The Ashmoon Covenant

Bound by the Ashmoon Curse

JADE BLACKWOOD

Chapter One

The Name in the Dark

The wolves came for Elara Vale three days after she buried her mother.

The first howl rose from the forest at 12:17 a.m., long enough to wake every old fear inside her.

Elara stood in the dark kitchen with one hand wrapped around her mother’s silver locket.

She had been trying to open it again.

The oval pendant lay cold against her palm, its delicate clasp refusing to move. Her mother had worn it every day for as long as Elara could remember, yet she had never allowed Elara to see what it held.

Not even at the end.

Especially not at the end.

Another howl rolled through the trees behind the house.

Closer this time.

Elara lifted her head.

Rain whispered against the windows. Wind dragged bare branches across the roof. The refrigerator hummed behind her, and somewhere inside the walls, an old pipe knocked twice.

Then everything went silent.

No insects.

No frogs near the creek.

Not even the clock above the stove seemed loud enough to break the stillness.

Elara released the locket, letting it fall against her chest.

She had chosen the house because it stood beyond the last streetlight in Grayhaven, where the town thinned into forest and people rarely arrived without calling first. Her mother had hated the location.

Too isolated, she had said.

Too close to the trees.

At the time, Elara thought it was ordinary maternal worry.

Now she remembered how often her mother had checked the windows after sunset.

The security light above the back porch flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then it went black.

Elara reached for her phone.

No signal.

A cold pressure settled beneath her ribs.

She crossed the kitchen slowly and looked through the rain-streaked window above the sink. The backyard ended at a dense line of pine and oak trees. Beyond them, the forest stretched for miles over the hills.

Something stood between two trunks.

Tall.

Motionless.

Watching the house.

Lightning flashed.

The shape disappeared.

Elara stepped away from the window.

A wet scrape moved across the back porch.

Not the restless scratching of a branch.

A footstep.

Then another.

Elara opened the drawer beside the stove and wrapped her fingers around the largest knife inside.

Three hard knocks struck the back door.

She froze.

Nobody who knew her would come through the forest at midnight.

“Who is it?”

The question sounded too small inside the house.

A man answered from the other side.

“Elara Vale.”

It was not a question.

Her grip tightened around the knife. “What do you want?”

The man inhaled slowly, almost as though he could smell her through the door.

“You’ve made this difficult.”

Elara’s heartbeat began to pound.

A second voice came from beside the kitchen window.

“Open the door.”

She turned toward the sound.

A face appeared against the glass.

Pale skin. Rain-dark hair. Eyes reflecting an unnatural yellow beneath the porch light’s dying glow.

Elara stumbled backward.

The man smiled.

The window exploded inward.

Elara threw up one arm as glass scattered across the kitchen. A huge gray wolf crashed over the sink, struck the counter, and landed on the floor.

It was too large to be real.

Its back nearly reached Elara’s waist. Wet fur clung to its powerful body, and blood ran from a fresh cut above one pale eye. Broken glass pressed beneath its paws without drawing so much as a flinch.

The wolf looked at her.

There was nothing animal in its stare.

It knew exactly who she was.

Elara ran.

The back door burst inward before she reached the hallway. Wood split around the lock, and a second wolf entered through the ruined frame.

This one was brown and lean, with a scar across its muzzle.

The gray wolf lunged behind her.

Elara dropped.

Claws cut through the back of her shirt and passed so close to her skin that she felt the air move.

She hit the living room floor. The knife flew from her hand and vanished beneath the couch.

The gray wolf turned.

Elara crawled toward the fireplace, her fingers closing around the iron poker beside the hearth.

The wolf attacked again.

She swung.

Iron struck the side of its head with a crack that jarred both of her arms.

The wolf crashed into an end table. A lamp shattered beneath its weight, plunging half the room into darkness.

Elara scrambled upright.

The brown wolf waited in the hallway, blocking the back exit. It watched with eerie patience, as if the first wolf had earned the right to hurt her.

The gray wolf rose.

