The Beast of the Silver Moon
The move to the countryside had been a whirlwind of towering pines and endless greenery. Behind our new home lay a forest that seemed to stretch into infinity, hiding a crystalline lake and a hidden cave behind a shimmering waterfall. It was there, under the dappled sunlight, that I first felt the gaze of something non-human. A shadow, massive and predatory, had watched me from the brush—a creature with pointed ears and a powerful, lupine frame.
Fear had initially paralyzed me, but as the nights grew colder, that fear morphed into a magnetic, inexplicable pull. One moonlit evening, the beast finally claimed me. He lunged from the darkness, pinning me to the damp earth. His size was overwhelming, a wall of muscle and silver-grey fur that smelled of pine needles and raw musk. I expected death, but instead, I felt the rough, hot slide of a tongue against my neck, a slow, possessive claim that ignited a fire in my veins. As his weight pressed me into the soil, the primal hunger in his golden eyes mirrored my own sudden, desperate longing.