*CHAPTER ONE*
The Mark of the Moon
The Hollow breathed.
Aya felt it before she understood it—before the wind threaded through the ancient trees or the moonlight fractured across the forest floor like spilled silver. The air thickened, humming low and alive, curling around her skin as if the forest itself had learned her name.
Her bare feet pressed into damp earth, roots brushing her soles like fingers. The night had called her here. It always did.
Above, the moon hung swollen and pale, its glow sinking into her veins, tugging at something buried deep inside her chest. Aya's breath hitched. Her heart thudded too fast, too loud, each beat echoing against her ribs like a warning drum.
Not yet, she told herself.
Please… not yet.
Pain bloomed suddenly—sharp, burning—just below her collarbone.
Aya gasped, dropping to her knees. Her fingers clawed at her skin as heat flared beneath it, searing and alive. The mark emerged slowly, as if branded by invisible fire: a crescent moon entwined with lines darker than shadow, pulsing faintly with crimson light.
The bond.
Tears stung her eyes—not from pain alone, but from the weight of it. The legends had never spoken of how intimate it felt. How the bond didn't just mark flesh, but reached inward, curling around her heart, her soul.
She wasn't alone anymore.
A presence slammed into her awareness—vast, fierce, unmistakable.
Ryan.
Aya's breath shuddered as she felt him feel her.
Power rolled through the Hollow, trees groaning softly, leaves whispering in alarm. Somewhere in the distance, wolves howled—not in challenge, but in recognition.
The Alpha had felt it too.
Footsteps thundered through the forest, fast and unrestrained. Aya barely had time to rise before he was there, towering over her, eyes blazing molten gold beneath the moonlight.
Ryan Voryn looked carved from shadow and fury. His dark hair was disheveled, his chest bare beneath an open jacket, skin marked with scars earned through blood and loyalty. Power radiated from him in waves—raw, commanding, impossible to ignore.
His gaze snapped to her collarbone.
The world stilled.
"You shouldn't have been alone," he said, voice low, rough with restrained emotion.
Aya swallowed. "I didn't choose this."
Ryan stepped closer. Too close. The air between them crackled, heavy and charged. His jaw tightened as if he were fighting something primal, something dangerous.
"Neither did I," he replied.
Slowly—reverently—his fingers hovered near the mark, not touching. The bond flared, responding instantly, sending a shock through her that stole her breath.
Aya's knees weakened.
Ryan cursed under his breath and caught her, strong arms pulling her against his chest. Heat surged where they touched. Her pulse synchronized with his, a rhythm ancient and undeniable.
The Hollow exhaled.
"This changes everything," Ryan murmured, more to himself than to her. "The pack will feel it by dawn."
Aya pressed her forehead against his chest, her voice trembling. "What happens now?"
Ryan's arms tightened around her, protective, possessive.
"Now," he said softly, dangerously, "the moon has bound us. And nothing—no pack, no enemy—will take you from me."
Somewhere deep within the forest, unseen eyes watched.
And shadows stirred.
*CHAPTER TWO*
Whispers in the Hollow
By morning, the Hollow knew.
Aya felt it in the way the forest watched her as she moved through the clearing—branches bending slightly toward her, wind whispering secrets she couldn't yet understand. The mark beneath her tunic throbbed gently, warm and alive, as if reminding her of what she had become.
Who she was bound to.
The pack gathered in uneasy clusters, murmurs rippling like disturbed water. Wolves shifted nervously, some bowing their heads in respect, others staring too long, their expressions unreadable.
Aya kept her chin high.
Ryan stood beside her, solid and immovable, his presence a shield. As Alpha, he radiated authority effortlessly—but beneath it, she sensed tension coiled tight within him.
"This was never supposed to happen so soon," Rowan muttered from behind them.
Aya glanced at him. Rowan's eyes were sharp, assessing, his loyalty genuine but cautious. He'd always been that way—measured, observant, never reckless.
"The moon decides when it decides," Ryan replied coolly. "We adapt."
A soft scoff came from the edge of the gathering.
Eira.
She leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed, pale hair catching the sunlight. Her lips curved in something that might have been a smile, but her eyes were cold—calculating.
"So the legends are true," Eira said lightly. "The Hollow finally chose its queen."
Aya stiffened.
Ryan's growl was barely audible. "Watch your tone."
Eira tilted her head, gaze flicking to Aya's chest as if she could see through fabric. "I just wonder what it cost us."
The words settled uneasily among the pack.
Before Aya could respond, a sharp pain lanced through her skull. She gasped, clutching Ryan's arm as images flooded her mind—dark figures moving between trees, eyes glowing wrong, their presence poisonous and invasive.
Blood stained the roots of the Hollow.
"Aya?" Ryan's voice cut through the vision.
She sucked in air, heart racing. "Something's wrong."
The forest trembled.
Far beyond the borders of the Hollow, shadows crossed into sacred ground—silent, deliberate. The Shadow Pack had breached the wards.
And someone had shown them the way.
Eira's gaze flicked briefly toward the forest edge before she looked away.
No one noticed.
But Aya did.
The mark burned hotter.
The bond whispered a warning.
The war for the Hollow had begun.