Page 10 of Moonlit Desires

Ashen looks up, his pale eyes suddenly focused. "The curse weakens with the cycles of the moon. Twenty-five years. The same as your age in mortal time. It creates... a window. A possibility." His voice grows stronger as he speaks, as if the words come from somewhere beyond him. "If you do not return to break the curse before the next lunar eclipse, the Court will fade entirely. And you with it."

Thorne stalks closer, firelight catching the wild gold of his eyes. "We've spent decades searching for you. Caelum's spies were everywhere, hunting any trace of royal blood. We had to wait until the mark appeared—until your power began to wake—before we could risk approaching you."

"And now Caelum knows you've been found," Riven adds, her beautiful face grim. "His agents will come for you. They cannot allow you to break the curse and restore the Moon Court's power."

Lyra stares into the silver fire, watching as it shows figures moving through Lythven's fog-shrouded streets, searching with unnatural senses. "How am I supposed to break a curse I don't even understand? I'm a bartender, not a... whatever you all are."

"You are the daughter of Ella Moonshadow," Kael says, his voice filled with quiet certainty. "The last of the royal line. The curse was created with the royal blood of your mother; it can only be undone by the royal blood of her child."

"Your blood remembers what your mind has forgotten," Riven says. "The dreams, the mark—these are your heritage asserting itself. The magic of the Moon Court flows in your veins, waiting to be awakened."

The fire flares higher, and in its depths, Lyra sees herself—but transformed. Her ordinary features sharpened to fae beauty, her eyes glowing with silver light, power flowing from her hands like liquid moonlight. The vision both terrifies and exhilarates her.

"I don't know if I can be what you need me to be," she whispers.

"You already are," Ashen says, with unexpected gentleness. "You need only remember it."

As the fire begins to die, Lyra looks at each of her guardians in turn—Kael with his warrior's bearing, Riven with her dangerous beauty, Thorne with his barely contained wildness, Ashen with his prophet's burden. Strangers who know her better than she knows herself.

"Three days," she says finally. "You promised me three days to decide."

Kael nods. "And you shall have them. But be wary, Lyra Ashwind. The enemy now knows your face. Your scent. Your power. The hunt has already begun."

As if in answer, a distant howl rises from the city streets—not a dog, not a wolf, but something between and beyond both. Thorne's head snaps up, nostrils flaring.

"Storm hounds," he growls. "Caelum's trackers."

The silver fire extinguishes itself in an instant, plunging the courtyard into darkness broken only by the too-bright moon overhead.

"Go home," Riven whispers in Lyra's ear, suddenly close enough to touch. "Keep the pendant close. We will watch over you."

Before Lyra can respond, the four guardians melt into the shadows as if they were never there, leaving her alone in an abandoned courtyard with only the echo of a story that rewrites everything she thought she knew about herself.

____________

Dawn crawls reluctantly over Lythven, the sun a pale disc struggling through layers of fog and cloud. Lyra hasn't slept. How could she, with her mother's pendant burning against her skin and the howls of impossible hounds echoing through her dreams? She arrives at the Broken Barrel early, hoping routine might anchor her to reality. The mark on her back pulses with each heartbeat, more insistent now, as if impatient with her hesitation. She moves through opening procedures mechanically—chairs down, glasses ready, register counted—all while her mind replays silver flames and stories of a curse that only her blood can break.

Maya should have arrived by now. It's unusual—Maya is punctual to a fault, a product of her military upbringing. Lyra checks the clock again, frowning. Twenty minutes late. She tries Maya's number from the bar phone, but it rings emptily, each unanswered tone increasing the knot of dread in her stomach.

The first customers trickle in—morning regulars seeking coffee with a splash of something stronger. Lyra serves them alone, watching the door for Maya's familiar silhouette. By noon, the absence has become impossible to ignore. Maya has never missed a shift without calling, not once in the three years they've worked together.

The tavern grows busier as the lunch crowd arrives, their conversations hushed and eyes darting. Something has changed in Lythven overnight. Fear clings to the patrons like the perpetual fog, manifesting in nervous glances and half-finished sentences.

"Heard anything about the disappearances?" a dock worker asks his companion, voice low but carrying in the sudden lull of conversation.

"Three so far," comes the muttered reply. "Tannery foreman found his night watchman's post empty this morning. Nothing left but a scorched patch of ground and some weird tracks. Not human, they're saying."

Lyra's hands shake as she pours a beer, foam spilling over the glass's edge. The pendant seems to grow heavier against her skin, a constant reminder that she brings danger simply by existing.

The tavern door bangs open, admitting a young woman Lyra recognizes as Maya's neighbor. Her eyes are wild, hair disheveled from running.

"Has anyone seen Maya?" she asks, breathless. "She never came home last night. Her door was open this morning—place torn apart like there was a struggle."

The room falls silent. All eyes turn to Lyra, whose face has drained of color. The glass in her hand slips, shattering on the floor with a crash that makes several patrons jump.

"I'm sure she's fine," Lyra says, but the words ring hollow even to her own ears. "She probably just... stayed with someone."

Maya's neighbor shakes her head. "There was blood, Lyra. Not much, but enough. And something else—like frost, but it was silver. Covering the walls in patches. The city watch is there now."

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