Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 1

1

brONTE

Lykia Island, Maheras Territory, The First Realm

C hange is coming.

The feeling hits me out of nowhere. It’s a lurch in the gut and a spike of awareness that runs up my spine and takes root at the back of my brain. I freeze, momentarily overwhelmed, and it’s only my mother’s strong grip on my elbow that keeps me from causing more than a second-long delay in the procession as we all file into the Great Hall in pairs. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell from the look in her gold eyes that she is concerned, so I flash her a tight smile and hope she won’t remember to ask me anything about it after the ceremony.

The trouble with having the gift of divination is that it is never a consistent thing. Perhaps it would be if I practised it more, but I don’t particularly like being able to see into the future. I can go years without seeing anything, and then be struck with a wave of visions, but even then they will be nothing more than a jumbled mess of pointless scenes. There’s no guidance to be found in watching strangers go about their lives in thirty-second glimpses, or in finding myself suddenly transported into my own future, bundling herbs for a spell, swimming in the ocean, or preparing for a full moon. I’ve never seen anything of significance before.

This feeling is different.

I take my place between my grandmother — the High Witch — and my mother. Dressed in our ceremonial robes, we face the gathered crowd of werewolves, and as the formalities begin we all sing to the moon goddess, drums echoing off the walls and the vaulted ceiling that stretches stories above us. The music clears my head, and the collective magic focusses my attention on the present. The full moon is still a week away, but we sense her approach in our bones, our wolves howling within us, ready to be set free. Tonight we all dance in the dark in our regular bodies, but in a week we will be beasts, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When the ceremony is over, I manage to slip away without my mother or grandmother tracking me down, and for that I’m thankful. The castle we call home is full of hidden passageways and quiet spaces, and I make my way to one of my favourite courtyards. It’s nothing but a small square of brick pavers and raised garden beds, but it’s always peaceful, and no-one ever bothers me here.

I feel it happening as I step into the moonlight, the sudden sensation of falling that I get every time I see the future letting me know that I am definitely not here anymore.

The Second Realm . I can tell I am in that other world immediately from the style of furniture in the room and the sound of human vehicles outside, but it’s none of those details that capture my attention. It’s the man in the room that I focus on, and everything else pales to him. He stands naked, back turned, tall with broad shoulders and dark hair, and all the muscle of a wolf in his prime. It’s his scent that shocks me the most; it floods my mind as it fills my nose, leaving me stunned because nothing has ever smelled so good. He is a stranger, and yet I know him.

“Bronte,” he says, turning towards me, gold eyes catching the morning light. His voice is deep, a rich rumble, and his face is beautiful. He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, and my heart feels as if it will burst. My eyes rake over his body, desire curling in my core.

Mate , my wolf says.

I gasp, stumbling, hand pressing to the cool brick wall beside me, my heart racing in my chest as I suck in deep lungfuls of air.

What in the name of the Goddess did she mean by ‘mate’?

My eyes dart around the courtyard, and I slump to the ground. I focus on the castle that stands around me as I attempt to orient myself once more. There are the banners flying from the tallest turrets, snapping in the breeze, carrying the sigil of House Maheras, a werewolf head under the full moon. My family, my coven. I am still here. I am here , in the First Realm, at Maheras Castle. I am home.

When he looked at me in that vision I felt at home there too, and I’m afraid of what that means.

Gathering herbs under the midday sun isn’t what I’d intended to do when I planned my day this morning, but when my great aunt asks me to assist her, I can’t say no. She is one of the eldest members of the coven, and in the past year it has become more and more apparent that she is nearing the end of her life. Given that she is one hundred and fifteen, it’s to be expected, but even so I find myself mourning her coming departure despite the fact that she’s still with us.

“Bethyl, let me help you with that,” I say sternly, catching her bending to pick up a fallen twig of thyme, her basket hanging from one arm and her walking stick discarded on the ground.

“No, I’ve got it. I’m fine, I’m fine ,” she grumbles, a growl in her voice, but I ignore her, taking her basket. I empty the contents into mine and leave it on the cobblestone path that winds its way between garden beds.

“We’ll collect it on our way back, Aunty. You need to be using your cane more, not just dragging it behind you.”

“You need to be minding your own business,” she mutters under her breath knowing full-well that I’ll hear it, and I laugh, shaking my head.

