Chapter 2

Calla's Perspective

The Willow's End Mall on a Saturday morning was exactly the kind of sensory overload I had hoped for. The familiar blend of coffee shop aromas, department store perfumes, and the constant hum of conversation usually grounded me, made me feel connected to the normal, everyday world I understood.

Today, it felt overwhelming in an entirely different way.

Everything seemed amplified—the fluorescent lights too bright, the music too loud, the mingled scents of a hundred different products creating a complex map I could somehow read with startling clarity. I could smell the specific brands of coffee from three different shops, distinguish between various perfumes on passing shoppers, even detect the lingering scent of someone's breakfast from an hour ago.

I paused outside a jewelry store, using the window's reflection to steady myself. This was getting ridiculous. Since when did I have the nose of a bloodhound?

The voice in my head had been quiet since I left the house, but the hyperawareness it had awakened remained, making every sensation feel like too much.

"We are changing," came the soft whisper, barely more than a thought. "Awakening."

"Not helping," I muttered under my breath, earning a strange look from a woman walking past with her toddler.

I was considering whether caffeine would help or make things worse when I became aware of someone watching me. The feeling was intense and immediate—not the casual observation of people-watching, but focused attention that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I turned slowly, scanning the crowd, and my gaze locked with a pair of amber eyes that seemed to glow with their own inner light. The young man they belonged to was tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders and the kind of lean muscle that spoke of serious physical training. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and he was staring at me with an intensity that made me feel exposed, seen in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

When our eyes met, his expression shifted from curiosity to something approaching shock. He began moving toward me through the crowd with a fluid grace that seemed almost predatory, though not threatening. More like... purposeful.

His eyes were the warm amber of honey held up to sunlight, and they were studying me with an intensity that made me feel exposed, seen in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

"Excuse me," he said when he reached me, his voice deep and warm but carrying an undercurrent of barely contained energy. "I know this might sound strange, but are you feeling alright? You look like you're... struggling with something."

I blinked, surprised by both his directness and his accuracy. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"No, but..." He paused, seeming to wrestle with how much to say. "You seem like you were struggling a bit."

The rational part of my brain suggested this was either an insane pickup line or I'd encountered someone with serious personal boundary issues. But something deeper, more instinctual, recognized truth in his words. And there was something about his presence that made the overwhelming sensory input settle into something more manageable.

"He is like us," the voice whispered with sudden interest. "But different. Familiar."

"I'm Thorne," he said, his grip firm but gentle. "Thorne Ashenclaw."

"Calla," I replied. "Calla Merrin."

Calla," he repeated, testing the name. "So what seems to be the issue, Calla."

The laugh that escaped me was equal parts hysteria and relief. "This might sound completely insane, but I've been hearing a voice in my head all morning. I'm starting to think I need professional help."

Something in Thorne's expression shifted—not alarm or concern for my mental state, but understanding. Recognition. "What kind of voice?"

"The kind that suggests I'm losing my mind?" I attempted a joke, but my voice cracked slightly. "It's like there's someone else in my head, someone who knows things I don't."

Thorne was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying my face with an intensity that made me want to fidget. Finally, he spoke.

"My mother is a therapist. She specializes in... unique situations. Would you like to meet her?"

Every self-preservation instinct I possessed screamed against following a stranger anywhere. But the voice in my head—the one that had been my unwelcome companion all morning—stirred with something that felt like recognition.

"He's like us," it whispered. "Trust him."

"Is her office nearby?" I heard myself asking.

"Not far. I promise, I just want to help. Something tells me my mother might have exactly the kind of insight you're looking for."

"Okay," I said, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounded. "But I'm driving, and I'm telling someone where I'm going."

Relief flickered across Thorne's features. "Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable."

Thorne's Perspective

As we walked toward the parking lot, I found myself studying Calla out of the corner of my eye, trying to process what I was sensing. Her scent was unlike anything I'd encountered—definitely werewolf, but with an underlying current of power that made my wolf, Orion, pace restlessly in my mind.

