The full moon came faster than I liked.
Days blurred together.
I fell into a strange rhythm: mornings at the cabin, unpacking, walking the trail, reading snippets of Margaret’s journal until the words crawled under my skin; afternoons in town, fielding increasingly direct questions from everyone about whether I was “staying for good” and checking on Patty, who alternated between weepy and determined.
She’d buried Daisy under the big maple in her yard. I’d helped, hands blistered from the shovel. Theo and Sam had come, too, moving earth like it owed them.
Nights were the worst.
The Ridge was loud at night.
Not in the human sense. No cars. No stereos. But in the way wind and leaves whispered, in the way my own pulse pounded in my ears, in the way distant howls slid under my skin.
The first time it happened after Theo had shown me his wolf, I sat up in bed, heart racing.
The sound rolled over the ridge like water—low, rising, falling. Not just one voice. Many. In harmony and discord.
My body reacted before my brain did.
Heat flashed low in my belly. My lungs fluttered. My skin prickled.
It felt…like being called.
I clamped my hands over my ears.
“Nope,” I whispered. “No. We’re not doing that.”
Rufus whined in his sleep.
The howling swelled, then tapered.
I didn’t sleep at all that night.
Jordan called two days later.
“I know you’re pretending everything’s fine,” he said without preamble. “It’s not. You want to come…not sit in my coffee shop with me after closing and pretend we’re just two normal people sharing bad Netflix recs?”
“Yes,” I said immediately.
We did exactly that.
We huddled in a corner of his tiny internet café, lights off, the glow from his laptop screen painting his face blue. He put on some mindless baking show, muted, and handed me a mug of hot chocolate.
“Comfort carbs,” he said. “Scientifically proven to ward off existential crises.”
“You made that up,” I said.
“Probably,” he said. “But it works.”
We talked about everything except the Pack.
He told me about his disastrous freshman year in Denver, where he’d tried to pretend the Ridge didn’t exist and ended up having a panic attack in the middle of a crowded concert because the smell of too many people made him feel like he was drowning.
I told him about vet school rotations, about the professor who’d made me cry by telling me I “didn’t have the stomach” for large animal practice.
We didn’t mention the full moon, even though it loomed on the calendar like a neon sign.
“You going to go?” he asked finally, eyes on the screen where some poor baker’s souffle had collapsed.
“To the…run?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light. “The…what did Theo call it? The turning?”
“Moonrise,” Jordan said. “You can call it ‘Pack karaoke in the woods,’ if that helps.”
“That does *not* help,” I said.
He chuckled.
“I…” I swallowed. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to lock my door and pretend it’s just Tuesday. The other part…wants to see. Wants to…know.”
“Both parts are valid,” he said. “Theo’s not going to drag you. Neither is anyone else, not if they don’t want to lose their ears. But if you…want to watch, there are…safe spots. Places where you can see without being…in it.”
“A viewing balcony for the werewolf show,” I said weakly.
“Again, not helping,” he acknowledged. “But yeah. He’ll…want you close. The bond’s always…loudest on the first full moon after…meeting. It’s going to be…a lot. For both of you.”
“I don’t…know if I can handle seeing him like that again,” I admitted. “The…half…between. It was…terrifying.”
“Then don’t,” Jordan said simply. “See him *after.* Or not at all. You’re allowed to set…parameters. Even with magic.”
“Magic doesn’t care about boundaries,” I muttered.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But people do. Wolves do. Theo definitely does, or he’d have you chained to a tree by now.”
The mental image made me choke.
“I am *never* letting you say things like that again,” I spluttered.
He grinned. “Consent is sexy.”
“You’re insufferable,” I said.
“Yup.”
In the end, it wasn’t Theo who asked me to come.
It was Ivy.
She showed up at my cabin the morning before the full moon, wearing a tank top that said NOT YOUR BABY and boots laced to her knees.
“You free tomorrow night?” she asked bluntly, swinging on my porch rail like it was a jungle gym.
“Define ‘free,’” I said, wiping flour off my hands. I’d impulsively decided to try baking banana bread, a task that had spiraled into a minor flour explosion.
“Not scheduled to do anything other than stare at the ceiling and question your existence,” she said. “Because that doesn’t count.”
