Page 23 of Moonlit Fate

I rubbed at my temples. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”

Atticus gave a slight nod.

“Go on,” I said, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice, but the sincerity on his face caught my attention. “Tell me about this prophecy.”

He hesitated, then began to speak. “During my run, I encountered another rogue wolf, one who spoke of changes in the forest, shifts in the balance.” Atticus’s tone held an undercurrent of seriousness that stirred something elemental inside me. “He talked about a prophecy of two shifters who will shift the balance of power. When I mentioned it at dinner, Hale—an old friend, someone I trust—said he’d heard of the prophecy and told me what little he knew. He said that those chosen are marked…” He stuttered to a stop.

“How are they marked, Atticus?” My stomach filled with a thousand butterflies. I had an idea of where he was going, but I needed to hear it from him, no matter how incongruous it sounded.

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from those eyes that seemed to hold the entire ocean within them. He kept them on me as he answered, “He mentioned birthmarks, that those chosen by fate will have marks shaped like the crescent moon. Like ours.”

I stared at him, unblinking, unable to look away. A kaleidoscope of butterflies took flight in my stomach, making my insides churn. This had to be some kind of cruel jest. A test of my faith, perhaps? But no, I didn’t get the impression that Atticus was one for elaborate pranks. That much was painfully obvious.

“So, this prophecy involves us? You and me?” My voice wavered with the incredulity that swept through me. Then, a strained laugh burst from me, as if trying to dispel his claim.

“Yes.” There was no hint of mockery in his tone, only the raw truth of what he believed. Or knew. It was hard to tell which frightened me more.

The room was suddenly smaller, the walls inching closer as his revelation bore down on me. My birthmark, a unique brand I’d carried since birth, now linked me to this man, this rogue who had dared climb into my life as easily as he had scaled the walls of my balcony.

Atticus pointed to me, then to himself. “We both have the crescent moon birthmark. It can’t be a coincidence. I’ve never encountered another shifter with a blemish or birthmark on their skin, let alone one that’s identical to mine.”

This rogue wolf, a man whose very presence turned my world upside down, claimed a connection that defied all logic, yet somehow made a strange kind of sense.

“And what is this prophecy? What does any of this even mean?” I asked, voice trailing off into a soft murmur.

Atticus inched closer. Each word he spoke was measured, deliberate, reverberating with a resonance that vibrated through my core. “I don’t know what it means. I just know it feels right.”

“Let me see it,” I demanded. “Your birthmark. Show me.”

Atticus hesitated briefly before his hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with practiced ease.

“What are you doing?” I asked, blushing as his intent became clear.

“Showing you,” he said simply, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that did funny things to my insides. The fabric whispered over his skin as he lowered his pants just enough to reveal the crescent moon birthmark on his hip.

My breath hitched. It was identical to mine—the same size, same shape. All that differed was the location. Everything else matched, even the color. Heat curled in my belly, not just from the steam surrounding us, but from the sight of him standing there, so vulnerable and yet so sure.

“See?” he said.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, the mark and the man drawing me in. The world outside this room, with its expectations and constraints, faded into insignificance. Here, now, it was just me and Atticus, tied by a mark we didn’t understand.

“Identical,” I said. The revelation was as unsettling as it was enthralling. What did this mean for us? For the pack? For who I was? “Atticus, you should go.”

I didn’t want him to leave. A magnetic pull existed between us, one that had been written in the stars long before we were born.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” he asked. It was a challenge, tempting me to admit what my body so clearly craved.

And then, without thought, without permission from my rational mind, I closed the distance. With a boldness that surprised even myself, I reached up, fingers tangling in his hair, and pulled his head down to meet mine. Our lips crashed together in a kiss that was everything I never knew I needed.

It was fire and ice, night and day, a collision of contrasting sensations that somehow fit perfectly. Where Larkin’s kiss had left me cold and detached, Atticus’s kiss had the power to consume me entirely. His mouth moved against mine with a passion that spoke of longing and recognition, as if our souls had known each other across lifetimes.

I forgot the titles that awaited me, the responsibilities that shackled me, the future that had been meticulously planned out for me. There was only the taste of him, the feel of his teeth as they nipped at my lips, and the undeniable truth that this wild, all-consuming connection was exactly what I had been searching for all along.

“Atticus,” I said against his mouth, a confession, a plea, a name that was the key unlocking parts of me I hadn’t known were locked. My hands roved over his chest, his muscles taut beneath my touch, and I indulged in the mere idea of climbinghim, of getting closer than the constraints of our world would allow.

His arms wrapped around me, strong and unyielding, and I clung to him, drowning in the sensation of being utterly, irrevocably wanted. This wasn’t just a kiss; it was a silent vow, a promise of more. A promise of everything.

7

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