Moonmarked *On Hold*

Faye's POV

The warm breeze danced across my skin, sending my hair, a wild, fiery red, spilling in every direction like flames caught in a storm. I sat on the front steps of the Blood Rose Pack house, the cool stone beneath me grounding my restless thoughts. My dress was a bright, emerald green, fit like it had been made for me, soft fabric cascading around my legs in rippling waves that caught the light every time the wind teased them.

Inside, the party was still going strong. Skylar had outdone herself for Wyatt's nineteenth birthday—streamers strung along the walls, laughter spilling from every corner, music thumping with an infectious rhythm. Dozens of pack members had shown up, along with Betas from neighboring packs Wyatt had befriended over the past eight months since stepping into his role as Beta. Eight months since the last Beta, Gunner, had been taken from us, slain by Spencer, the Demon Alpha.

A lump rose in my throat as my eyes drifted to the garden, where a small memorial stood. A polished wooden bench sat beneath a sprawling oak tree, a tribute to Gunner's sacrifice. He had been a father figure to Damian... and, in a way, to all of us.

The creak of the front door startled me from my thoughts.

"Heyya!"

Macy stood framed in the doorway, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She was glowing, though maybe that was because she was ready to pop at any moment—her belly round and full with the life she carried.

I smiled despite the heaviness in my chest. "Hey!"

My gaze swept over her, catching on the cute pink maternity dress covered in tiny red hearts. Her hair had grown out some, framing her face in soft waves.

"Why'd you leave the party?" she asked, stepping closer, her tone curious but not prying.

My eyes drifted past her, toward the road leading to the pack's gates—where Sam patrolled. My chest tightened painfully at the thought of him, his face flickering through my mind like a memory I couldn't stop replaying.

He had never stopped wanting me. From the moment I arrived, Sam had made it clear he loved me—pursued me with a devotion that only grew stronger with time. And I... I had fallen for him, too. Hard. But the love came with a bitter edge, because the mages, my family, would never approve, even if they were allowed near me after the whole Crowley situation.

"I've just been thinking... with all of Skylar's wedding stuff coming up..." My voice trailed off, heavy with words I didn't want to say.

Macy's eyes softened. "It's heavy on you because you want to feel the same thing."

I swallowed hard and nodded. "I'm happy for Skylar. I truly am. But I can't shake the feeling that... I want this. With Sam. But if I'm marked, my family, my aunt, my cousins... they'd shun me."

Macy sank down beside me, her fingers finding mine, squeezing gently. "You shouldn't let it eat at you like this. I know it's not simple, but if they truly loved you, they'd accept whoever you chose. Werewolf or not."

Her words were kind, but they didn't stop the tide of doubts crashing through me. They never did. No matter what anyone said, the thoughts always came back, pounding like waves against my mind.

I loved Sam. In these eight months, he'd become my world. We shared mornings, nights, stolen kisses under the stars. He'd even moved into the pack house, into my room with me, because neither of us could stand being apart. Damian didn't mind. Hell, Ryan moved in with Hellen not long after. We were one big, messy, happy family.

But lately, I couldn't stop thinking about the future. What would it mean if Sam marked me? If I became one of the beasts I was raised to fear? Would my powers still be mine... or would they fade?

I forced a small smile, hugging Macy tightly before standing and smoothing my dress. Her words hadn't fixed anything, but her presence helped, just a little.

We stepped back inside, the sounds of laughter and music washing over us, and nearly bumped into Wyatt coming from the dining room.

He was grinning from ear to ear, dressed in a white shirt and sweats, looking every bit the boyish Beta we all adored. His fiery red hair matched mine, earning us the running joke that we were twins from different fathers. He was like a brother to me—goofy, sweet, and utterly impossible not to like.

But right now, he was also a mess.

Chocolate smeared his cheeks, and crumbs of cupcake clung stubbornly to his shirt. I bit down hard on my lip, fighting to keep a straight face, and failed.

Macy noticed too, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck.

"What?" Wyatt asked, pausing mid-step, brow furrowed.

That did it, I lost it. Laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, and I threw my arm over my mouth to muffle it.

"What?" he said again, this time more dramatically, one brow arching high.

I pointed at his shirt, and he looked down before shrugging.

"What can I say? I like my food."

"There's liking your food," Macy said, breezing past him with a playful scoff, "and then there's rolling in it."

Wyatt glanced between us, still baffled. I just shrugged innocently. "Pregnancy moods?"

"I heard that!" Macy called from the kitchen.

I flushed crimson, my laugh caught halfway between guilty and delighted.

Whoops.

The sharp click of heels echoed through the room, drawing everyone's attention. Hellen emerged from the kitchen, balancing a large tray with the ease of someone who'd been doing this for years. She wore her usual chef whites, hair pulled into a neat bun, a few rebellious strands framing her flushed face from the kitchen heat.

