The rain had eased into a steady drizzle by the time Claire finally climbed into her car, heart still hammering against her ribs.
The stranger's words echoed in her mind: You shouldn't wander the woods alone, Claire.
She gripped the steering wheel, trying to make sense of it all.
How did he know her name? Why had he appeared again—this time outside the clinic, of all places?
And more importantly, why did a part of her—the reckless, desperate part she usually kept tightly caged—want to see him again?
Shaking her head, Claire started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, deciding that maybe, for once, she needed to talk to someone who could give her some answers.
Someone who knew the old stories of Eldergrove better than anyone else.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the gravel driveway of the town library.
The Eldergrove Library was a squat brick building that smelled of old paper and forgotten secrets. Claire had spent half her childhood there, thumbing through books about animals, science, and local myths.
Today, the place felt heavier somehow. As if the very walls were holding their breath.
The librarian, Mrs. Adler, peered up from her desk as Claire walked in, her graying hair coiled into a tight bun and her glasses slipping down her nose.
"Claire Reynolds," Mrs. Adler said warmly. "Shouldn't you be buried in textbooks this time of year?"
Claire managed a weak smile.
"Taking a small break. Thought I'd... look into some history."
Mrs. Adler's eyes twinkled behind her glasses. "Town history?"
Claire nodded.
The librarian gestured toward a dusty aisle at the back. "Local archives are through there. Good luck finding anything readable. Most of it's older than my grandmother's dentures."
Claire murmured her thanks and made her way to the back.
The local archives were a mess—yellowed papers stuffed into crumbling binders, newspaper clippings curling at the edges. But Claire wasn't looking for neatness. She was looking for truth.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the books until one title caught her eye: Legends of Eldergrove: Creatures of the Moon and Forest.
Pulling it out carefully, she sat at the nearest table and began to read.
The pages were filled with familiar tales—ghost lights dancing in the woods, a woman who could turn into a fox, trees that whispered your deepest fears at midnight.
But near the middle, something else surfaced. A section she didn't remember reading before:
The Moonbound Ones.
According to the worn, fading text, there had once been a pack of beings who lived hidden among the townsfolk. Shape-shifters. Creatures bound to the phases of the moon. Fierce protectors of the forest and all life within it.
They walk among us still, the passage warned, but their blood is bound by ancient law: never to reveal themselves, never to love beyond their own kind. To break this law is to risk war, death, and the end of the old ways.
Claire stared at the words, the hair rising on the back of her neck.
It sounded ridiculous. Like some half-remembered campfire story.
And yet... hadn't she seen something last night that defied logic? Hadn't she felt something, standing there in the mist with that stranger's silver eyes locked on hers?
Claire snapped the book shut, her mind spinning.
Whatever was happening in Eldergrove, it wasn't just random disappearances or overactive imaginations. Something old was stirring.
And somehow, she was tangled up in it.
Driving home that evening felt different. The roads seemed darker, the trees pressing closer. Every shadow flickered at the edge of her vision.
By the time Claire pulled into her driveway, she was tense and exhausted.
She locked the car, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and made a dash for the door through the rain.
And froze.
Footprints.
They led from the edge of the forest right up to her porch—bare, human footprints, large and heavy, stamped clearly into the muddy earth.
Claire's breath caught.
Someone—or something—had been here. Waiting.
She scanned the trees, heart hammering, but the woods were silent except for the soft whisper of rain.
Claire stumbled inside, locking the door behind her with shaking hands. She closed the curtains, flicked on every light, and sank onto the couch, wrapping her arms around herself.
For a long time, she just sat there, listening to the rain drum against the roof.
Night had fully fallen when a knock sounded at the door.
Claire jumped, her heart in her throat.
Another knock—soft, deliberate.
She crept toward the door, pressing her eye to the peephole.
It was him.
Lucian.
Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead, jacket dripping rainwater onto the porch. He stood there quietly, not moving, not knocking again.
Waiting.
Claire's fingers hovered over the lock.
Every rational instinct screamed at her not to open it.
Every survival instinct begged her to run.
But something deeper—something raw and ancient—pushed her forward.
She unlocked the door.
Lucian met her gaze, his silver eyes intense under the porch light. He looked... different. Not dangerous exactly, but not safe either. Like a storm trapped in human form.
"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.
Claire hesitated. "Why are you here?"
"Because you need to know the truth."
Her throat went dry.
She stepped aside without a word, letting him in.
Up close, Lucian was even more unsettling. His clothes clung to him, revealing the lean, powerful lines of his body. His skin was pale, almost luminescent, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.
Claire grabbed a towel from the bathroom and tossed it at him.
He caught it easily, almost amused.
As he dried off, Claire crossed her arms over her chest. "Start talking."
Lucian's expression grew serious. "I'm not supposed to be here. I broke every rule by even speaking to you."
"Why?" she demanded.
"Because," he said, voice low and rough, "I'm not human. Not fully."
Claire swallowed hard. She should laugh. She should throw him out and call someone.
But she didn't.
Because deep down, part of her had already known.
"What are you?" she whispered.
Lucian's gaze burned into hers.
"A werewolf," he said simply. "A shifter bound to the moon."
The room tilted slightly.
Claire gripped the back of the couch to steady herself.
"This isn't a story, Claire. It's real. We live among you. We keep to ourselves. We protect the old ways. But something's happening now. Something dangerous. And you... you're caught in the middle of it."
She stared at him, numb. "Why me?"
Lucian hesitated. Pain flickered across his face.
"Because," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "you and I... we're connected. The moment I saw you, I knew."
Claire's heart twisted painfully.
This couldn't be real.
But the look in his eyes—the raw, desperate honesty—left no room for doubt.
Outside, the rain intensified, pounding against the windows like a drumbeat.
Inside, two souls stood on the edge of something vast and terrifying.
And Claire knew, somehow, that nothing would ever be the same again.