Sleep didn't come that night.
Not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them—
those eyes in the dark, that voice that rumbled low enough to live under my skin.
When I finally drifted off, the dreams were worse.
I was in the forest again. Barefoot. Bleeding. The moon was a wound in the sky.
And somewhere between the trees, something called my name. Not screamed it—summoned it.
A voice older than anything human.
I woke with a gasp, tangled in damp sheets. My skin was clammy.
For a second, I didn't know where I was. The shadows on my walls looked too alive, too sharp.
It took me a heartbeat to remember: the apartment, the diner job, the small-town quiet that wasn't quiet anymore.
3:17 a.m.
Always that time.
Outside, the world slept, the streetlights flickering like nervous eyes. I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the uneven rhythm beneath my palm.
Something was wrong with the air. It was thicker, heavier. I could feel it pressing against the window, whispering at the edges of hearing.
Like the night itself was watching.
•••
By morning, I almost convinced myself it was all imagination. Almost.
The diner looked the same as it always did. Same chipped counters. Same smell of burnt coffee and grease. Mrs. Callahan sat in her usual booth, the trucker from last night hadn't come back, and the world looked comfortingly normal.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something inside me had been rewired overnight.
Every noise sounded sharper.
Every scent was too strong.
And beneath it all, something pulsed—like a low hum that lived under my skin.
Then the bell above the door rang.
They walked in like sin wrapped in human form.
First came the one from the alley—broad shoulders, leather jacket, dark hair that looked like it had been made to be pulled. His eyes found mine immediately, and for a second, everything inside me stilled.
Then came the second—taller, leaner, something regal in his movements. He wore black and a strange circlet that caught the light like bone. The crown looked too natural on him, as if the world had carved it there.
And last—Kain. The one with the red-glowing eyes. His presence hit like a pulse, like the air itself bent around him.
I froze behind the counter.
The entire diner went still. Even Mrs. Callahan stopped mid-sip. The hum of the refrigerator faltered, lights flickering above us like the world was holding its breath.
Crown's gaze swept over the room once before landing on me. His smile was sharp, wrong, beautiful.
"Found you," he murmured.
Mrs. Callahan suddenly stood, leaving a tip on the table that wasn't enough for the coffee, and walked out without a word. The trucker followed her a second later. Within moments, it was just me and them.
Rhys—yes, I knew his name now, even though I shouldn't—sat at the counter, silent, eyes following every twitch of my fingers.
Kain smirked faintly, sliding onto a stool beside him.
"You didn't tell her who you are," he said to Crown, voice like smoke and sin.
"Should I?" I asked before I could stop myself. "You seem to know already."
Rhys's mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile. "You smell like moonfire," he said quietly.
"Like what?" I blinked.
Crown's smile deepened. "She doesn't know."
Kain's eyes burned brighter. "Then tell her."
But Crown shook his head slowly. "Not yet. Let her feel it first."
"Feel what?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.
"The bond," Kain murmured. "The pull between what you are… and what we are."
"I don't even know who you are" I said, but the words barely held together.
Rhys's voice was calm, steady. "Names don't matter yet. Instinct does."
And then it hit me.
That strange pressure in the air. The way my chest tightened, heat pooling low in my stomach. I could feel them—in me, under my skin, like invisible threads tugging toward something I couldn't name.
I backed up, hitting the coffee machine behind me. The hum of electricity snapped as a spark jumped from the metal to my hand.
Pain flared.
But it wasn't normal. The spark didn't fade—it danced. Blue, silver, alive. Like light trapped in water.
Kain's expression changed instantly. He took a step forward, eyes narrowing.
"Moonfire," he breathed. "It's real."
Crown's gaze sharpened. "Impossible."
The light vanished as fast as it came, leaving my hand unmarked.
"What was that?" I demanded. "What the hell is happening?"
"You really don't know, do you?" Rhys said softly, almost pitying. "You think you're human."
I laughed—too loud, too brittle. "And what are you supposed to be? Wolves with trust issues?"
Crown's smirk returned. "Close enough."
Something in his tone made me shiver. He moved closer, each step deliberate. When he stopped in front of me, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
Up close, he smelled like storm clouds and earth after rain.
His hand lifted, but he didn't touch me.
He didn't have to. The air between us was enough to set every nerve alight.
"You're not supposed to exist," he said quietly. "But here you are."
I swallowed hard. "You're scaring me."
Kain leaned back on the stool, watching with eyes that gleamed like blood in candlelight.
"If we wanted to scare you, you'd be screaming by now."
"Enough," Rhys snapped. The sound of his voice broke whatever spell hung between us. "Not here. Not like this."
Crown didn't look away from me. "You think she can hide from it? It's already waking."
The lights flickered again, and the window beside us rattled. Outside, the wind howled.
For a heartbeat, I saw something move in the glass reflection—three shadows with burning eyes.
"Leave," Crown said finally, his tone soft but absolute.
Kain looked ready to argue, but Rhys caught his arm. "Not here," he repeated, voice low. "Not with mortals watching."
There were no mortals left. Just me.
They left anyway, silent as smoke. The bell over the door didn't even chime.
And suddenly, it was just me and the silence.
•••
I stood there for a long time, trying to breathe around the ache in my chest. My hands shook as I reached for the counter, grounding myself in the mundane—the weight of the coffee pot, the smell of sugar, the hum of the fridge returning.
But something inside me had shifted.
When I glanced at my reflection in the window, my eyes looked wrong—brighter, almost silver.
Like the light from that spark hadn't really gone out.
Outside, the clouds had thickened, swallowing the sun. The storm moved fast, devouring the horizon until the world looked drenched in dusk.
I pressed a hand against the window, trying to steady myself.
That's when I saw it.
Not my reflection.
Not the street.
A mark.
A faint, silver crescent glowing just below my wrist, like moonlight inked into my skin.
It pulsed once—like a heartbeat—and then faded.
I stumbled back, pulse racing. My breath fogged the glass though the air wasn't cold.
"What the hell…" I whispered.
No answer came. Just the echo of thunder rolling over Blackridge.
•••
That night, the rain started early.
The power flickered once, twice, then steadied.
I sat by the window, knees to my chest, watching lightning split the sky.
I should've called someone—anyone—but who would believe me?
That three men with eyes like nightmares had walked into my life and broken it open?
I thought about their faces.
Crown's hunger.
Kain's cruelty.
Rhys's restraint.
How I knew their names came as a shock…It was like it whispered into my ears and I could identify them without knowing who they were
And then that moment—when the spark jumped from my skin and they looked at me like I was something impossible.
Moonfire.
The word burned behind my ribs.
At some point, I must've fallen asleep there, curled by the window. Because when I woke, dawn was just beginning to bleed across the horizon.
And on the glass, written in condensation that hadn't been there before, was one word.
Soon.