Its pale eye fixed on the poker in her hands.

Elara moved as it circled her.

Her bare feet slid across the wooden floor. Rain blew through the broken kitchen window, carrying the scent of wet earth, pine, and blood.

Too much blood.

She could smell it with impossible clarity.

Not only the wound above the wolf’s eye.

She smelled the hot rush beneath its skin. Heard its heart hammering inside its chest. Felt something more violent moving beneath that rhythm.

A second presence.

A man trapped inside the animal.

The realization entered her mind without explanation.

Elara’s breath caught.

The wolf sprang.

She knew where it would land before it left the floor.

Elara stepped sideways and drove the poker into its shoulder. The sharpened end sank through fur and muscle.

The wolf howled.

Pain exploded behind Elara’s eyes.

For one terrible instant, the living room vanished.

She saw trees racing past in moonlight.

Blood sprayed across dead leaves.

A woman ran through the forest with an infant clutched against her chest. Silver light burned beneath the woman’s skin while wolves hunted behind her.

The woman turned.

She had Elara’s eyes.

The vision broke.

Elara found herself on her knees, still gripping the poker.

The wounded wolf tore itself free and struck her with one enormous paw.

She flew backward.

Her shoulder slammed against the stone fireplace. Breath disappeared from her lungs, and the poker fell from her hand.

The wolf limped away.

Then its body began to change.

Bones cracked beneath its fur.

Its spine bent with a series of sickening pops. Hind legs lengthened. Paws split into hands. Gray fur retreated into bare skin as the creature rose into the shape of a man.

Elara stared at him.

Blood poured from the wound in his shoulder. The cut above his eye remained, dividing the same pale stare that had watched her from the wolf’s face.

He smiled through his pain.

“So the blood remembers.”

The brown wolf shifted behind him.

Its transformation was quicker. Within seconds, a tall, scar-faced man stood in the hallway. He pulled black pants from a canvas bag near the broken door and stepped into them without taking his eyes off Elara.

Her mind rejected what she had witnessed.

Men did not become wolves.

Women did not see memories by touching them.

Her mother had not run through these woods carrying her as a baby.

Yet something inside Elara knew that all three things were true.

The wounded man took a step toward her.

“Look at her eyes.”

The second man’s expression tightened.

Elara caught her reflection in the dark window.

Silver light moved through her irises.

She raised one trembling hand to her face.

“What did you do to me?”

The wounded man laughed. “We didn’t do anything.”

His gaze dropped to the silver locket still hanging from the chain around her neck.

His smile disappeared.

“Where did you get that?”

Elara closed her fist around it.

“It belonged to my mother.”

“Take it from her,” the scarred man said.

The wounded man reached for Elara.

She snatched the ceramic clock from the mantel and smashed it against his temple.

He staggered sideways with a curse.

Elara ran for the front door.

The scarred man caught the back of her shirt. Fabric tightened against her throat as he dragged her away.

She twisted and drove her elbow into his ribs.

He barely reacted.

His arm closed around her waist.

Panic surged through Elara, followed by something hotter.

The room sharpened around her.

She heard the wounded man’s blood striking the floor one drop at a time. Heard the brown wolf hidden inside the scarred man, snarling beneath his heartbeat.

She sensed his grip shift before he moved.

Elara drove her heel into his knee.

His leg buckled.

She tore free, seized the broken lamp from the floor, and brought its brass base across his face.

He released her.

Elara ripped open the front door and ran into the storm.

Cold rain struck her skin.

She crossed the porch barefoot and raced toward the trees. The road lay beyond them, less than half a mile away.

If she reached it, she could find help.

A mottled red wolf stepped from the forest ahead.

Elara stopped.

Another shape emerged to her right.

Then one to her left.

The wolves had surrounded the house.

They advanced slowly, forcing her backward.

The two men came through the front door behind her.

The wounded one pressed a hand against his bleeding temple. Rage had replaced his smile.

“You should have stayed inside.”

Elara backed toward the porch rail.

The wolves formed a half circle around the yard.

