Hour of the Moon

Chapter 2: Neck of the Woods

Waya

The forest lay shrouded in mist, the full moon drifting behind a veil of clouds as a chorus of howls rippled through the night.

I lifted my nose to the air, inhaling the living heartbeat of the earth beneath my paws. Every scent unfolded—wet moss, cold stone, animal musk, the metallic whisper of water and blood. The world was an orchestra of sound and movement, every note vibrating against my skin.

The Cherokee National Forest stretched far beyond this ridge, spilling into Tennessee, Virginia, Georgia—and here, into the edge of North Carolina. For my pack, it was both sanctuary and burden: the safest place left for us, and for the few Cherokee tribes who still called these mountains home.

In this form, I was free. The human part of me—duties, doubts, the noise of memory—fell silent.

I ran. Branches tore past in streaks of shadow until the scent of my pack reached me, sharp and familiar. They stood at the banks of Watauga Lake, the water silvered under moonlight. The trees behind us whispered with the weight of something old, something watching.

A human body lay in the shallows. A boy. Sixteen, maybe. His skin was so pale it caught the moon like a mirror.

"What happened?" My voice carried through the mental tether that bound us in this form, a growl threaded through thought.

"He drowned," Ahiga, my beta, replied. His gray eyes glimmered with unease. "We followed the scent of blood, but he was gone before we reached him."

"Or before we could save him," Kachine, his younger brother, murmured. "Before we could turn him."

I stepped closer, the lake's chill licking at my paws. "No bite marks? No punctures?"

"None," said Nanye-hi, her tone soft and trembling. Her eyes—green as mountain glass—were wet with sadness.

She hesitated before adding, "Waya... this feels deliberate. Could it be another pack trying to stake claim to our land?"

"I don't know." My gaze lingered on the boy's motionless chest. "But it's been happening for months now. Whoever's doing this knows how to hide their scent. Keep watch. Listen to the ground. And we'll ask questions in town."

One by one, the others lifted their heads in solemn agreement. Our final howl split the night—grief and warning braided together—before the air shimmered and the Fae glamour appeared around the lake shed, revealing our hidden cache of clothes.

⸻

Inside, I dressed in silence, the weight of command pressing like a stone on my spine. Nanye-hi slipped in behind me, her arms circling my waist.

"I haven't felt this afraid in a long time," she whispered.

"I know."

She pressed her cheek to my back. "We'll figure it out. We always do. The pack believes in you, Waya. You'll lead us through this."

Her words should have comforted me, but they only deepened the ache.

"I didn't ask for this," I muttered, pulling a thermal shirt over my head.

In the mirror of my mind, my father's voice rose—hoarse, cruel, unyielding.

It should have been your brother. You're a disappointment. A failure. You make me sick.

I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached. That day lived in me like a scar that refused to fade.

When I stepped outside, the others were already dressed, their human faces pale under the moonlight. The forest was still again, deceptively peaceful.

"We'll keep investigating the deaths until the next full moon," I said, my voice low but steady. "Even if it means crossing into other territories for answers. For now, keep to routine. No one acts alone."

A murmur of assent followed. Nanye-hi lingered behind, her fingers finding mine.

"Come home," she said softly. "It's late."

Her touch was warmth against the cold, a fragile tether to something human.

I nodded, though the dread inside me only deepened. The night felt different now—heavier, threaded with an unease I couldn't name.

If only I had known what waited beyond the trees.

If only I had known how close the storm truly was.