We walk side by side through our coven’s garden that sits within the outer walls of the castle, my steps small to keep pace with her slow gait. Though we can’t see it from our position, I can hear the crash of the ocean beyond the walls, and the smell of saltwater fills the air, the wind today rustling the olive trees above our heads.

I’ve always felt safe here. Safe, and trapped; the towering walls and the sheer drop on three sides into the sea below forever reminding me that I am not free to go as I please, not in the way most others are. When you are the chosen heir to the Maheras line — the future leader of both the House and coven — there is no leaving Maheras territory, even if you are capable of opening portals to Second Realm. I have my path laid out for me, and it’s been that way since I was ten, when my grandmother decided I was the one with enough promise to succeed her when the time comes. There are still decades to go before that happens — I hope — but I still feel the weight of that future pressing on me often, as if something heavy is physically sitting on my chest, and I envy the possibilities my siblings and cousins all have.

We stop at the next garden bed and I pull a carrot from the ground, absentmindedly brushing it against my jeans to dislodge most of the soil. I’m wearing human-style clothing as I do most days, because it’s one of the small rebellions I can get away with, though my grandmother always gives me the stink-eye whenever I do in front of her.

“Here,” Bethyl says quietly, waving her hand, a gold glow enveloping the carrot momentarily, the remaining specks of dirt floating away in a cloud of dust.

“Thank you,” I murmur before taking a bite. “Would you like one?” I offer.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Why ask me for help today when you won’t let me do a single thing for you?” I ask teasingly.

“Because that’s not why I wanted you here.” Her yellow stare is just as direct as ever. “How are you , my darling?”

With her worsening health, it’s sometimes easy to forget that she is still one of the best witches in our coven, and one of the sharpest minds I’ve ever known. “I’m fine,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice light despite the fact that I suddenly feel as if she has me trapped under a magnifying glass.

“Mmmhmm.”

“Here’s the fenugreek you were after,” I say, changing the subject. She doesn’t say anything further, and we get to work, rifling through the plants, finding all the dried seed pods. I watch Bethyl out of the corner of my eye as we work, noting how she seems even more frail than she did just a few months ago.

A decade ago she stood as tall as me. Now she hunches, her body shrunken, her once-black hair turned steel grey. It’s always this way with wolves; the final decade is a fast decline. Sometimes I think about those trapped in the Second Realm, living under the permanent glamour, their bodies essentially human. How they age at such a different rate, how their lifespans are cut short by decades. I understand that for most, they have no choice in their location. They live and die under glamour, and that goes for all species — orcs, gargoyles, wolf shifters — not just werewolves.

He was not in glamour in my vision. His eyes were as gold as mine.

I’ve spent far too long thinking about the Second Realm this past week. More specifically, I’ve spent too long thinking about him ; about how he made me feel in that brief vision, with that rich, deep voice of his and gorgeous eyes full of desire… about every inch of his body — and goddess , were there inches upon inches .

He was so big and —

“I think you are away with the fae,” Bethyl says, startling me as she taps my hand with her cane.

“ No. ”

“ Yes , and you have been for almost a week. What have you seen? Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were at the last ceremony. Your mother was worried, I could tell.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes with a nervous laugh. “I should have known I was walking into a trap this morning when you invited me along, you old crone.”

She gives me a smile, showing off her false teeth. “I’m taking that as a compliment. It takes one to know one, Bronte, and I know when a seer has seen things, because I am one myself. So I’m going to ask you again, my dear, what have you seen? ”

I have seen a man. A werewolf, and I think he is my mate.

“I have had a sense of caution lately,” I say instead. “And of change.” I don’t mention the Second Realm.

She nods. “Change is coming. I’ve sensed that too. I don’t think you should fear it, Bronte. You are so very gifted. You have everything you need inside of you.”

“What kind of change?”

She ignores my question for the moment, turning her head at the sound of heavy wingbeats in the distance. I follow the direction of her gaze, unsurprised to see one of the huge dragon shifters flying over the wall, travelling in from across the ocean. They come and go daily, bringing goods and messages and people, but I never tire of seeing them cut through the sky.

“Change is change,” Bethyl declares, her eyes still on the dragon as he lands in the distance.

“Well that’s a very helpful explanation.”