No opening.

No path to the road.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

The scarred man wiped blood from his mouth. “That no longer matters.”

“What do you want?”

The wounded man glanced at her locket again.

“Confirmation.”

“Of what?”

He stepped into the rain. “That Mara Vale’s daughter survived.”

Her mother’s name struck like a hand around Elara’s throat.

“What did you know about her?”

“More than you did.”

The cruelty in his voice cut through her fear.

Elara saw her mother in the hospital bed again. Saw the bruises along her arms that she had blamed on a fall. Remembered the last moment of lucidity before the medication pulled her under.

Her mother had gripped Elara’s wrist with startling strength.

If they find you, don’t let them take you alive.

Elara had believed fever and pain were speaking.

Now the words returned with terrible clarity.

“What did you do to her?” Elara asked.

The wounded man said nothing.

But satisfaction moved through his pale eye.

It was enough.

Elara lunged.

She drove her fist into the wound in his shoulder. He shouted and fell back as blood spilled between his fingers.

The red wolf charged.

Elara turned and raised one hand.

“Stop!”

The word left her throat carrying a force that did not belong to her.

The air contracted.

The charging wolf froze.

Its paws dug deep tracks through the mud, but its body locked before reaching her. A frightened whine escaped between its teeth.

Silver light ignited beneath Elara’s palm.

The other wolves recoiled.

The scarred man stared at her glowing hand.

For the first time, fear entered his face.

“Ashmoon,” he whispered.

The word passed through the yard like thunder.

The wolves lowered their bodies.

Not in submission.

In preparation.

Whatever power had answered Elara vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Strength drained from her legs. She clutched the porch rail to remain standing.

The red wolf shook itself.

Its fear became rage.

It bared its teeth and rushed her again.

Elara tried to move.

Her body refused.

Then a howl ripped through the forest.

Deeper than thunder.

Stronger than the storm.

The attacking wolves stopped as if an invisible chain had snapped tight around their throats.

Trees cracked in the darkness.

Something enormous moved between them.

A massive black wolf stepped into the yard and placed itself between Elara and the creatures hunting her.

The black wolf did not look back at Elara.

It stood before her like a living wall, rain streaming from its fur. Its shoulders rose above her waist. Every breath expanded a chest powerful enough to crush bone.

The red wolf skidded to a stop.

A growl rolled from the black wolf’s throat.

The sound was low, almost quiet, but the attacking wolves retreated as if struck.

Elara gripped the porch rail. Her legs still trembled from whatever force had left her body. Silver light pulsed weakly beneath her palm, fading with every heartbeat.

The wounded man stared past the black wolf toward the trees.

His face had gone pale.

“You’re outside your territory.”

The black wolf took one step forward.

The wounded man moved back.

Elara understood nothing about what she was seeing, but she recognized fear. The men who had broken into her home and hunted her into the rain were terrified of the creature standing between them.

The scarred man lowered his body into a fighting stance. His fingers lengthened. Nails darkened into claws.

“You have no claim here, Thorne.”

The name meant nothing to Elara.

The black wolf’s ears flattened.

The scarred man’s confidence faltered.

“Magnus authorized the retrieval,” he continued. “Walk away.”

The wolf’s growl deepened.

Elara felt it inside her ribs.

The sound carried no hesitation. No negotiation.

Only a promise of violence.

The red wolf lunged.

The black wolf met it in midair.

Their bodies collided with enough force to shake mud from the porch steps. The black wolf twisted and drove the attacker into the ground. Teeth closed around the red wolf’s throat before it could recover.

A sharp cry cut through the storm.

The red wolf kicked once.

Then stopped moving.

The black wolf released it and raised his head.

Blood stained his muzzle.

The remaining wolves scattered.

One disappeared into the forest. Another raced around the side of the house. The scarred man shifted before Elara’s eyes, bones breaking and reforming until the brown wolf stood in his place.

He charged.

The black wolf turned at the last instant. Claws tore across his side, exposing a line of dark skin beneath the wet fur.

