Page 19 of Moonlit Fate

“No, after that.” The blood in my veins turned to ice, leaving me frozen from the inside. “What was it you said about birthmarks?”

“The shifters in the prophecy will have a birthmark in the shape of the crescent moon...” Realization dawned on his face. “Oh, shit.”

“Shit indeed.”

Few shifters had birthmarks or blemishes, and though my mark wasn’t in as noticeable a place as Aria’s, we were shifters. Nudity didn’t concern or embarrass us, so my friends had all seen the mark on my hip at one time or another. And anyone who had ever laid eyes on Aria would have seen hers.

Mia reached across the table and put her hand over mine. “Whatever is happening, you’re not alone.”

Their faces were a mosaic of concern and camaraderie. This was my chosen family, bound not by blood but by loyalty. In their company, I could let down the walls I kept so meticulously fortified.

“Thank you,” I whispered hoarsely.

As I ate, the conversation turned to lighter topics, but I replayed the prophecy in my mind. With each mouthful, I steeled myself for what was to come.

“Atticus,” Lyza said as everyone finished eating, “your involvement with Aria… it’s risky, but I can’t deny it’s not intriguing.”

Joren nodded slowly. “It’s not just the risk, though.” He frowned. “If this prophecy is more than myth, it has the potential to alter everything for us.”

“For all shifters,” Mia affirmed. “The forest has been whispering of change long before now. Perhaps you’re meant to be at the core of it.”

The possibility of being entwined because of some archaic prophecy was both ludicrous and eerily fitting. But it wasn’t just about fate or destiny; it was about Aria, too.

“There’s a pull between us.” I let the truth of my words settle around me. “A connection that goes beyond mere attraction. It’s as if the forest itself orchestrated our meeting.”

“Like two stars colliding,” Mia added wistfully.

Joren smirked. “Or two beasts recognizing each other in the wild.”

Lyza’s melodic laugh eased the tension in the space. “Whatever it is, we’ve got your back. Just don’t lose yourself in her orbit.”

I nodded. “Thanks,” I said simply, but nothing about this was simple. Not the prophecy, not Aria, and certainly not thefuture that seemed to be hurtling toward us with an unstoppable momentum.

6

ARIA

Tendrils of steam curled lazily around me, the fragrance of lavender and chamomile infusing the air with a calming embrace. I sank into the bathtub, the warm water lapping against my bare skin. It did nothing to wash away the chaos of my mind. It should have been soothing, an escape, but my mind was refusing tranquility.

Atticus’s face, his piercing eyes, swirled behind my closed eyelids. He claimed we shared a crescent moon birthmark, but I hadn’t seen his, had I? Who knew if he was telling the truth. It had been days since I'd seen him, yet there was no way to expel him from my thoughts.

I exhaled deeply, my breath mingling with the humid air as I summoned droplets from the surface of the bath. The water rose obediently, suspended in mid-air at my command. The pack would never understand this gift of mine, this ability to maneuver and play with water. They feared anything that deviated from the norm. A grin spread across my face as a wave of rebellion washed over me, providing a greater warmth than the bathwater. I skillfully manipulated the droplets, fashioningthem into intricate figures that twirled and spun in a liquid carousel.

My fingers trailed through the water, guiding the small aquatic performers in their aerial ballet. The figures twirled, spun, and bowed under my direction. For a moment, the spectacle mesmerized me, offering a brief respite from my anxiety.

As the water figures continued their delicate waltz, my thoughts inevitably returned to him. Atticus, the rogue who had stumbled into my life, bringing with him questions, desires, and that haunting connection. Our matching birthmarks… it should’ve been impossible. I’d always been told that marks like mine were exceptionally rare. My father had been so proud of mine, believing it to be a gift from the spirits themselves. Mine was on my collarbone, a pale sigil that now found its echo on his hip. It was as though the gods were deliberately tormenting me, presenting their riddles in the form of living, breathing beings.

I slowed the carousel of water, the figures melding back into the bath. I leaned my head against the cool rim of the tub and closed my eyes, searching for solace in the enveloping warmth and aromatic fog.

With a reluctant groan, I opened my eyes. The thick steam clung to me, wrapping me in a misty embrace that was supposed to offer comfort. The softness of lavender and chamomile failed to meet the mark.

As the water lapped at my skin, I imagined it was the phantom caress of his hands, rough yet tender, that had traced the contours of my face with surprising gentleness. A tremor coursed through my body.

Fine. If fate wanted to play games, I’d see how far this thread unraveled. My resolve hardened. I needed to see his mark and confirm the truth. Even as the idea of seeing him surfaced, so did the undeniable pull toward him.

My hand drifted, as though drawn by a force beyond my control, tracing the contours of my collarbone before venturing lower. With each inch of skin I explored, memories of Atticus threatened to overwhelm me. His laughter, the wicked gleam in his gaze, the way my name rolled off his tongue, coated in honey and hidden thorns.

My fingers slipped into the water, sensing the heat gathering at the apex of my thighs, the dull throb that demanded release.

---