Page 6 of Moonlit Fate

The snap of a twig underfoot jolted me from my anxious reverie, the sound breaking the silence like a warning shot. My pulse quickened, each beat hammering against my ribs with the ferocity of a trapped animal fighting to free itself from a cage. No matter how hard I pulled, the rope remained tight, a cruel reminder of the inescapable fate that had befallen me.

“Easy, now,” came the deep, resonant voice of a stranger, but there was no mistaking the amusement that pricked at my pride. “Looks like you’ve found yourself in quite the bind.”

I whipped my head around, strands of hair tangling across my face. A man stood cloaked in the shade of the trees, his presence as undeniable as the force of nature that had wrought havoc on these woods. His jet-black hair, tousled and wild, bore a streak of silver that picked up the scant light filtering through the canopy, a visual echo of my own silver tresses.

“Who are you?” I tried to conceal the tremor of fear with the authority I was born to wield. “Get me down from here immediately.”

With every step he took, the muscles in his arms flexed, hinting at the untamed strength that lay beneath the simple shirt. “Now, why would I do that?” His tone bordered on mockery, which both irritated and intrigued me.

The forest appeared to still as I dangled precariously from the trap. The man’s presence was an intense force, an energy that seemed to sway with the trees and creep under my skin. My alpha senses had only begun to develop recently, but as unskilled as they were, a tremor of realization washed over meas things fell into place. The elders had always told tales about one rogue wolf, a dangerous phantom in the woods wielding mysterious abilities who had set up on the outskirts of the boundary line. My alpha intuition rang like an alarm bell as I studied the shifter before me. Fear gripped me, not solely from being strung up like bait, but from the apprehension that I might be face to face with the very creature they had warned us about.

I suddenly realized I’d seen him before. He’d lurked around the fence while we were training earlier.

“You’re him. The phantom rogue the elders are afraid of.”

I hadn’t meant to speak aloud, for him to know members of the pack were whispering about him. If asked, I’d blame the blood pooling in my brain from dangling upside down for so long.

Surprise sparkled in his ice-blue eyes. Or perhaps it was amusement. Being upside down made it hard to read the enigma before me. There was a certain intensity about him, his relaxed posture masking a reservoir of hidden strength. His lips curled into a smirk, exuding an air of self-assurance. The tattoos on his arms seemed to come alive, each one an intricate narrative waiting to be discovered.

“Scared, princess?” The mock endearment twisted in the air between us, laced with a challenge.

I bit back the retort dancing on the tip of my tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. In truth, I was anything but unafraid. Being suspended upside down, vulnerable and exposed, was not exactly a position of power. And yet, there was something else stirring deep inside me beyond the adrenaline and alarm.

His scent. It wound around me, an aroma that was as intoxicating as it was disarming. It made my head swim, my senses sharpening and blurring as if I were caught in a corporeal paradox. How could a stranger who looked so rugged, so wild,carry a fragrance that was so familiar, so calming, so utterly... divine?

I struggled against the ropes with renewed vigor. But even as I battled to maintain composure, I couldn’t deny the allure that emanated from him, nor the corresponding tug, as if an invisible thread were weaving our fates together in this unexpected encounter.

“Your scent,” I called out. “It’s unlike any I know.”

A shadow briefly crossed his face, a flicker of something unreadable before he masked it with another sardonic smile. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Neither,” I snapped, my pride stinging at the idea of offering him anything that resembled praise.

“Too bad.” He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, predatory. “Compliments can be persuasive.”

“Then let’s hope flattery isn’t the only currency you trade in,” I said, attempting to match his nonchalance. “Because right now, I need more than pretty words to get out of this mess.”

His laugh was a low rumble, harmonizing with the rustling leaves above our heads. It was a sound that, despite my predicament, gave me goosebumps, a prelude to a dance I was sure neither of us fully understood yet.

“Patience, princess,” he said, his playful tone doing nothing to mask the arrogance that flitted across his face. “You’re the one who’s ventured into my part of the forest. Here, we play bymyrules.”

Rogue shifters didn’t claim territories. Their very nature was to drift, untethered and free of the rules that governed pack life. Yet, here he was, standing before me, claiming an ownership that was both annoying and unnerving.

“You don’t have any territories, nor do you own parts of the forest,” I spat out. “As a rogue, you’re packless. A nomad, eitherby choice or circumstance. Or is it both? Thrown from a pack and refused by any you’ve approached?”

Inwardly, I groaned. Why was I goading him? I needed his help, yet I couldn’t seem to stop baiting him.

I watched his infuriating grin widen, and I almost smelled the smugness radiating from him as soon as he realized who I was. He leaned back against a tree and folded his arms across his expansive chest, casually crossing one leg over the other. He was the picture of nonchalance, looking for all the world as if time meant nothing to him.

“The daughter of the Silver Claw alpha, trapped in a human hunter’s snare? Now that’s a story,” he said, his tone rich with amusement.

Heat crept into my cheeks, not from embarrassment but from a smoldering ire. I wanted to retort, to unleash the sharp bite of my wit. Instead, I bit down on my lip, tasting the metallic tinge of frustration. This rogue, this infuriatingly attractive man, had me at a disadvantage, and he knew it.

“Are you going to help me down, or just stand there and gloat?” I demanded, attempting to regain control over the situation. It wasn’t working.

He pushed off from the tree and sauntered closer. “Now, why would I rush such an interesting encounter?” he asked, tilting his head to study me.

“Because it’s the decent thing to do,” I suggested, though appeals to morality were likely wasted on him.

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