He did not fall.

He struck the brown wolf with one massive paw and sent it rolling across the yard.

The wounded man backed toward the trees.

“This doesn’t end here.”

The black wolf stepped over the red wolf’s body.

The man looked at Elara. “You hear me, Ashmoon? He can’t protect you from what’s coming.”

The wolf sprang.

The wounded man shifted in mid-stride. His body collapsed forward as gray fur erupted across his shoulders. By the time his hands struck the ground, they had become paws.

He vanished into the trees.

The brown wolf dragged itself upright and followed.

The black wolf pursued them to the forest’s edge, then stopped.

A howl rose somewhere in the distance.

Another answered farther east.

The black wolf remained motionless, listening.

Elara did not breathe until the sounds began to fade.

Rain washed thin streams of blood through the yard. The dead wolf lay less than twenty feet away, its red fur darkening in the mud.

The silver light vanished from Elara’s palm.

Pain returned all at once.

Her shoulder throbbed where she had struck the fireplace. Her ribs ached when she inhaled. Cuts burned along her bare feet. The back of her shirt hung open where claws had torn through it.

The black wolf turned.

Its eyes found her.

They were not yellow like the others.

They were a deep, burning amber.

Elara tightened her grip on the porch rail.

The creature walked toward her.

Every instinct told her to retreat, but the porch stood behind her and her legs no longer seemed capable of running.

“That’s close enough.”

The wolf continued.

“I mean it.”

It reached the bottom step and stopped.

Up close, it was even larger. A fresh wound marked its side, but it appeared unconcerned. Blood and rain dripped from the ends of its fur.

Elara searched for the iron poker she had dropped inside. Anything she could use as a weapon.

The wolf lowered its head.

Not submissively.

It inhaled.

Its entire body went rigid.

The reaction was so sudden that Elara pressed herself against the railing.

The wolf inhaled again.

A strange heat moved through her chest.

The same pressure she had felt when his howl tore through the forest returned with brutal force. It pulled at something beneath her skin, something that wanted to step closer instead of flee.

The wolf’s eyes brightened.

“No,” Elara whispered.

She did not know whether she was speaking to the animal or herself.

The wolf climbed the first step.

Elara’s hand shot out.

“Stay back.”

Silver light flashed beneath her palm.

The wolf stopped.

For one breathless moment, they stared at each other.

The other wolves had recoiled from her command.

This one did not.

He seemed surprised.

Then offended.

A ripple traveled through his black fur.

Elara recognized what was happening and turned her face away as bones shifted behind her. The sounds were just as terrible as before—joints cracking, muscle stretching, claws becoming fingers.

When the noise stopped, a man stood at the bottom of the porch steps.

He was tall enough to make the doorway behind Elara seem small. Rain ran over broad shoulders and along the hard lines of his chest. A bleeding wound crossed his left side where the brown wolf had struck him.

Elara kept her eyes fixed firmly above his waist.

Black hair hung wet across his forehead. His face was sharply cut, his expression controlled, but the amber eyes were unchanged.

He looked like a man built to command armies and break anyone who refused.

He looked at her as if she had just become the most dangerous thing in the forest.

Elara seized the torn blanket from the porch swing and threw it at him.

He caught it without looking.

“Cover yourself.”

His gaze remained on her face.

The blanket went around his waist.

Elara hated the brief, irrational relief she felt.

The man climbed one step.

She lifted her glowing hand again.

“I told you to stay back.”

“And I stopped.”

“You killed one of them.”

“He attacked you.”

“That doesn’t answer anything.”

“It answers the immediate problem.”

His voice was deep and controlled. He spoke with the calm of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

Elara had already had enough of men who expected obedience.

“What are you?”

His jaw tightened. “Not a conversation we should have here.”

“Men turned into wolves in my living room. You turned from a wolf into a naked man on my porch. I think we passed the point where you decide what conversation I’m allowed to have.”

Something moved in his expression.

Not amusement exactly, but close.

It vanished when his gaze dropped to her palm.