Her laugh makes me smile. “What I mean, Bronte, is that for many life changing events, there are elements of joy and elements of mourning. Now that isn’t always the case — the death of a loved one, for example, brings little joy — but for many changes, you can rejoice at all the new and exciting things while still grieving what once was. That’s why you shouldn’t fear it. What I would fear is if you were to just remain stagnant on this island, never changing, never growing, caught in the claws of a wolf who seeks to mould you in her likeness.”

“I have no intention of ever being like her,” I say quietly.

“I know. Which is why, when the opportunity for change presents itself, my advice would be to lean into it. You are young, but you are strong and resourceful, and you have a good head on your shoulders. Trust your instincts and they will guide you well.”

That is all well and good, but… “The future isn’t set in stone, right?” I ask. I don’t want Bethyl to ask more questions, but I also need the reassurance from her. “What we see…”

She shakes her head. “You have to live believing that you have full choice and control over your decisions. And you do. You make the choices that lead you to your future, not the other way around. You are the decisive element here. So no, none of the future is set in stone. Like everyone else in the universe, you will be presented with choices all your life. The only difference is that with the sight , you have a clearer idea of where those choices may lead.”

Lean into it . I think she knows more than she’s letting on, but in fairness I have not been forthcoming about all I’ve seen either.

I slide into bed, sighing as I stretch out. As wonderful as it is to transform under the full moon and run and howl and hunt, it is exhausting, leaving my bones feeling heavy as the sun rises on a new day, the moon goddess departing for another month.

My eyes are drifting shut when I feel the telltale prick of magic, a sense of falling, and then —

“Bronte.”

There’s a small corner of my mind that is aware of what this really is: another vision. The rest of me is wholly occupied in living in the moment as his lips press to my neck, making me shiver in the best way possible.

I still don’t know his name but I recognise his voice and his scent. I trust him, feel safe with him, and am utterly turned on by him.

His big arms curl around me as I feel the press of his erection, hard and hot against my lower back. It’s not even a surprise that I am as naked as he is, and I lean back against him, lifting my arm, burying my hand in his hair as his teeth graze my skin.

Mate, my wolf chants. Mate, mate, mate.

His fingers dance over my nipple while his other hand maps a path down my stomach, setting me aflame, and I open my legs wider, exhaling as he finds my clit. He circles it slowly, teasingly, bringing me close to an orgasm and then backing me away again, chuckling darkly in my ear when I whine.

“Soon,” he says, his fingers sliding lower still. I am wet, dripping for him, and when he curls his thick fingers into me I moan loudly, bucking into his hand. This is my mate, and I want my body to swallow him whole. I want everything from him.

“Yes,” he growls, a low rumble in my ear. “Let me hear you. You’re perfect, and I’m going to make you scream.”

I buck harder. “More,” I demand. “I need more. Give me your knot. Please. Please. Give it all to me.”

He doesn’t give me a thing, the vision ending just as abruptly as it began. I whimper at the loss of him, the heat of his body just a phantom memory. He’s not here.

He’s not real, not yet, at least. The room is dim and my bed is empty, my beating heart and heavy breathing the only sound here in my chambers. I throw the sheets back, frustrated and horny and covered in sweat.

I should be more disturbed by the fact that I am slipping into erotic visions, experiencing something so intimate through the eyes of my future self, my thoughts and feelings almost entirely tainted by hers. It should bother me that I was so desperate for him to knot me in that moment, when I still am no closer to knowing who he is. Instead I find my clit with my own hand, finishing what he started, coming with a small cry, my heart and cunt both aching for a stranger I’ve never even met.

It’s hard to sit still when my grandmother, Lenora Maheras, drones on about the fae issue and the need for heightened awareness within our realm. It’s a speech we’ve all heard before, and I catch my mother’s gaze from across the circle of bodies gathered for today’s coven meeting. She rolls her amber eyes, and I don’t need magic to know what she’s thinking. “I’m over it too, darling,” she’d be saying if we were permitted to speak, but no one ever dares to interrupt the High Witch when she is monologuing.

As the sky grows darker and the enchanted lamps that line the castle walls light up, the meeting turns to even more boring matters: roles and responsibilities for the upcoming quarter. Try as I might, I can’t stop my mind from wandering to thoughts of my mystery man, the man I’m almost certain is my future mate. The man who finger fucked me in a vision while I begged for his knot. I am no virgin, but that was the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.

