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Home / Werewolf / Underneath The Moonlight / Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

All Chapters of Underneath The Moonlight : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

67 Chapters

20: Cracks Beneath the Skin

I don’t scream. That’s the strange part. I feel like I should be screaming—throwing things, sobbing, demanding answers—but instead, everything inside me goes cold and sharp, like glass settling into place. Asher’s words still echo in the room. This is a conversation you should have with her. I turn away from him before he can see what’s happening to my face. Because something inside me is slipping. Not breaking—waking. The room feels too small. The air feels heavy, pressing against my lungs, and I realize with a jolt that I can hear things I shouldn’t. Footsteps down the hall. A hushed voice two rooms away. The creak of wood beneath someone’s weight outside. My pulse doesn’t race.

21: Truth

I don’t slam the door. I rip it open. The motion is sharp enough that the hinges groan in protest, and the sound snaps through the hallway like a gunshot. Cool air rushes in from outside, carrying the scent of damp earth and grass, but it does nothing to calm the pressure crushing my chest. I can’t breathe. Not really. My lungs are working, but it feels like the air refuses to settle where it’s supposed to, like my body doesn’t know how to be human anymore. I don’t wait for permission. I storm out of the house barefoot, ignoring the sting of cold ground beneath my feet, ignoring Lucien calling my name behind me. “Selene—wait!” I don’t.

22: Awakening

I don’t even notice how far I’ve run. My boots pound the soft spring grass, the air sharp in my lungs, my chest burning—not from exertion, but from the weight pressing down on me. Anger. Frustration. The raw, unfiltered frustration of months—no, years—of being kept in the dark. I collapse at the edge of the field, the morning sunlight spilling across the blades of grass, warm on my skin yet not enough to burn away the knot twisting in my stomach. My hands clutch at my knees, trying to steady the racing pulse in my ears. I can’t breathe. Not properly. Not while my mind is screaming with questions I can’t ask anyone—or maybe I don’t want to. Lucien appears first, silent as always, stepping carefully toward me. I don’t look at him. I can feel him there. A weight in the air. “Selene,” he says softly, “you shouldn’t be out here alone. You—” “Don’t,” I snap, cutting him off, my voice rough. “J

23: Awakening Truths

The wind whips past me, carrying the faint scent of grass and earth, and I can feel my lungs burning, my chest rising and falling faster than it has in months. I’m in the open field behind the house, moonlight on my face but somehow suffocating, like it’s too much, too bright. My heart refuses to slow, and I press my hands to my knees, trying to catch my breath. Mariel comes running up the small slope, her steps urgent but careful. “Selene! I—” she stumbles over her words, hands lifting as if to explain herself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t act… I mean, I wasn’t… normal around you. I’m sorry for contributing to what you’re feeling right now.” I barely glance at her. My mind is too full, too sharp, like someone turned the focus dial to maximum. “You didn

24: Quiet Breaks

The following day… I wake up angry. Not startled. Not afraid. Angry. The feeling sits heavy in my chest, thick and restless, like something pacing behind my ribs with nowhere to go. I lie there staring at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the house breathing around me—footsteps down the hall, murmured voices, the distant thud of doors opening and closing. Every sound feels intentional. Too clear. Too sharp. I try to act normal. That’s the first mistake.

25: Fault Lines

No one touches me after. Not right away. The room stays frozen in the aftermath of splintered wood and stunned silence, like everyone is waiting for something else to break. My ears ring. My chest rises and falls too fast, breath scraping raw against my throat. I’m dimly aware of Asher’s arm still around me—solid, warm, real—but I don’t lean into him. I don’t dare move at all. Because I don’t trust myself. The shattered table lies between us like a crime scene. Broken legs. Jagged edges. What was once sturdy and unmoving reduced to debris in a single heartbeat. I did that. Chloe is the first to move. She takes one shaky step backward, then another, until her heel catches on a splinter and she nearly

26: Aftershocks

No one says anything outright. That’s what unsettles me most. The house moves around me as if I’m something fragile—something that might shatter if handled too roughly, or worse, explode if handled at all. Conversations lower when I enter a room. Laughter cuts off mid-breath. Someone always finds an excuse to step away. It’s not hostility. It’s calculation. I feel it in the way eyes linger, measuring distance. In the way footsteps slow when they pass me, as if people are deciding whether I’m predictable or not. I don’t need heightened senses to understand that much. But unfortunately, I have them anyway.

27: Fires Beneath the Surface

I wake up sweating. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. The ceiling above me is too high, too smooth, and pale morning light slips through tall windows. My heart pounds—not fast, but heavy, deliberate, as if it’s measuring something I can’t see. The words echo in my head, sharp and unmistakable. They will force your hand. I sit up abruptly, breath shallow, scanning the room. The sheets are twisted around my legs, my fingers ache where I’ve been clenching into fists. The room is silent. No shadows press down. No presence hovers. Just the faint murmur of life in the house, footsteps and voices far below. “Get it together,” I whisper. I press my palm to my ste

27.5: What They Don’t Teach You

It’s Mariel who finally breaks the silence. Not the heavy kind — the kind that follows me through hallways, settles into rooms after I enter, lingers in the spaces where people stop talking — but a quieter one. The kind that presses in when I realize how much I don’t know. We’re in the kitchen, late afternoon light slanting through the windows. Dust motes float lazily in the air, turning the room golden and warm. Mariel is slicing fruit at the counter, her movements careful and unhurried, like nothing in the world is wrong. I watch her for longer than necessary. “Can I ask you something?” I finally say. She looks up at once, knife pausing mid-motion. “Of course.” I hesitate. The question feels too big, too obvious, too late.

28: Pressure Points

The first thing I learn after Asher declares his protection is this: Protection doesn’t stop people from watching. It sharpens their attention. I feel it the moment I step into the main hall the next morning. Conversations don’t stop outright anymore — they thin. Voices lower. Laughter fades into polite murmurs. People glance at me and then look away too quickly, like eye contact itself might be a challenge. I straighten my shoulders anyway. I refuse to shrink. Mariel walks beside me, close enough that her arm brushes mine now and then. It isn’t accidental. She’s anchoring me, the way someone does when they don’t want you to drift too far from safety. But safety feels different now. Heavier. We reach the long table where breakfast is already laid out. The scent of coffee and bread fills the air, grounding and warm. My stomach twists — not with hunger, but awareness. I know who’s here before I see her. Chloe stands near the far end of the table, her back straight,

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