"She doesn't know what she is," Orion observed as I watched her pull out her phone to text someone. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know," I replied silently. "But Mom needs to see this."

Calla was typing on her phone, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. When she hit send, I caught a glimpse of her message: Going to meet someone, I’ll tell you about it later. If you don't hear from me by tonight, call the police and tell them to look for a guy named Thorne Ashenclaw.

The fact that she was being cautious should have reassured me, but instead it made my chest tight with an unfamiliar protective instinct. She had no idea what she was, no understanding of the world she was clearly part of, and she was trusting a complete stranger because of instincts she didn't understand.

"She's incredibly vulnerable," I realized, watching her unlock her beat-up Honda Civic. "And incredibly strong at the same time."

I folded myself into the passenger seat, hyperaware of her presence in the small space. There was something about being near her that made every sense sharper, every instinct more alert. Orion was practically vibrating with interest, which was unusual—my wolf was typically reserved around strangers.

"So," Calla said as she started the engine, "where exactly are we going?"

"Take the north road out of town," I directed. "I'll guide you from there."

As we drove, Willow's End behind for winding roads bordered by dense forest, I found myself stealing glances at her profile. There was something almost otherworldly about her features—the sharp cheekbones, the unusual green eyes, the way she moved with unconscious grace. But it was more than just physical. There was an energy about her that made the air in the car feel charged.

At one point, she glanced over to find my eyes had gone unfocused as I reached out to mindlink my mother. "Mom, I'm bringing someone to see you. She's... special. Werewolf, but doesn't know it. There's something about her that feels familiar, like family, but I can't explain why."

The effect was unsettling for humans, I knew—like looking at someone who was there but not entirely present.

"Are you okay?" she started to ask, but the light changed and her attention snapped back.

"Careful," Orion warned. "She's observant. And getting nervous."

"Your mother's office is pretty remote," she commented, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice as we turned onto what was barely more than a dirt path.

I nodded, my eyes automatically scanning the treeline in front of us. "She values privacy. It helps her clients feel safe to explore difficult truths."

After twenty minutes of increasingly rough terrain, the trees suddenly opened up to reveal Moonveil. I watched Calla's jaw drop as she took in the village that was my home—the collection of buildings that ranged from rustic cabins to sleek, modern structures, all designed to blend seamlessly with the natural landscape.

People moved through the space with purpose—some jogging along marked trails, others carrying baskets of what looked like fresh produce, children playing games that seemed to involve an unusual amount of physical contact and mock-wrestling.

"Thorne," Calla said, her voice barely above a whisper, "what is this place?"

As she parked the car, I turned to face her, my expression equal parts excited and apprehensive. This was the moment of truth—the moment when her world would shatter completely, replaced by something larger and more dangerous than she'd ever imagined.

"Calla, welcome to Moonveil. This is my pack's territory."

The word 'pack' hit her like a physical blow, and I could see the confirmation of fears she hadn't even realized she'd been harboring flickering across her face. "Pack?" she echoed weakly.

"We can talk about that more inside. I know it's a lot to take in," I said gently. "But I promise, everything will make sense soon. My mother isn't just a therapist—she's our Luna, our pack's female leader. And I think she might have some answers about what's been happening to you."

I watched as her hands trembled while she unbuckled her seatbelt. Part of her wanted to throw the car in reverse and speed back to her safe, predictable life. But a stronger part—the part that had always felt like it was searching for something it couldn't name—urged her forward.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath that tasted of pine and possibility. "Let's go meet your mother."

As we stepped out of the car, I could sense Calla's nervous energy mixing with curiosity. With me by her side, she took her first steps into Moonveil, looking around with wide eyes at this hidden world she'd never imagined existed.

"Something feels different about her," Orion observed quietly.

"I know," I replied, watching her take a deep breath and square her shoulders. "Mom will know what to make of it."