Amelia had never been good at sitting still, but something about the Pack's library demanded reverence. Shelves lined with centuries-old tomes towered above her, their spines cracked and gilded, whispering of secrets buried in blood and bone. The scent of old parchment, herbs, and candle wax filled the massive room. Time felt slower here, as though the weight of knowledge anchored everything around it.
Andrea had given her permission-reluctantly-to research what she was, though he had insisted she do so under the watch of one of the Pack elders. The elder in question was a mute, silver-haired woman named Cressida who somehow managed to communicate everything with the flick of a brow or the snap of a book.
Amelia had been buried in scrolls, journals, and manuscripts for three days. Her fingers were sore, her eyes bloodshot, and yet something within her refused to stop. She had seen her body heal from blade wounds. She had felt her strength rise and vanish like a tide. She had seen the crescent mark glowing on her wrist in the moonlight. Something inside her was calling.
The phrase "Moonblood" had appeared in fragments-never explained, always spoken of with dread or awe. In a yellowed bestiary bound with wolf hide, she found the first real clue:
> "Of the Moonblood: born of light and shadow, human womb and otherworldly seed. They are the bridge-neither vampire, witch, nor wolf, but all. Blood of the moon, heart of the storm."
Her hand trembled as she turned the page. A crude drawing sketched in brown ink showed a woman with a burning crescent on her chest, standing amid wolves, witches, and shadows. They all bowed to her.
Another passage said:
> "They are rare. Feared. Hunted. Protected. For in them lies the balance-and the threat."
She didn't want to believe it. But the facts were stacking up like stones in a grave. Her healing, the way the earth seemed to pull at her senses, the cravings she couldn't explain, the voices that whispered when the moon rose...
Amelia leaned back, rubbing her temples. "I'm not just a girl anymore," she whispered to herself. "I'm... something else."
"A Moonblood."
The voice came from behind her. She turned, startled.
Andrea stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He wore a gray shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a thin chain dangled from his wrist-the one he always touched when anxious.
"I didn't say you could follow me," she muttered, brushing hair from her face.
"And I didn't say you could look for that truth alone." He stepped inside, the ancient wood floor groaning beneath his boots. "You have no idea what you're unearthing, Amelia."
"I need to know." Her voice was soft, but firm. "I need to understand what's happening to me. What you all keep whispering about when you think I can't hear."
Andrea sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just about what you are. It's about what you represent. Moonbloods don't live long, Amelia. The balance they bring... it terrifies people."
"So what am I supposed to do? Pretend I'm not changing? Pretend I didn't break through chains or survive a stabbing like it was nothing?"
"You're not ready-"
She slammed the book shut. "I'll never be ready if everyone keeps hiding things from me!"
They stood in silence. Finally, Andrea nodded. "Then I'll help you. But this time, we do it together."
---
That night, she couldn't sleep. Even in the relative safety of the Pack's guest quarters-a cozy room with furs and stone walls-her dreams were restless. Whispers. Blood. A burning moon. And a woman with red eyes laughing in the dark.
She woke with a start, the crescent mark on her wrist pulsing faintly.
Someone was standing by the fireplace.
Amelia sat up. "Who-"
"You need to leave."
The woman turned. She was beautiful in that cold, dangerous way that statues were. Jet-black hair, deep brown skin, lips painted crimson. Her eyes held the kind of fury that scorched.
"Natasha," Amelia breathed.
The Alpha's fiancée.
"If you value your life," Natasha said calmly, her voice like glass underfoot, "you'll leave before the next moonrise."
Amelia stood, heart racing. "You don't scare me."
Natasha tilted her head. "Good. Fear clouds judgment. I want your clarity when you understand this-I will kill you if you stay near him."
"Why? Because I'm something you don't understand? Because he looks at me like he sees someone else?"
Natasha took a step closer. "Because you are not just some girl. You're a magnet for chaos. And he's our Alpha. He doesn't get to be reckless. Not for you. Not for anyone."
Amelia clenched her fists. "Then let him decide."
"He already has. He let you in. That was his mistake. But I won't let it become a threat to everything we've built."
With that, she was gone, disappearing into the shadows like smoke.
---
In the following days, Andrea became her reluctant shadow. He brought her to places only pack members were allowed-like the underground archives carved into the base of a cliff, or the moon chamber where the Betas performed sacred rites. The pack didn't trust her yet, but they trusted Andrea, and that seemed to be enough.
She learned more than she thought possible. Moonbloods were once protectors, healers, and judges in supernatural society. They existed when peace was needed-and were hunted when peace ended. Their powers fluctuated with lunar cycles, and their bodies carried traits from multiple bloodlines. That's why she healed like a vampire, felt nature like a witch, and was drawn to the pack like a wolf.
Each day brought new abilities. She began sensing emotions-not thoughts, but colors of feeling. When she passed a grieving mother in the village, she saw deep blue trailing behind her. When Andrea walked past, conflicted and silent, she saw gold streaked with gray.
She didn't tell him. Not yet.
In private, she practiced small rituals she'd found in the scrolls. Lighting candles with her breath. Pulling water toward her fingers. Nothing big. Just enough to feel connected.
And then, one morning, everything shifted.
She found a mirror.
It was buried in a locked drawer in the library, hidden behind decoy books. The glass was smooth, framed in silver vines and dark stones. When she looked into it, she didn't see herself.
She saw a memory.
A woman giving birth under a red moon, crying out as shadowy figures surrounded her. The baby-her-was lifted into the air. The witch from the altar. The vampire. And a wolf. All staring at her like a prophecy.
Amelia fell back, breath stolen from her chest.
Her mother... wasn't alone that night.
They had planned her.
They had made her.
The words from the bestiary echoed again: Born of light and shadow, human womb and otherworldly seed.
She wasn't an accident. She was designed.
A knock startled her.
Andrea entered slowly. "You okay? You've been in here for hours."
She looked up at him, her voice a whisper. "I think I understand what I am now. I got a memory about it."
He stilled.
"I'm not just Moonblood by accident. They... planned me. Used my mother, I think. Maybe even loved her. I don't know. But I'm part of something old. Something dangerous."
Andrea came closer, kneeling in front of her. "And I'll help you figure it out. But you don't have to do it alone."
She met his gaze. "Even if Natasha kills me for it?"
His jaw clenched. "Natasha won't hurt you. I won't let her."
"You're the Alpha. She's your future."
"She was," he said softly.
The air grew still.
Amelia didn't know what that meant-what it changed-but in that moment, it didn't matter. She wasn't alone anymore.
And for the first time since she woke up on that forest floor, she felt like maybe, just maybe, she belonged somewhere.
The war inside her wasn't over.
But now, she knew its name.
Moonblood.