“ Bronte! Pay attention, child!” my grandmother’s sharp voice snaps, the use of my name cutting through the haze of my thoughts. Thirty-plus pairs of eyes turn towards me, pupils wide in the dark, and my cheeks flush as a number of my cousins snicker under their breaths.

“Yes?” I reply, sitting a little straighter than before under her scrutiny. She gives me a disappointed look, but I refuse to look away, our eyes locked, even as the silence drags on. I’ve learned over the years not to show any sign of weakness, because she will prey on that. She is a bitch, and has been this way all my life. I suppose it’s served her well; she rules everything with an iron fist, and no one has ever challenged her in the last four decades since she became both the High Witch and leader of our House.

They’d be a fool to try. Her abilities in magic are unrivalled.

I wonder if she has seen anything about the future. As far as I know, she doesn’t have that ability, but it wouldn’t be the first secret she’s kept. With her desire for me to succeed her, I’ve been privy to some of them. The coven would be terrified if they knew what she’s truly capable of.

“Bronte, I’m assigning you a new role, effective immediately. Pup training. Of the newly transformed variety. Happy birthday, my grandchild. I have twenty-five students for you; one for each of your years.”

It was my birthday last month, but this seems like a really shitty present. I don’t even attempt to hide my distaste. “Pup training? In magic? ”

“In what else would it be?” she snaps back. “Yes, in magic. I have twenty-five thirteen year olds — all from Southend — that have been through their first moon in their transformed state and according to those on duty, it was a fucking mess. When I heard the number I thought it was clearly a divine sign from the goddess herself. It will be a good training exercise for your future role.”

No thank you. I open my mouth to say there’s still plenty of years before we need to even think about that when a cold chill streaks up my spine, settling at the back of my brain, icy and unwelcome. I’m not the only one that feels it; a collective shiver runs through the coven, and more than one wolf snarls in warning.

Pixie magic.

While pixies are not anywhere near as dangerous as fae, the fact that they are here within the castle casting spells that are strong enough for us to sense is alarming. I look up and for a breath everything is silent, every witch and wizard gathered here frozen in shock, matching pairs of gold eyes all wide in the dim light. Across the room my mother’s mouth parts as if to speak —

"Don’t just stand there! Move! ”

My grandmother’s booming voice echoes on the ancient stone walls, shattering the silence, and we all spring into action. I’m closest to the door and sprint through it first, ignoring the growls and snarls from the other members of the coven who all get caught in the traffic jam of bodies behind me. I’m already tearing down the hall, leather boots pounding against the worn carpet, my heavy ceremonial outer robe threatening to slip from my shoulders as I sprint towards the source of that magic. It was in the Great Hall, I’m sure of it.

I can hear some of the others catching up to me but I don’t look back as I descend a spiralling staircase, the scale of the magic being used almost overwhelming.

This would be so much easier for a wolf shifter. I know some werewolves sneer at our wolf cousins and their inability to talk in their shifted forms, but I envy their abilities to transform at will. What I wouldn’t give to be able to call upon my wolf in an instant, to control her, to have her body and run on four legs, eating up the distance between myself and the troublemakers.

Instead it takes me far too long to reach the ground floor. I immediately catch the sickly-sweet scent of pixies in the air. It grows stronger as I reach the Great Hall, entering through the huge marble arch into the cavern-like structure.

The guards are unconscious but alive. I hesitate, torn between helping them and focusing on the source of the magic — the glowing blue portal spinning in the centre of the space, and the three sets of pixie wings disappearing into it. I know where they’re going; this kind of portal only leads to the Second Realm, the human world.

“Like everyone else in the universe, you will be presented with choices all your life. The only difference is that with the sight , you have a clearer idea of where those choices may lead.”

The Second Realm is where he is. I feel the truth of it in my bones. My future is through that portal. Still, what if…

“They took the Maheras Stone!” someone cries from the upper gallery, cementing my decision. That item is far too significant for it to fall into the wrong hands, and with the portal closing, I sprint forward. There’s no time for hesitation now.

Change is coming.

“ Bronte! ” my mother calls, but I can’t look back, my body already flying through the air as I take one great leap into the portal…

… and into the Second Realm.