The remaining silver light reflected in his eyes.

“What did they call you?”

Elara closed her fingers. “You heard them.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Ashmoon.”

The word changed him.

His shoulders became rigid. His hand tightened around the blanket. The wound in his side continued to bleed, but he appeared not to notice.

“What does it mean?” Elara asked.

He looked toward the forest.

“Who were those men?”

Silence.

“What did they know about my mother?”

His eyes returned to her.

For the first time since taking human form, something other than control appeared in them.

Recognition.

Not of Elara.

Of Mara.

“You knew her,” Elara said.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

“You’re lying.”

“I knew of her.”

“How?”

He stepped onto the porch.

Elara raised both hands, though only one had carried the strange light.

“Don’t.”

He stopped again.

Rain struck the roof around them. Water pooled beneath his bare feet.

The distance between them was still several feet, but Elara could feel him as if he stood directly against her. Heat moved beneath her skin. Her pulse changed to match the slow, powerful beat she somehow heard inside his chest.

His nostrils flared.

The amber in his eyes brightened.

He stared at her with an intensity that made the damaged porch and storm disappear.

“What?” Elara demanded.

He did not answer.

“What is wrong with you?”

His gaze moved over her face, her throat, and the silver locket resting against her skin. When his attention returned to her eyes, the restraint in his expression had cracked.

Something wild looked out through him.

The wolf.

Elara felt it recognize her.

The realization struck without words, just as her knowledge of the attackers had.

This man’s animal wanted her.

Not as prey.

The distinction should not have frightened her more.

It did.

He stepped closer.

Elara backed into the front door.

“Stop.”

He stopped so abruptly that she knew the command had not caused it.

He was fighting himself.

His hands curled at his sides. Tendons stood out along his forearms. A low sound formed in his chest before he forced it silent.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“You already know it.”

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

His jaw tightened. “Your name.”

Elara considered refusing simply because of the command in his voice.

Then another howl echoed through the forest.

The man looked over his shoulder.

It was faint, but it had come from the direction the gray wolf had fled.

“They’re calling others,” he said.

Elara’s anger collided with fresh fear.

“How many?”

“Enough.”

He stepped away from the porch and crouched beside the dead wolf. One hand pressed against the animal’s neck, though there could be no question it was dead.

The body began to shift.

Elara turned away, but not before she saw red fur become human skin.

A moment later, the stranger entered her damaged house. He returned carrying the black pants from the canvas bag one of the attackers had abandoned near the broken back door.

He pulled them on beneath the blanket and let the wet fabric fall to the porch.

His movements remained calm.

Too calm.

Elara looked through the open doorway.

Light spilled across damaged rooms. The kitchen window was gone, the back door destroyed, and blood marked the living room floor.

It had been her home an hour ago.

Now it looked like the remains of someone else’s life.

“My phone doesn’t have a signal,” she said. “But the road—”

“They’ll control it.”

“There are people in town.”

“They won’t reach town as men.”

A chill moved through her.

“What happens when someone finds him?” She glanced toward the body.

“They won’t.”

The certainty in his voice made her look at him.

“Who are you?”

He hesitated.

“Averic Thorne.”

The scarred man had called him Thorne.

“You’re outside your territory,” Elara remembered aloud.

Averic’s eyes narrowed.

“What territory?”

“Not now.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep asking questions while surrounded by hunters.”

“They ran.”

“They regrouped.”

Another howl rose from the hills.

This time, several voices answered.

Averic turned toward the sound.

His body changed without shifting. He seemed larger, harder, every trace of reluctant softness disappearing from his face.

Elara heard movement among the trees.

Many sets of paws.

Farther away than before, but approaching.

Averic crossed the porch and reached for her.

Elara recoiled. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand stopped inches from her arm.

Something like pain flashed through his expression.

It was gone too quickly to understand.

“Get shoes,” he said. “A coat. Anything from your mother you’re unwilling to lose.”

Elara stared at him. “I’m not abandoning my home.”

“This is no longer your home.”