On the tray sat another round of cupcakes—some rich and glossy with chocolate, others crowned with swirls of colorful frosting. They looked almost too good to eat... almost.

Ever since the old chef had been banished, Hellen had taken over, and honestly? Her cooking put his to shame. Wyatt disagreed, of course—insisting Cam had "magical hands or some shit"—but at least he wasn't complaining about the food tasting like cardboard anymore.

Wyatt's eyes widened at the sight, practically glowing with childlike wonder. He rubbed his stomach dramatically, as though already making room.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" I teased, arching a brow.

He gave me a look like I'd just spoken blasphemy. "No. It's never enough when it's this good!"

I shook my head, laughing under my breath, but Wyatt was already on the move—beelining for the tray like a man possessed.

What he didn't account for... was the freshly mopped floor.

The second his socked foot hit the slick marble, he lost traction. His arms flailed, a startled yelp escaping as he went skidding down the hallway like a hockey puck, straight into the wall with a loud thud.

But gravity wasn't done with him yet. He toppled backward, landing butt-first into the mop bucket. The water sloshed up and over, drenching him from head to toe.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Wyatt, sitting there like a drowned cat, grinned.

"Holy shit! What a slide! Did you see that? That was awesome!"

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Faye's POV

Later that day...

The party had slowed down by late afternoon, leaving the pack house quiet save for the occasional laugh echoing from the dining room. I found myself restless, pacing my room, unable to shake the unease that had been building all day.

Finally, I grabbed a soft white shirt and a pair of denim shorts, slipping them on before pulling my hair into a loose ponytail. A walk. That's what I needed. Fresh air. Space to think.

The pack house door closed behind me with a quiet click, and I started down the winding path that circled Blood Rose territory. The air was warm but carried a cool hint of evening, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. The gravel crunched softly beneath my sneakers, a steady rhythm to match the tangle of thoughts in my head.

For a while, the walk was peaceful. Wolves patrolled the borders in the distance, their movements fluid and silent. The sky shifted into a bruised canvas of purples and oranges as the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the forest edge.

Then, about twenty minutes in—I saw it.

A light.

Faint. Flickering. Like a lantern burning low. It pulsed once, twice, before holding steady in the distance—just beyond the treeline.

My steps faltered.

The light wasn't near any trail I knew of. In fact, it seemed to hover right along the boundary where Blood Rose land met Alpha Dean's territory. Which... made no sense.

Curiosity, and an uneasy pull I couldn't explain drew me toward it. Branches scraped my arms as I pushed through the underbrush, the faint glow beckoning like some phantom guide. My heartbeat quickened the closer I got, my instincts whispering turn back even as my feet kept moving forward.

But when I finally reached the spot...

Nothing.

The light was gone.

The clearing stood empty, the forest eerily still. Not even the usual hum of crickets or rustle of small animals disturbed the silence.

I scanned the area, eyes darting from tree to tree, searching for any clue, footprints, a dropped lantern, something. But there was nothing. Just the sharp line of trees marking where one Alpha's territory ended and the other began.

And then—

A voice.

"Well, well... look who wandered a little too close to the line."

I spun around, every nerve in my body snapping to attention.

From behind a tree stepped a figure I hadn't seen in months—but one I could never forget.

Crowley.

Same black tuxedo. Same ridiculous fedora perched at a cocky tilt. His long, snow-white hair was still tied in a braid, gleaming faintly in the fading light. And in his gloved hand, he clutched that damn cane—the one he didn't need, but carried like it was some sort of royal scepter.

My breath caught, fear tightening its grip around my ribs.

"Hello, Faye." His voice was raspy, low. "How have you been?"

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to take a step back. Don't show fear. But the way he was looking at me, eyes gleaming with that unsettling mix of amusement and possession, made it hard to breathe.

"What are you doing here?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "You shouldn't be anywhere near this pack. Leave. And don't come back."

Crowley tilted his head, smile curling slow and sinister. "Now, now... no need to be so cold. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. After all, you're still part of my coven."

My stomach turned. "I'm not yours. Not now. Not ever."

His eyes darkened, but that smile stayed fixed. "That's not what you said when you wanted to bring your father back.."

"Don't," I snapped, cutting him off. My heart was pounding, my hands trembling at my sides. "You tried to force me into marrying you. You don't care about my safety, you only care about control."

Crowley's gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of my face. "Perhaps. But I still wonder... would it really have been so bad?"

The bile rose in my throat at the thought of marrying him, he was an old man, old and nasty.

"Leave," I said, stepping closer to the boundary line. My voice was steady now, though my pulse thundered in my ears. "Because if Damian finds you here, you'll regret ever stepping out of the shadows."

For the first time, Crowley's smirk faltered, but only slightly. Then, with a mock bow and a tap of his cane, he slipped back behind the trees—his presence melting into the forest like smoke.

And I was left standing alone at the edge of the border, the air thick with the scent of danger... and the faintest trace of Crowley's cologne.