Night seeped into the shop like ink spilled across silk.
The lanterns glowed low.
Moonblossoms pulsed faint silver.
And the entire shop felt like it was holding its breath—
watching Lysandra,
waiting for what she would become
once the moon climbed the sky.
The Shadow Heir stood quietly near the counter,
arms crossed,
his violet eyes reflecting every flicker of moonlight
like twin shards of the night sky.
Lysandra paced slowly—
slow enough to look calm,
fast enough to betray the storm rolling under her skin.
She could feel her wolf.
Not quietly dreaming.
Not softly pacing.
Awake.
Alert.
Hungry.
Not for blood.
Not for violence.
For release.
Lysandra braced herself against the counter and inhaled shakily.
"Something's wrong."
The Heir tilted his head.
"Your wolf is rising too early."
She gripped the wood harder.
"It wasn't like this before. I've never felt… this close to shifting."
The Heir pushed away from the counter and walked toward her, shadows swirling around his boots.
"You opened two bonds," he said softly.
"You rewrote destiny.
Your wolf is adjusting."
Lysandra's heartbeat thundered.
"My wolf is confused," she whispered.
"It keeps pulling… two ways."
He raised a brow.
"Toward me."
"And Evander," she snapped.
The Heir's lips twitched.
He didn't deny it.
He stepped closer—
not touching her,
but close enough that she felt the temperature drop a degree.
"Your wolf reacts to strength," he murmured.
"And shadow.
It always has."
Lysandra swallowed.
"My wolf reacted to Evander too."
"Yes," he agreed quietly.
"Because your heart reacts to him."
Lysandra glared up at him.
"Why do you say things like that so confidently?"
"Because they are true."
Her breath hitched.
Before she could reply, a sharp pain sliced behind her ribs.
She gasped—
the counter rattling as her nails lengthened involuntarily.
"Lysandra?"
The Heir's voice sharpened.
Lysandra leaned forward, palms flat on the counter, trembling.
"Something's wrong," she whispered.
Her wolf snarled—
LET US OUT.
LET US BREATHE.
LET US RUN.
Her vision flickered silver.
Her bones ached.
Her breathing shook.
"Shadow… I can't control it—"
The Heir stepped behind her so fast she barely saw him move.
"Look at me," he murmured, gripping her shoulders gently—but firmly.
Lysandra lifted her head, gasping.
Her eyes glowed bright silver.
The Heir's jaw clenched.
"Your wolf wants to shift."
She shook her head violently.
"No. Not here. Not in town. The people—"
And then she sensed them.
Outside the shop.
Three people walking by.
Two talking.
One laughing.
One tense.
Her wolf reacted instantly.
Predator mode.
Her instincts sharpened dangerously.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"This is bad—this is really bad—"
The Heir grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.
"Lysandra.
Stay with me."
"I'm trying—!"
Another spike of painful magic shot up her spine.
She staggered and almost collapsed—
but the Heir caught her around the waist.
His body pressed against hers—
cold aura meeting her blazing wolf.
It steadied her for a moment—
but also lit a spark she didn't expect.
Her wolf leaned into him.
STRONG.
OURS.
Lysandra gritted her teeth.
"Shadow— you need to step back. Your aura— it's waking my wolf more—"
His hands tightened around her arms.
"It wakes your wolf," he said softly,
"but it also commands it."
Her breath stuttered.
He lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper.
"Tell me what you feel."
Lysandra's eyes flashed silver.
"I feel—
restless…
trapped…
pulled—"
His grip tightened.
"Toward who?"
Her chest rose and fell too fast.
"My wolf is confused," she whispered.
"Your wolf may be," he said.
"But you are not."
Lysandra turned her head away.
"I'm not saying it."
A faint smirk curved his lips.
"Then don't say it."
He leaned close enough that his breath brushed her ear.
"Show it."
A shiver ran through her.
And her wolf—
roared.
Not just at him.
Not against him.
At everything.
At the whole world pressing on her.
Shadow stepped back quickly.
He felt it too.
Her power flaring.
Moonlight surged across the shop floor—
slamming into the counter,
vibrating through the flowers,
making the windows glow violently.
"Lysandra—control it!" he snapped.
"I can't— it's too much—"
Her bones cracked.
Her breath broke.
A half-shift trembled beneath her skin.
The Heir moved instantly.
He grabbed her face between his hands—
forcing her to look into his violet eyes.
"Lysandra," he whispered fiercely.
"FOCUS."
She tried.
She failed.
The wolf rose—
shaking, clawing, desperate.
A growl escaped her throat.
The Heir exhaled sharply.
"Forgive me."
"For what—?"
Before she could finish,
he pressed his forehead to hers—
their auras smashing together—
Shadow and Moon colliding.
Lysandra gasped.
His magic wrapped around her wolf like iron chains—
not painful,
but commanding.
Dominant.
Her wolf stilled instantly.
Breath.
Stopped.
Her claws retracted.
Her spine steadied.
The silver in her eyes dimmed.
The pressure on her chest eased.
The wolf dropped back behind her ribs.
Breathing.
Growling.
But under control.
Because of him.
Lysandra collapsed against his chest, panting.
He caught her easily.
His voice was low, steady.
"Your wolf listens to me," he whispered against her ear.
"It always has. It always will."
She tried to pull away—
but her legs wouldn't move.
Her voice shook.
"What… what did you do to me?"
"I reined in your wolf."
"With what?"
He paused.
Then whispered:
"My bond."
Her heart skipped.
He pulled back slightly—
just enough to look into her face.
"You chose both bonds," he murmured.
"Now you must live with what they give you."
Lysandra trembled.
Evander anchored her heart.
Shadow commanded her wolf.
She needed both.
But right now—
her wolf was pacing again,
restless in a different way.
Confused.
Drawn.
To the power holding her steady.
She lifted her hand to push his chest lightly.
"Shadow… I need… space."
His jaw tightened.
He stepped back immediately.
Lysandra nearly collapsed again—
but she caught the counter and steadied herself.
She inhaled deeply.
Her wolf snarled once and settled.
Silence pulsed between them.
Then the Heir spoke, voice quieter than before.
"This is only the beginning."
She looked up.
"What do you mean?"
He turned to the window.
Outside—
the moon was rising fully.
Silver.
Sharp.
Calling.
He whispered:
"Every night, your wolf will be stronger than the last."
Her heart sank.
"And every night," he continued,
"you will need one of us to anchor you."
Her throat tightened.
"One of you?"
He looked back at her.
"No."
A pause.
"Both of us."
Lysandra's breath stopped.
Her wolf lifted its head.
The Heir stepped closer again—
not touching—
but close enough to feel his shadows dance across her skin.
"You rewrote fate, little moon," he said softly.
"Now fate will rewrite you."
And outside—
she felt it.
Evander.
Running back toward the shop,
heart racing,
panic in every step.
Her wolf pricked its ears.
Evander burst through the door.
"Lysandra! I felt your bond spike—what happened?!"
She looked between them:
Warmth on her right.
Shadow on her left.
Her wolf whispered:
We must survive this night.
And every night after.
Lysandra exhaled.
"The first trial," she whispered,
"has only just begun."