Friday, October 25th | Waxing Crescent Moon
The moon was back, barely more than a suggestion, a thin waxing crescent clinging to the evening sky.
Liora noticed it the moment she stepped outside the Vale house.
It wasn't bright enough to light the path, but it was there — a quiet presence after the emptiness of the New Moon. The certainty beneath her ribs reacted immediately, tightening in response. Not painful. Insistent. As if something inside her had turned its attention outward.
She stopped at the edge of the steps and breathed until her pulse slowed.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Nyx stirred.
Not fear.
Not warning.
Interest.
That unsettled her more than panic would have. Interest in a Pack like Grimholt was a perilous thing. After all, it was evident in it's name...
Grim: from older roots, meaning stern, uncompromising, severe in duty, associated with judgment and inevitability. In old dialects and myth, grim described places where law was enforced without softness, guardians who did not bend, and truths that did not care whether you survived them.
Holt: from an old word for a managed forest, a deliberately bounded woodland, land that looks wild but is owned, watched, and controlled. A holt is not true wilderness. It is nature shaped to serve structure.
Grimholt means: A controlled wilderness ruled by uncompromising law. A place where instinct is allowed only so long as it obeys order.
Friday nights in Grimholt carried a different weight. Training was done. School was done. Pack duties thinned as the evening wore on. Wolves gathered in looser clusters around the commons, voices louder, laughter easier. The discipline of the week softened just enough to let mistakes slip through.
Visitors stood out.
Not because they were unwelcome — but because they moved differently.
Liora had heard the Alpha announcing the Northwatch envoy that afternoon. A small group. Temporary. Official. They were housed near the outer lodges and permitted access to shared spaces while negotiations were underway.
It should not have mattered.
She found herself walking toward the center of the commons.
She told herself she was just being practical. Marta had asked her to check the weekend rotation board. She also needed to return a tablet to the shared office. Small tasks. Reasonable reasons.
None of them explained why her steps angled inward without conscious decision, instead of keeping her on the outskirts like she usually did. Where it was safe. Hidden.
The closer she got, the more the air seemed to sharpen. Familiar scents resolved into individuals. Heat from the fire pit mixed with the cool night breeze. Voices overlapped, blending into a low, constant hum.
Then —
Something tugged.
It wasn't pressure like the Alpha's dominance. It wasn't pain like the almost-shift.
It was a pull.
Low and steady. Anchored somewhere beneath her sternum. Drawing her attention sideways before she chose to look.
Her breath caught.
The scent reached her all at once.
Not sharp.
Not overwhelming.
Warm. Layered. Familiar in a way that made no sense at all — like recognizing a place she'd never been but somehow remembered.
Nyx lifted her head fully.
There, came the sense. Clear. Certain.
Liora froze.
Across the commons, just beyond the reach of the firelight, stood a wolf she didn't recognize.
He wasn't Grimholt. That much was obvious. His scent carried distance — cold air, high ground, juniper and frost rather than loam. Northwatch, then. He stood with his weight evenly balanced, posture relaxed but alert, the way wolves did when they were guests and knew it.
He was older than her by a few years. Not by much, but enough to show in the way he held himself. Strength without display. Control without stiffness. Dark hair cut short. Practical. Eyes that caught the light when he turned, amber deepening toward gold.
He wasn't looking at her.
Her body reacted anyway.
Heat flared beneath her skin, sharp enough to steal her breath. The certainty surged, aligning abruptly with something external. Her pulse stumbled. Her hands curled into fists without permission.
This was different.
This wasn't pressure.
This was recognition.
She took a step back.
The pull tightened.
Not painful.
Unyielding.
Nyx pressed closer, alert but steady.
Easy, came the sense. Not caution. Guidance.
The wolf turned.
Their eyes met.
The world narrowed to that single point of connection. Everything else blurred at the edges. The pull snapped tight — clean, unmistakable — a line drawn straight through her chest.
Liora gasped.
His eyes widened.
Just a fraction.
Enough.
He felt it too.
She saw it in the way his breath caught, in the subtle shift of his stance as if he'd braced against an invisible impact. His scent spiked briefly — confusion threading through warmth before settling again.
Mate.
The word slammed into her awareness with brutal clarity.
No.
This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not to her. Not when her body was already betraying her in ways she didn't understand.
She turned and walked away.
She was too young for this. Close, but not there yet.
The pull didn't care.
She didn't run. Running drew attention. She kept her pace measured, shoulders loose, head slightly bent. Every ounce of her focus bent toward appearing normal as the pull stretched between them, tightening with each step.
She could feel him then.
Not thoughts.
Not emotions.
Presence.
Awareness that shifted when she did, slowed when she slowed.
Nyx paced restlessly, excitement edged with caution.
He fits, came the sense. Simple. Honest.
Her throat tightened.
She made it halfway back toward the path before a voice stopped her.
"Wait."
Not loud.
Not commanding.
Concerned.
She stopped, breath shallow, then turned slowly.
He stood several paces away, careful not to crowd her. Hands visible at his sides. Respectful. Controlled.
Up close, the pull intensified, humming through her bones, settling into muscle and breath like something that had always belonged there.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "I just—" He hesitated. "I think we should talk."
Every instinct screamed danger.
Talking led to questions.
Questions led to answers she couldn't afford.
"I don't know you," she said.
"That's true," he replied. "But I know what that was."
Her heart slammed hard enough to hurt.
"No, you don't."
He studied her, steady but not invasive. "I do."
Silence stretched, fragile and charged.
"I'm Eryx," he said finally. "Eryx Valecrest. From Northwatch."
The name confirmed what her instincts already knew.
"I don't have time for this," Liora said.
She turned again.
This time, the pull didn't tighten.
It loosened.
That frightened her more than resistance would have. It was as if it now realized it came too early and was allowing her to distance herself from this unplanned situation.
She walked away without looking back, each step deliberate, controlled, an act of will. The certainty beneath her ribs twisted, unsettled by the presence it had aligned with.
By the time she reached the Vale house, her hands were shaking.
She shut the door quietly behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard.
Nyx paced in tight circles now, curiosity edged with something dangerously close to hope.
Mate, came the sense again. Gentler.
"I know," Liora whispered.
She slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees drawn in, arms wrapped around herself once again. A gesture that was quickly becoming a way to try and hold herself together. Her skin felt too tight, too warm.
The pull hadn't vanished.
It lingered — faint but undeniable — a thread stretching beyond the walls, beyond the pack.
She didn't sleep much that night. Yet again.
Every time she drifted close the deep sleep, the pull tugged at her awareness, reminding her of eyes that had seen her and known.
By morning, the moon had climbed higher.
Liora pressed her palm to her abdomen, grounding herself as she had thought herself to do.
Nyx settled reluctantly.
The certainty remained.
And somewhere beyond the trees, so did he.