Hour of the Moon

Chapter 25: Brink of Evil

Keiran

In the eerie embrace of night, tranquility eluded me. My heart thrashed against my ribs, mirroring the wild procession of thoughts crowding my mind.

The soft glow of my necklace pulsed faintly, tracing a thin halo across my flushed skin. I pressed my fingers against the amulet, willing myself to believe in its promise of protection — but tonight, even faith felt like a trembling thing. Something unseen was prowling the edges of my peace.

Then came the smell.

Rot. Sulfur. Decay.

It seeped beneath the door, an unholy perfume that made my stomach tighten and my instincts scream. I threw off the covers, skin damp with sweat, and grabbed the first things within reach — sweats, a sweater, slippers. My phone slid into my pocket like a final tether to the world I understood.

The apartment was too quiet. The kind of quiet that has a heartbeat.

Each step toward the front door felt heavier. The smell grew sharper, metallic and wrong. The closer I got, the thicker the air became — as if the night itself had come inside to listen.

Then, silence.

A breath of calm.

It didn't last.

A guttural groan rattled through the hinges, followed by a violent shudder that shook the entire frame. My heart slammed against my ribs. Something enormous was on the other side, pushing — no, testing.

"Keiran."

It spoke my name.

Not shouted — spoke, as if it had practiced the syllables in the dark for centuries.

Fear ignited every nerve in my body. I lunged for the nearest chair, wedged it under the handle, and braced my shoulder against the door. The wood groaned, splintering with each hit. My muscles screamed. Sweat slicked my skin, rolling down my neck as the creature's strength doubled mine.

I needed something heavier — a weapon, anything — but the growling grew louder, closer, and I knew I was out of time.

If I stayed, I'd die.

The window was my only chance.

I bolted, fumbling with the lock, fingers shaking. The latch snapped free just as another impact shook the door off its frame. I didn't think — I jumped.

The pavement greeted me hard and merciless. Pain rippled through my legs and arms, but fear was faster than pain. I stumbled upright, lungs burning, and ran — bare feet slapping against the asphalt until the forest swallowed me whole.

Branches clawed at my sweater. The night pressed closer, thick and wet with rain.

Call on the power of the moon!

Kamari's voice echoed in my skull, clear and commanding — a memory or a warning, I couldn't tell.

"The moon's not here," I gasped, scanning the sky. Clouds covered everything. No light. No witness.

"What do I even say?" My voice broke into the darkness.

Listen, Kamari whispered.

I closed my eyes.

The chant came not from my memory but from somewhere older — from the pulse in my blood, from the marrow that remembered being something wild.

Ancient earth from blood and bone,
I obey the moon alone.
Primordial gods of Africa,
Lend your power to me.
Pass on your wisdom and set me free.
Grant me the illumination of your ways,
And I will serve you to the end of my days.

The words left my mouth like smoke and salt. The air thickened. The ground trembled beneath me, small stones vibrating in a circle around my feet.

The clouds tore apart.

And there — rising above the treetops — was the moon. But not silver. Blood-red. A wound in the sky.

The amulet at my throat flared white-hot.

"Ahh!" I screamed, clawing at it — but it refused to come off. The chain melted into my skin, branding me in concentric rings that shimmered like molten gold.

Light poured through me — not over, through. My body arched against it. My bones felt like glass catching fire.

Then I heard her voice again — not Kamari's, but something older.

Rise, my child.

I fell to my knees, trembling, the earth breathing beneath me.

All of my power belongs to you. May you one day inherit the throne.

The forest shifted. The shadows had gathered form.

Something massive moved between the trees — fur like obsidian, eyes like coals wet with blood. The wolf that stepped into the clearing was monstrous, its breath fogging the night. Around it slunk smaller creatures, twisted parodies of wolves and men — hyena-faced, drooling, muttering in a language that tasted like iron.

The smell hit me again, stronger. Death. Madness.

The great wolf's voice came without movement of mouth or muscle.

"Child of the Moon. Keiran."

The sound echoed inside me, vibrating in my ribs.

"How do you know me?" My voice was no longer my own — deeper, threaded with something alien.

"We mean you no harm," it said, circling slowly, tail like a blade. "We are here to collect a debt. And Cherokee will come to an end."

"Why?" I demanded, heart pounding. "What do you gain from destroying it?"

The beast paused. For a heartbeat, grief flickered in those red eyes — real grief, deep as hunger.

"My freedom," it said finally. "I would very much like not to kill you, moon-child."

Then it moved.

One moment it was still; the next it was a storm — fur, teeth, momentum.

I braced for death, but before I could scream, the light from the moon erupted through me like a tidal wave. The world went white.

⸻

Waya

I woke to the sound of my name in the wind. Not the human kind — the one that rides through the bones of the forest when the veil between worlds thins.

Something was calling her.

Something was calling us.

Hey loves! It's been forever and a day since I uploaded and I struggled with the direction of this chapter! Eventually I want to write at least five more chapters and finish this story (let's see how that will happen).