel what the others did…

“Does the bond feel different to you because of that? Do you not feel the same?—”

Basir shook his head emphatically, stopping me in my tracks. “How I feel about you, glow, is only intensified by the darkness. That’s the problem.”

I wasn’t sure I fully understood, yet I treated his words as a sign of his emotions and chose courage in the face of it.

“Just because you’ve lived in darkness doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the light.”

My statement seemed to cause Basir immense pain, his eyes closing as he stood perfectly still for a long time. Had I said something wrong?

When his eyes opened again, I could see vibrant green streaks within the emerald. Without a word, the man lifted me up and carried me toward the bed. I watched as he gently laid me on it and went to dim the lights. I held my breath, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Finally, as he returned, my curiosity won out.

“Are you joining me?” I asked, my voice filled with a soft need I could hear myself.

Basir moved into the bed, adjusting my frame so I melted against him, his heartbeat steady and solid beneath my cheek. He brushed his lips over the top of my head.

“Basir?” I needed something from him. “What are you doing?”

His chest produced a low rumble, his gunpowder and sandalwood scent wrapping around me, as he admitted, “Just basking in the light, glow.”