“Then…yes,” I said. “Why?”
“Come with me,” she said. “Up to the Overlook. It’s where the humans watch. Safe. Far enough you won’t get…dragged into anything. Close enough you’ll…see.”
“I thought humans weren’t…invited,” I said. “Doc Hargrove said something about howling nights being ‘private.’”
“It’s…complicated,” she said. “Officially, yeah, it’s Pack-only. Unofficially, half the town sneaks up there. We’re not in the Dark Ages. People know. Or at least…suspect. It’s better when they see than when their brains fill in the blanks with worse.”
“And you want me to…what? Sit on a rock and watch your family…get furry?” I asked, trying to sound more flippant than I felt.
“Something like that,” she said. “You’re…in this whether you like it or not, Aurora. Better to see what you’re…judging. Then, when Hayes starts spouting off about destinies and debts, you’ll know if he’s full of shit.”
“Language,” I said reflexively.
She snorted. “You sound like Vera.”
“I do not,” I said, offended.
“You kind of do,” she said. “Old lady energy.”
“Get off my lawn,” I muttered.
She grinned.
“I’ll meet you at the trail behind your place,” she said. “Moonrise. Wear good shoes. Bring snacks. It’s long.”
“Is this…approved?” I asked. “By your Alpha?”
“Which one?” she asked.
“The one who gets twitchy when I say ‘alpha’ and then tells me it does things,” I said.
Her mouth curved. “He knows. He told me to invite you if you wanted. He’s not going to show unless you ask him. He thinks he’ll…freak you out.”
“He’s not…wrong,” I muttered.
Her expression softened.
“That’s the thing about us,” she said. “We look scary. We move scary. We *are* scary, sometimes. But that’s not all we are. You’ll see.”
“Okay,” I heard myself say.
Fear and anticipation tangled in my chest.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
Then she hopped off the porch and jogged into the trees, leaving flour footprints on my steps.
***
The Overlook was higher than the ledge Theo had shown me.
We climbed in near-dark, the last smear of sunset staining the sky orange and purple behind the opposite ridge. Ivy moved like she had night vision. I followed her flashlight beam, trying not to trip over rocks.
Rufus hadn’t come. I’d left him at Patty’s, bribed with leftover casserole and the promise of kids to pet him. The idea of him freaking out at the sight of a hillside full of wolves was…not appealing.
“You sure this is okay?” I asked for the fourth time.
“For the tenth time, yes,” Ivy said, not looking back. “You’re with me. I’ve been watching from up here since I was eight. Nobody’s going to throw you off the rock.”
“Comforting,” I said dryly.
The forest opened onto a wide, flat slab of granite.
The Overlook.
From here, the valley spread below like a bowl. The opposite ridge rose, dark against the star-bright sky. Moonlight silvered the tree crowns.
The Pack’s clearing lay directly under us, maybe half a mile down and across. A broad, grassy space ringed by standing stones, barely visible through the trees at this distance.
Shapes moved in it already.
My heart jumped into my throat.
People.
Women, men, kids. Shedding clothes in small piles. Laughter drifted faintly on the wind, threaded with something sharper.
Magic, my brain supplied.
No.
Not magic.
Energy.
“That’s a lot of…naked,” I blurted.
Ivy snorted. “Welcome to full moon. Modesty goes out the window when your bones are about to rearrange.”
My cheeks burned.
“We’re far enough,” she said. “You’re not going to see anybody’s junk, unless you brought binoculars.”
I had not.
I sat on the edge of the rock, tucking my knees to my chest.
Other humans dotted the slab, spaced out in small clusters. Patty and Thom sat together, fingers laced, eyes on the clearing. Jordan sprawled on a blanket, laptop open, but his gaze kept flicking down. A couple in their twenties leaned against each other, whispering.
No one talked loudly. No one laughed.
It felt…like church.
Anticipation. Reverence. Fear.
“You don’t shift?” I asked Ivy quietly.
She shook her head, jaw tight. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m…thin-blooded. Like Jordan. I get the nose, the ears, the attitude. Not the fur.”
“Does that…bother you?” I asked.
