บททั้งหมดของ Beneath the Silver Moon : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Darkness clamps down, tight as a fist. But this time, it isn’t empty or numb—it’s alive. There’s this low hum, like a heartbeat, pulsing through the dark, deeper than I want to imagine. The air feels thick, almost syrupy, pressing in, sneaking under my skin, seeping into my bones.I’m just floating. Suspended. Somehow weightless and trapped at the same time.“Evie!”Caleb’s voice rips through the black, sharp and electric, like lightning somewhere far off.I reach for him—try, anyway. My limbs don’t answer. They’re just gone, swallowed up by the dark. My breath thunders in my ears, muffled like I’m underwater. My heart is a wild thing, pounding, desperate to outrun whatever’s coming for it.Then—Something takes shape.No, it unfolds, slow and huge—a shadow with silver eyes, bright as twin moons burning in the dark.The First Wolf.But he’s not the ghost I saw in the cabin. Not that strange figure lurking in the woods. He’s more. Bigger. Older. Something monstrous.His shape flickers—

Nobody says a word.The clearing’s wrecked. Trees snapped, earth cracked and scorched, silver glass lacing through the dirt. The air still buzzes, like it hasn’t figured out what just tore through it. Smoke drifts upward, slow and lazy, carrying that sharp scent—ozone and pine, burned to the bone.And right in the middle of everything—Me.I’m shaking in Caleb’s arms. My breath’s ragged, heart pounding so loud I half expect it to claw its way out. Every nerve feels raw, like I’ve been scraped open. The power’s still there, under my skin, not wild anymore, just waiting. Curled up tight.The silence drags on.Heavy.Relentless.Then—someone whimpers.Low, broken, unmistakably scared. Wolf fear.It snaps everyone out of it.Wolves shift around me, uneasy. Some step back, some crouch low, heads down and eyes turned away. A few stare straight at me, horror plain on their faces.One of the Elders—Soren, maybe—drops to his knees, hands pressed to the torn-up ground.“By the Moon…” he whisper

The forest never truly sleeps. Even in the deepest hours, it’s awake, attentive, subtle as breath. Every time I cross the boundary past the guard cabin, I sense it—the ground itself rousing, the ancient awareness of the land shifting to greet me. The hush isn’t empty; it’s crowded with anticipation. Leaves tremble though the air is still, shadows ooze across the ground, stretching beyond their natural bounds, slow and deliberate, as if they’re not just watching but deciding who I am.I notice everything. Every flicker, every shiver in the roots beneath my feet.The power inside me isn’t wild anymore, not the raw, uncontrollable surge that nearly undid me last night. Now it’s condensed, honed—a blade, drawn but steady, its sharpness hidden until needed. I can feel it thrumming beneath my skin, coiled, patient. It’s not fear I taste, but potential, the sense that I am holding something ancient and immense, and that it is holding me back, expecting me to choose what comes next.Caleb tra

The night doesn’t settle once the Alphas are gone. It just goes still, like it’s waiting for something. The forest stays tense—branches creak, all brittle and uneasy, like old bones shifting after a break. Wolves hang back near the border, not ready to trust the quiet. Their eyes keep searching the darkness, watching every shadow. Nothing’s moving now, but any second, it could.Now everyone knows. The world knows. And once something knows, it never stays away for long.Caleb walks next to me as we head back to the compound. He keeps his hand on my lower back—not to hold on or control me, but to anchor me there, like he’s scared I might just fade away if he lets go. Truth is, I’m scared of that too.Whatever’s inside me hasn’t faded. It’s still there, humming under my skin—steady, not wild anymore, not burning, just waiting. Watching. Picking up everything around it.Wolves step aside as we pass. Some lower their heads. Others just stare, and their faces say it all—fear and awe tangled

Death has a smell. I never knew that before—not really, not until now. It isn’t the soft, faded scent the elders sometimes mention in old tales, a gentle closing of the world. This is something raw and searing: sharp as scorched iron, sour as rain that’s soaked through grave dirt, wrongness etched into the air. It clings to the fallen scout’s body, seeps into the cracks between the stones, settles at the back of my throat, thick and unforgettable, while I stand over him, trying not to gag.The silver burns across his chest still shine, casting a faint, unnatural glow—a sickly light that pulses in the twilight.Not like mine. Not the steady, living warmth I carry.These marks are twisted, ragged, the edges harsh and uneven, as if the magic that made them was wild and angry or simply didn’t care for flesh.Caleb crouches beside the corpse, jaw tight, his knuckles white where his hands hover over the wounds. He’s careful not to touch, but I see the muscle in his cheek jump as he studies