CHAPTER SIX: Luna on Paper, Fire in Her Veins

Zara woke to the scent of burned lavender.

Her body felt oddly light, like she was floating just beneath her own skin. The room—Maxim’s bedroom—was dimly lit by morning sun seeping through black curtains. She blinked, disoriented. Her neck tingled.

The mark.

She reached up, fingers brushing the tender curve just below her jaw. It wasn’t just skin-deep. It hummed, pulsing softly in rhythm with her heartbeat. There was no wound, only warmth. Like a whisper left behind.

She sat up slowly. The silk sheets pooled around her waist. Across the room, Maxim stood shirtless near the window, silent, silhouetted in gold light. His back was all muscle and scars. Old ones. Deep ones.

He must’ve heard her stir because he turned, eyes locking with hers. Not cold, not silver—but warm. Liquid. Almost… soft.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Zara swallowed. “Like I got hit by a freight train made of hormones and moonlight.”

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped him.

She winced, running a hand through her sleep-mussed hair. “That was probably not the cool Luna answer.”

“You don’t need to be cool. You just need to stay alive.”

The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. Not because he sounded threatening. But because he sounded afraid.

He moved toward her, slow and careful, like approaching a wild thing. His hand brushed her shoulder, then the mark. Her skin warmed instantly.

“It didn’t burn you,” he murmured.

“Should it have?”

He shook his head. “No. It shouldn’t have marked you at all.”

Zara frowned. “I agreed to it.”

He nodded once. “That’s not what I mean. You’re human. Or you were. The mark shouldn’t have taken… unless…”

“Unless what?”

But he didn’t answer. He simply leaned in and kissed her forehead.

Then he said the words she didn’t expect.

“I need to assign you a guard.”

Zara’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Gavin will accompany you to and from the firm. You won’t go anywhere alone.”

“Absolutely not.”

Maxim blinked. “Zara—”

“No,” she said, climbing out of bed and yanking on his white dress shirt from the floor. “You don’t get to mark me, then treat me like a fragile trinket.”

He stepped forward. “You were attacked in the lobby yesterday—”

“And I survived.”

He growled, low and warning. “You survived because I was there. That won’t always be the case.”

Zara’s mouth opened, then shut. She looked away, jaw tightening.

Maxim exhaled slowly. “I’m not trying to smother you. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

She didn’t answer. Just pulled her hair into a bun and headed for the closet where her shoes had somehow ended up.

Back at the firm, whispers trailed behind her.

Did you see the bite?

She’s on the Alpha floor now.

Is she even one of us?

Zara ignored them all. Ruby caught up with her by the elevators.

“Zar,” she whispered. “Did you sleep with him or did he mark you? Or both?”

Zara gave her a tired look. “Does it matter?”

Ruby grimaced. “It matters if I need to start calling you Your Howliness.”

That made her snort.

But Ruby’s expression sobered quickly. “Seriously… are you okay?”

Zara hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Just… different.”

They reached the elevator. Ruby gave her a long look. “Watch your back. People don’t like it when a new Luna rises fast. Especially one with... baggage.”

Zara’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

But Ruby caught her wrist before she could step inside.

“I’m saying it because I care. There are old laws in play now. Bloodlines. Power. Not everyone wants a human—or whatever you are now—sitting next to the Alpha.”

Zara stared at her, unsettled.

“Wait… what do you mean ‘whatever I am now’?”

But before Ruby could answer, the elevator dinged, and the doors slid shut between them.

The morning passed in a blur of meetings, case files, and awkward glances. Every supernatural client seemed to sense something different about her now. A witch client flinched when she shook Zara’s hand. A werewolf intern bowed without realizing it.

Zara sat alone in the break room, fingers absently tracing the rim of her coffee cup, when she felt it.

Heat. A ripple under her skin.

She looked up—and Victor Vale walked in.

“Miss Cole,” he said smoothly.

She tensed. “Victor.”

He smiled, sharp and polite. “May I?”

Without waiting, he sat across from her.

“You look different,” he said, eyes flicking to her neck. “The mark suits you. Bold move.”

“What do you want?”

“To talk. Civilly.”

She said nothing.

He leaned forward. “Has he told you about the prophecy?”

Her brow creased. “What prophecy?”

“Of the cursed Alpha and the fire-blooded mate. A union that would either break the curse… or break the world.”

Zara laughed once, short and disbelieving. “You expect me to believe you care about curses and fate?”

“No,” Victor said softly. “I expect you to believe that Maxim doesn’t always tell the truth.”

Her fingers curled around her cup.

He went on, voice low. “Did he tell you what happened to his first mate? Did he tell you that the curse drives him mad? That every woman he touches is doomed?”

Zara stood. “Get away from me.”

Victor stood too. “You’ll see the truth soon. When the moon rises, and he becomes the monster he tries so hard to cage—remember I tried to warn you.”

She didn’t look back.

Later that night, Zara sat curled on her aunt’s worn couch, a half-empty mug of herbal tea in her hands.

Aunt Myra lit another protective candle, murmuring something in a language Zara didn’t know.

“You’ve been marked,” Myra said without turning. “And yet… you’re still here. Whole.”

“Should I not be?”

Her aunt turned slowly, eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

“There’s power waking in you, child. You were never fully human. Not really.”

Zara’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”

Myra handed her a faded photograph. A woman stood at its center—brown skin, strong jaw, eyes glowing faintly gold.

“That’s your mother,” Myra said. “Her blood was old. Witch blood. A line hidden for generations. She fell in love with a wolf once… and paid the price.”

Zara stared at the image.

“You,” Myra whispered, “are something the world hasn’t seen in a long time. Witch-marked. Moon-touched. Chosen.”

A chill ran down Zara’s spine.

Outside, a wolf howled.

Inside her veins, something howled back.

Last Line:

“He’s not the only one changing, Aunt Myra. Something’s waking up inside me.”