Fury cut through her exhaustion. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“No.” His gaze moved toward the broken doorway. “The wolves who marked it with your blood already did.”

Elara swallowed.

Averic looked into the forest again. The sounds were growing closer.

When he faced her, amber fire burned in his eyes.

“They know what you are now. Every hunter loyal to Magnus will be on this mountain before sunrise.”

“I don’t know who Magnus is.”

“You will.”

“I’m not going anywhere with a stranger.”

“You have two choices.” His voice remained quiet, but the Alpha command inside it made the air feel heavy. “Come with me willingly, or stay here and let them finish what they started.”

“That isn’t a choice.”

“It’s the only one they left you.”

Branches snapped beyond the yard.

Averic stepped between Elara and the forest again.

His attention remained on the darkness, but every muscle in his body had turned toward protecting her.

“Get what you need,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

Averic did not wait for her agreement.

He stepped past her and entered the house, moving through the wreckage as though he had already claimed responsibility for every shadow inside it.

Elara followed him.

“I said I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“And I heard you.”

“Then get out.”

Averic stopped in the center of the living room.

Blood darkened the left side of his borrowed pants. The wound above his hip had already begun to close, torn muscle pulling together beneath his skin with a slow, unnatural movement.

Elara tried not to stare.

She failed.

Averic followed her gaze. “It looks worse than it is.”

“I watched a wolf tear you open.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

Another chorus of howls traveled through the forest.

Closer.

Averic turned toward the broken kitchen window. Every line of his body tightened.

“They’ve crossed the creek.”

“You can tell that from a howl?”

“I can smell them.”

Elara remembered the impossible flood of scents that had filled her senses during the attack. Blood beneath skin. Rain on fur. The man concealed inside the wolf.

Her stomach twisted.

“I smelled them too.”

Averic looked at her.

Not surprise this time.

Confirmation.

“You knew I could.”

“I suspected.”

“Since when?”

“Since you looked at Varek and saw more than an animal.”

“The gray wolf?”

“Yes.”

“You know him?”

Averic’s expression hardened. “I know what he serves.”

“Magnus.”

The name felt poisonous in her mouth.

Averic moved toward the hallway. “Where is your bedroom?”

Elara stepped in front of him. “You are not searching my house.”

“I’m helping you gather what you need.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You have less than five minutes.”

“This is my mother’s house.”

The words escaped before Elara could stop them.

Pain followed immediately.

Not the sharp pain of the funeral or the terrible stillness at the cemetery after everyone left. This was quieter. Deeper. It lived inside the framed photographs, the folded blanket on the couch, and the faint scent of Mara’s lavender tea still lingering in the kitchen.

Elara had chosen this house.

But her mother had filled it.

And now Elara was being told to abandon the last place where Mara still felt alive.

Averic’s gaze shifted toward the photographs on the mantel.

Something changed in his face.

A pause.

A recognition he tried to bury.

Elara saw it.

“You’ve been here before.”

“No.”

“You looked at those pictures like you recognized them.”

“I recognized your mother.”

“You told me you only knew of her.”

“I did.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

Averic’s jaw flexed.

Elara stepped closer despite every instinct warning her not to.

“How did you know Mara Vale?”

A crash sounded behind the house.

Averic crossed the distance between them and caught Elara around the waist.

The room disappeared.

One instant she stood beside the couch. The next, her back struck the wall near the hallway, Averic’s body covering hers as something punched through the living-room window.

Glass sprayed across the floor.

A narrow black dart buried itself in the opposite wall.

Averic stared at it.

His face went cold.

“What is that?” Elara whispered.

“Wolfsbane.”

She looked down at the arm locked around her waist.

“To kill you?”

“To slow me down.”

Averic released her and pulled the dart from the wall. Thick purple liquid gleamed along its tip.

He snapped the shaft in half.

“They want you alive.”

The way he said it made the possibility sound worse than death.

“Why?”

“Because Magnus believes your blood can break the Ashmoon seal.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“And this is not where I explain it.”

He reached…