“Sometimes,” she said. “Sometimes not. Depends on the day. Tonight? I’m…glad. The change hurts. No matter how poetic they make it sound.”
“What about kids?” I asked. “Pups. Whatever you call them.”
“Pups,” she said, mouth quirking. “They shift later. Teens. First changes are…rough. We don’t let them come to the full run until they can control it. Tonight’s mostly adults.”
Moonlight poured over the ridge like water.
It crested fully, round and fat.
The hairs on my arms prickled.
Below, in the clearing, someone howled.
Not Theo. I knew his voice now, weirdly.
This was higher, thinner. Sam, maybe. Or Nora. It rose, hung, fell.
Another answered.
Deeper. Older.
Hayes.
His wolf voice sent a shiver down my spine.
More joined.
Within seconds, the clearing was a choir.
My chest constricted.
Something in me wanted to…tilt my head back and answer.
My throat burned with the urge.
I clenched my teeth.
“Breathe,” Ivy murmured. “That…pull? That’s…normal. For you. For us. For anyone with even a drop of ridge blood. It feels like…coming home and being dragged under water at the same time.”
“That’s…vivid,” I panted.
“Accurate,” she said.
Below, one figure stepped forward.
Even from this distance, I knew his outline.
Theo.
He stood in the center of the clearing, bare-chested, feet planted. The moon painted his skin silver. His head tilted back, eyes on the sky.
My heart slammed.
He looked…beautiful.
Not in a soft way.
In the way storms were beautiful. Terrifying. Magnificent.
He spread his arms.
His voice rose.
He howled.
The sound punched straight through me.
Raw. Low. Not like the others. It carried something else under it—grief, defiance, promise.
The Pack fell silent to listen.
Then, all at once, the shift began.
It was…chaos.
Bodies bowed. Spines arched. Hands clawed at air.
It should have been grotesque.
Some part of it was.
Bones cracked—audible even at this distance. Skin rippled. Fur burst forth in patches, spreading.
But there was…joy, too.
Laughter, breathless, as someone’s legs folded too early and they tumbled into a friend. A whoop as a smaller boy—barely out of his teens—completed his change and shook himself violently, tail whipping.
Wolves took shape one by one.
Gray, black, brown, cream. Big. Small. Sleek. Ragged.
The air down there glowed.
Not visibly.
I felt it.
Like static. Like the moment before lightning struck.
“This is…” I whispered.
“Too much?” Ivy asked.
“Insane,” I said. “Incredible. Horrifying. I don’t know.”
“Same,” she said, quietly.
Theo shifted last.
Of course he did.
He always made things difficult.
He dropped to one knee, head bowed, hands fisted in the grass.
For a moment, his back muscles bunched, straining. Sweat gleamed.
Then his skin shuddered.
His spine elongated, pushing against his shoulders. Fur rippled out in a wave. His jaw jutted, teeth lengthening.
He arched, snarled, half-pain, half-pleasure.
My own muscles clenched in sympathetic echo.
Then he was…wolf.
The same massive, gray-flecked form I’d met on the trail. He landed on four feet, shook once, and lifted his head.
The Pack watched.
He padded to the old stone at the edge of the clearing, the one I now recognized from Margaret’s sketches as something more than random geology.
He pressed his nose to it.
The Ridge…answered.
The ground under me hummed.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Another howl rose, different this time. Not a call. A…song.
The Pack surged forward.
They ran.
The clearing emptied in a flurry of fur and muscle and sound. Wolves poured into the trees, some bounding, some loping, some trotting with stately dignity.
Leaves shook. Branches snapped.
Within seconds, the clearing was almost empty.
Hayes’s wolf—a massive dark beast with streaks of white—remained, pacing near the stone. Vera’s sleek silver form sat near him, watching.
Theo lingered at the edge, just for a moment.
He lifted his head.
Our eyes met.
It was impossible.
We were too far. The angle wrong. The light dim.
But I *felt* it.
A thread, taut, between his wolf-self and my very-human body.
My lungs seized.
He huffed.
Then he turned and disappeared into the dark.
My heart went with him, apparently.
Damn it.
“You okay?” Ivy asked quietly.
“Yes,” I lied.
She sighed. “He’s loud, huh.”
