Pull of the Moon

There’s this sharp, electric feeling in the woods at twilight. Honestly, it just flips reality on its head. The world I know—the safe, everyday stuff—slips away, and what’s left buzzes with danger and magic so thick you can almost taste it. Even the trees feel like they’re holding their breath, caught in this heavy silence, waiting for someone—no, something—to finally break the spell.

And, judging by the wild, painful pressure squeezing my chest, that “someone” is definitely me. 

Lucky me.

Tonight, my usual anchors are useless. Schoolwork? Forget it. My math homework looks like someone spilled ink on it. I can’t focus. Dinner? Might as well be cardboard. There’s a hunger inside me that has nothing to do with food. Even Maya’s endless chatter—normally a lifeline, with her weird art projects and crazier school board conspiracy theories—just bounces right off my wall of nerves.

My wolf isn’t just restless tonight. She’s pure chaos, pacing under my skin, whining and desperate, clawing for release. She’s loud. Impossible to ignore.

Then there’s the pull. God, it’s real. Like there’s a rope tied to my chest, yanking me to the edge of Silver Ridge, toward the thick, dark trees that whisper my name.

I tried to talk myself out of it. Used all the old, tired logic. “Don’t be dramatic,” I muttered, but my hands were already grabbing my jacket and keys. Like they knew what was coming.

“It’s just a walk in the woods. Alone. At night. Totally normal for a teenager in a town crawling with supernatural weirdness.” I almost laughed at the lie, but it cracked something inside me. The truth hit hard: I’m not just human anymore. And the second my boot hit the muddy trail, I felt it deep in my bones—no going back.

Everything sharpened. The smell of wet moss nearly knocked me over. The leaves above whispered, and somehow, that sound felt like a secret message. Underneath it all, something thumped at the edge of my hearing—a heartbeat. Not mine, but somehow, it belonged to me.

My wolf went nuts. Pure thrill, pure need. I barely kept her in check.

Then, right on cue, he appeared.

Caleb.

This time, he wasn’t leaning or lurking. He stood right in the middle of the path, solid and unmovable—a shadow wrapped in gold light. His eyes locked onto me, and it felt like the whole forest shrank around him, giving him space, giving up. Even the wind seemed to freeze out of respect.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. Calm, steady, and somehow commanding all at once.

That voice hit me straight in the chest, set my wolf off, and sent my heart into a wild sprint.

I forced myself to meet his gaze, trying to sound cocky, clinging to adrenaline because my insides felt like they were shifting.

“Neither should you,” I shot back, my voice rougher than I wanted. “Or what—were you waiting for me? Is this some Alpha patrol thing? Did I miss the part where we get official memos about greeting rituals for half-turned teens?”

Something flickered across his face. Amusement? Concern? It was fast, but it was there. A crack in his perfect mask. I counted that as a win.

“You are… different,” he said finally, his voice low and dangerous, holding a warning, curiosity, and something else I couldn’t name. 

“Thanks,” I shot back, way too fast—classic me, hiding behind a wall of sarcasm. It was like flipping a switch, that old knee-jerk defense. “I do what I can to keep things wild, you know?”

But then, right in the middle of my own act, something inside me pulled tight. Hard. Like a fist twisting my insides, sharper than before, right on the edge of real pain. My wolf didn’t miss a beat. She let out this low, almost panicked whine, and then, for one raw, electric second, it wasn’t just in my head anymore.

I felt it. Not just the idea of it, but the actual, physical thing—claws itching to flex, muscles tensing up, a wave of heat and power that didn’t feel entirely like mine. It was foreign and yet, weirdly, felt more “me” than anything else ever had.

My breath caught, rough and jagged. My heart just lost it, thundering in my chest. Something ancient and wild ran through me, cracking open the thin layer of what I thought was real.

Caleb saw it—or maybe he just felt it, too. He stepped in closer, barely any space left between us now. My body snapped taut, frozen somewhere between wanting to fight and wanting to bolt.

Those eyes—God, those eyes—locked on me. Gold and bright, pinning me in place. He wasn’t just looking. He was searching, daring me, trying to see if I’d meet him halfway or run.

And then it hit me. Full-force, no escape. The pull wasn’t just about the call of the woods anymore. It was him. Right there, right now, every nerve ending screaming for him. My wolf snarled, deep and guttural, hungry and needy in a way that was almost embarrassing.

And all at once, I knew it. I wanted him. Not just Caleb the person, but the whole package—the promise, the danger, that wild, impossible connection that buzzed between us, thick as fog. The kind of thing you can’t name but you know you’ll never shake.

I tried to fight it. Shook my head, hard, hoping to clear out the rush. “Nope. Not happening,” I whispered, but even I didn’t buy it.

He heard me, of course. He always does. “It is,” he said, voice soft but cutting right through the hush of the forest. The words landed like a punch. “You can’t pretend it’s not real.”

I blinked, trying to find my footing, but my wolf only got louder, angrier. I could practically feel her claws scraping the inside of my mind, desperate to answer the call, to just let go and change. My body buzzed with this wild, aching need—something forbidden, something I’d never admit out loud.

The wind picked up, swirling leaves around us, like even the trees could feel the tension. My heart hammered. My wolf howled inside, and I knew—God, I knew—I was right on the edge. Closer than I’d ever been to letting the wolf break free, tearing down whatever was left of my careful, human shell.

And then, just when it felt like everything would snap, Caleb moved. He stepped back, slow and deliberate, letting the shadows swallow him up. One second he was there, the next—gone. I barely managed to breathe. My wolf whined, the sound echoing in my bones, so full of longing it hurt.

“You need control,” he called out, voice fading, already half lost in the darkness. It was a warning, maybe. Or a promise. Or both.

And then he was gone. Just shadows and silence and the memory of gold eyes.

I slumped back against the nearest tree, rough bark digging into my spine, breath coming in ragged bursts. My wolf kept growling—low, steady, frustrated as hell.

And me? I looked inside and faced it: I was scared. I was buzzing with power. I was confused and hungry and, honestly, more alive than I’d ever felt in my safe little snow globe world.

The truth settled in, heavy and impossible to ignore. The woods are calling. Caleb’s calling. And my wolf? She’s ready to tear down the walls and answer, screaming.