Moonlight Whisper Zara Novels & Stories

My books on his shelves. I picked up the silver bracelet he gave me on our second anniversary. “For my future Luna,” he had whispered. Future. I set the bracelet down carefully. Then I opened the wardrobe and pulled out a suitcase. Lyra stirred anxiously. Are we really leaving? “Yes,” I whispered. Because I refuse to stay where I am only almost chosen. Downstairs, I heard the distant rumble of a car entering the driveway. Rowan was home. For one fragile second, I hesitated.

The uniform Rafael left on her bed was a joke,It was a tight black mini-dress that barely covered her backside and heels that made her ankles wobble. Zara stared at herself in the small mirror of the back storage room, her jaw tight,she looked exactly like what he wanted her to be…something he bought. She walked out into the main room of The Obsidian at eight sharp,the place was already packed,the heavy bass from the speakers rumbled right through the floor, a dark, heavy thud that made her skin tingle.

ZARA The unknown number called again, and I answered. “The flight ticket has been booked from Moon Crest to Moon Sky. Departure time is in two hours. Is that fair?” I asked her. “Oh, yes. Yes.” I could feel her excitement, and that only enraged me. If this girl had been bullshitting me all along, I would rip her tongue out. And I meant that literally. If you had just almost been assassinated and found out that the person who claimed to have information about the person trying to kill you only did it to deceive you, you would rip her tongue out too for wasting your time and energy.

“She is mine. The moon does not strip that away.” But even as I said it, dread coiled in my gut. Because the moon didn’t care about vows or love. It cared only for truth. And if Zara’s truth cut too deep, even I wouldn’t be able to hold her. The circle pulsed again. Zara’s body jerked, a tremor ripping through her frame. A low, broken whine left her throat wolf and woman both, tangled in pain. “Zara, hold on,” I whispered, every muscle straining against the invisible barrier.

It couldn't be! "Zara, the woman you see in your dreams is the moon goddess." Harper looked down at our hands and interlaced our fingers together.

Then the handle turned. Zara stood in the doorway wearing only the yellow hoodie, the hem brushing the tops of her bare thighs. Moonlight from the window painted silver across her skin. She looked at him, and he looked back. No words. She stepped inside and closed the door with a quiet click. The room felt smaller, the air thicker. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, close enough that her thigh pressed against his hip through the thin sheet. Heat radiated from her body. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

ZARA The ball, that is all the maids speak about these days. To me, it is wack and a very useless idea. I still wonder why the unofficial king of Lycans would set this useless competition up to find a Luna, it was pointless. "Zara, where is the salt?" I hear willow say from where she stood, the salt was next to her, was her short-sightedness that bad? "It's in the blue jar, willow," I say softly, flipping through the pages of the romance novel which I held in my arm firmly.

The night settled around the Kareem estate like silk—soft, deep, quiet. Crickets sang faintly beyond the balcony doors, and the moon hung heavy and round, casting pale light through the gauzy curtains of Zara’s bedroom. Inside, all was calm. Zara sat at her vanity, gently brushing her hair. The bristles moved through the soft, dark strands in long, careful strokes. She wore a blush-colored robe, its satin folds clinging loosely to her frame. Her eyes, reflected in the mirror, looked tired—but not just physically. There was a weight in them, something she hadn’t fully named. Something that had been growing quietly all week.

“Every day, I will prove it. No excuses, no regrets. Just… love. Always love.” As night fell, a soft silver haze blanketed the garden. The moon rose, its light stronger than the stars, casting pale shadows across the fountains and walkways. Aria paused, sensing the familiar presence of the Moon Goddess. She lifted her eyes to the moonlit sky, feeling the whisper of energy threading through the night.

A student taps the banner in passing, and it rolls over to reveal the words inscribed on it: GREYSTONE’S HIGH WINTER FORMAL IS HERE: A Night Under The Stars. It's such a cliche tagline. And yet, it stirs a warm feeling in my stomach. Like a blast from the past, the memory of watching the stars past midnight tugs a smile on my lips. Mr Miller’s Calc equations breeze past me as I take another glance at the banner. The thought of reenacting a night of stargazing with her builds up heat in my chest, drowning out every thought of the Lycan. Slowly, a coy plan forms in my mind.