“He’s…everything,” I said, exhausted. “The land. The storm. The…pull. It’s all…wrapped up in him.”
“That’s what Alpha is,” she said. “He’s…our focus. Our…conductor. Our lightning rod. It’s…a lot.”
“It’s too much,” I whispered.
The Ridge under my palms hummed disagreeingly.
We sat for a long time, humans on a rock, listening to wolves run under a heedless, shining moon.
At some point, my eyes burned with more than magic.
“You know what the worst part is?” I asked Ivy eventually.
“What?”
“I can *feel* how right it would be,” I said. The words tore out of me. “To…go down there. To…run. To…give in. This land, that Pack, him. It’s like…every cell in my body is humming yes and my brain is the only thing screaming no.”
“Brains are important,” she said. “We like brains. Brains keep people from walking off cliffs during sex.”
I choked on a laugh. “That’s…not the visual I needed.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Silence again.
“You don’t…have to decide tonight,” she said. “Or next week. Or…ever. The bond doesn’t *force* you to do anything. It just…offers. Loudly.”
“What happens if I keep…saying no?” I asked.
She flicked a pebble off the edge.
“The land gets…creative,” she said. “Storms. Bad hunting. Weird shit. But we’re already halfway there. Climate change’s doing a number on us. Hayes blames that on you, too, by the way.”
“Of course he does,” I muttered.
“The Ridge isn’t…sentient,” she said. “Not like us. It’s not…punishing. It’s just…balancing. If it doesn’t get…connection…one way, it’ll find another.”
“Like what Elias said,” I realized. “Offered energy. Ceremony. Doing the work instead of demanding my blood.”
“Exactly,” she said. “You saying no doesn’t doom us. It just means we have to…grow up.”
That hit me harder than any mystical warning.
“You make it sound so simple,” I said.
“It’s not,” she said. “It’s…brutal. And messy. And some people are going to get hurt. But some of us are *already* hurt by the way it is. You’re just…forcing the wound into the open.”
“I didn’t ask to be a catalyst, either,” I muttered.
“No,” she said. “But you are. Might as well enjoy the fireworks.”
We stayed until the wolves returned.
One by one, they trotted back into the clearing, muzzles bloody, fur bristling.
Hunt successful.
They howled again—a chorus of satisfaction.
Then, slowly, they shifted back.
I turned my head away.
I’d seen enough fur and skin for one night.
We walked back down in silence.
At the cabin, Ivy paused at the edge of the clearing.
“You did good,” she said unexpectedly.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I sat on a rock and tried not to scream.”
“You didn’t run,” she said. “You watched. That’s…more than Margaret did, her first time. She hid in the woods and threw rocks at anyone who came near.”
“That…sounds like her,” I said, a tired laugh escaping.
“She’d be proud,” Ivy said.
Of all the things I expected to feel tonight, that was not on the list.
My throat tightened.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
She grunted, uncomfortable with emotion, and melted into the trees.
I stood on the porch a long time, staring at the moon.
Rufus, exhausted from his playdate, snored inside.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A text.
From an unsaved number I still knew by heart.
You okay?
Theo.
I stared at the screen.
My thumb hovered.
I could lie. Say yes. Tell him I was fine. Pretend the bond was a whisper, not a shout.
Instead, I typed:
No.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Want company?
Yes, my stupid traitorous everything screamed.
No, my brain said.
After a long moment, I typed:
Not tonight.
A pause.
Okay.
Then, a second text:
Call me if you change your mind. Or if Hayes shows up. Or if your sink explodes again.
A smile tugged at my mouth, against my will.
I typed:
You’re very hung up on my plumbing.
Three dots.
Don’t make me send you a picture of the last time someone ignored my plumbing advice.
Ew.
He sent back a laughing emoji and a wolf paw.
I rolled my eyes at the screen.
Then I set the phone on the table, crawled into bed, and lay there, staring at the ceiling.
The moon slid across the sky.
The Ridge hummed.
Theo’s wolf howled one last time, far off.
And I lay in the dark, caught between yes and no, feeling the weight of a promise I hadn’t made pressing down on me from every side.
The fault lines in me had widened.
Something was going to break.
I just didn’t know which way I’d fall.
***