BENEATH THE ALPHAS MOON

Kiera Bellamy hadn't planned on coming back. The quiet streets of her childhood village, hidden deep in the rolling hills, had been a place she'd left behind years ago-vowing never to return. Her memories were tangled in the faded walls of the house where she grew up, each corner holding the echoes of a life she'd chosen to forget. But life had a way of dragging people back to where they began. Her father's unexpected death-a stroke, the doctors said-had left Kiera no choice but to return to the place she'd run from.

The winding road through the forest seemed narrower now, the trees leaning in as though watching her approach. The sun had just started to dip below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the mist that clung to the ground. Kiera felt the familiar weight of unease settle over her chest as the village came into view. The same village she'd once thought would be a prison for the rest of her life. She had left when she turned eighteen, eager to escape the suffocating quiet and the overbearing eyes of small-town life. Now, at twenty-six, she found herself back in the same place, but it didn't feel like home anymore.

Her old home stood at the edge of the village, a rambling Victorian house that had been in her family for generations. The garden was overgrown, the ivy crawling up the stone walls like an infection. Kiera hesitated as she reached for the front door, her hand brushing against the brass knocker that had once been the symbol of warmth and belonging. It felt cold to the touch now. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air was stale, untouched for months. Dust hung in the air like particles suspended in time, settling on the furniture and the walls. A sharp scent of mildew mixed with something else-something familiar, yet unsettling. The house had been abandoned for too long. The furniture, draped in sheets, looked like a museum exhibit of a life left behind. Every room felt empty, as if the house itself had given up.

Her father's study was at the far end of the house, the door ajar. Kiera stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the clutter of papers and books scattered across the desk. Her father had been a private man, a man who rarely let anyone into his world. Kiera had never been close to him, not after her mother died when she was ten. He had become a ghost of a parent-more a figurehead in her life than a source of comfort. She had no love for him, but she couldn't help but feel the twinge of something lost. Something she hadn't been able to reclaim even after all these years.

The journal was easy to find, tucked under a pile of letters. Kiera's fingers hesitated as they brushed against the worn leather cover. Her father had never been a man of words, but the journal was a window to a part of him she had never seen. She opened it slowly, the pages yellowed with age. The handwriting was small and tight, the words almost cramped. Kiera skimmed over the pages, her eyes catching fragments of sentences that made little sense.

*"The pack grows restless. The bloodline must be protected."*

*"Tonight, the moon is full. I feel the change within me, though I fight it."*

*"She must not know. It is better this way. The curse will not claim her."*

The words danced on the edge of Kiera's understanding, each line more cryptic than the last. Her fingers tightened around the journal, an uneasy feeling creeping up her spine. What had her father been hiding? Why had he kept this from her?

A noise from outside broke her concentration-a rustling in the bushes followed by the distinct crack of a twig snapping underfoot. Kiera froze, the journal slipping from her hands and falling to the floor with a soft thud. She hadn't heard anyone approach, and she wasn't expecting visitors. Her pulse quickened. She glanced toward the window, but the fading light made it impossible to see who-or what-was out there.

She moved cautiously to the window, her breath held in her chest. The garden was still, the trees lining the edge of the property swaying gently in the evening breeze. But the shadows in the distance seemed darker than usual. The forest beyond her house had always been a place of mystery, where the trees grew thick and the paths twisted and turned. Kiera had been told stories of the woods when she was a child, tales of wolves and spirits that roamed at night. She hadn't believed them, of course. It was just local folklore, designed to keep children from wandering too far. But as she stood at the window now, her unease deepened.

A flash of movement caught her eye-a figure darting between the trees. It was gone before Kiera could get a clear look. Her heart thudded in her chest.

Maybe it was just a deer. Or a trespasser. There was no reason to be alarmed. And yet, the unease lingered, gnawing at the edge of her thoughts. She turned back to the journal, but something had shifted in the room, a palpable tension in the air that hadn't been there before. The house felt too quiet, the walls too close. She picked up the journal again, determined to make sense of it, but her mind was clouded.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, breaking the silence. Kiera jumped. Her instincts screamed at her to hide, to lock the door and retreat upstairs, but she quickly pushed those thoughts away. There was no reason to be afraid. She wasn't a child anymore.

When she opened the door, the man standing on the porch was a stranger-tall, with dark hair and piercing green eyes that seemed to gleam in the twilight. His clothes were simple, worn jeans and a jacket, but there was something about him that felt out of place. His presence was almost too commanding, like a shadow lingering at the edge of her vision.