Blue Moon Rising

The wind cut through the trees like a living thing, cold and sharp enough to sting the skin. Snow crusted the branches above, whispering softly as it shifted and fell in powdery cascades. Beneath that restless sky, two figures moved through the wilderness, weary shadows among the pines.

The forest seemed endless. White and grey and black stretching in every direction, the sky barely visible through skeletal branches. Every step crunched too loudly. Every breath felt stolen.

Andy pushed forward through the undergrowth, shoulders hunched, scanning the woods like a wild thing himself. At fourteen, he already carried himself like someone twice his age. His clothes were torn from brambles and hard miles, his boots worn thin, his lean frame wiry with hunger.

He hadn’t slept properly in three nights.

Behind him, June stumbled, clutching her side. Her cheeks were pale except for the flush of cold, her dark-blonde hair tangled in loose strands around her face. She had fallen earlier on the steep slope above, twisted her ankle maybe, though she hadn’t said so. She rarely complained.

She didn’t need to. Andy could hear the small catch in her breathing, see the way she favoured one foot. It twisted something tight inside him — fear, frustration, anger — all of it boiling together until his voice came out harsher than he intended.

“Keep moving, June,” he muttered without looking back. “We can’t stop here.”

“I know,” she whispered, breath clouding the air.

She knew he wasn’t angry at her. Not really. He was angry at the world. At the rogues that had scattered them. At the packs that hunted anything that didn’t belong.

At himself.

The trees around them were dense, the ground thick with old needles and ice-slick roots. Somewhere far off, a wolf howled, long and low. June’s hand tightened on her coat.

It wasn’t the kind of howl that called to the moon.

It was territorial.

Andy stopped suddenly, nostrils flaring. A new scent hit him — musk, fur, the copper tang of old blood — and under it, the unmistakable trace of werewolves.

Border.

His pulse spiked.

Too late.

“June,” he hissed, voice low and sharp now, “we’ve got to go. Now.”

She froze, reading the alarm in his green eyes. “What is it?”

“Pack lands,” he said. “Too close.” He grabbed her arm, hauling her forward despite her limp. “We move fast or they’ll—”

The words cut off as movement flickered between the trees ahead. Dark shapes, swift and silent, fanning out in a half-circle. Wolves.

Big ones.

Not young.

Not weak.

Andy shoved June behind him. “Run.”

They bolted.

Branches whipped at their faces. Snow sprayed up under their boots. The forest erupted with pursuit — pounding paws, snapping twigs, guttural growls closing in from every side. June stumbled again, nearly falling. Andy yanked her up, forcing her onward, lungs burning.

He could hear them gaining.

They weren’t even trying to hide it now.

They were enjoying it.

“Faster, June!” he shouted, panic edging his voice.

But she couldn’t. Her ankle gave out, sending her sprawling into the snow.

The sound of her body hitting the ground echoed in Andy’s skull like a gunshot.

Andy whirled, planting himself between her and the advancing wolves, body low, teeth bared, though he hadn’t shifted yet. His breath steamed in the cold air as he crouched protectively over her, a shield of skin and bone and fury.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered without turning.

The warriors closed in, massive in their wolf forms, fur bristling, golden eyes glinting through the trees. One shifted mid-step, a man now, tall and hard-eyed, a sneer curling his lip.

“Little strays,” he said, voice rough with amusement. “Cub and runt. What are you doing on White Tail land?”

White Tail.

June’s stomach dropped.

Andy said nothing, chest heaving, every muscle tight as a bowstring.

The man took another step closer, boots crunching on the frozen ground. Two more warriors shifted beside him, blocking any escape.

June cowered behind Andy, trembling. He felt her clutch the back of his coat, tiny fingers twisting the fabric.

Andy didn’t move.

He wouldn’t.

“Let us go,” he said finally, low and sharp, though his voice cracked slightly on the edges. “We didn’t mean to cross.”

The warrior’s grin widened. “Oh, you crossed, boy. And now you belong to us.”

Belong. Like hell they did.

The word made Andy’s vision flash red.

Another step closer.

Andy’s body tensed harder, lips curling back now.

One of the warriors reached forward suddenly, too fast, as though to seize June where she knelt.

That broke him. "Run June!"

Andy surged forward, the shift tearing through him in a blur of snapping bones and bristling fur. The lean, dark wolf hit the snow with a snarl, lunging at the man’s arm before it could touch his sister.

His teeth sank deep.

Blood sprayed across white snow.

Chaos exploded.

The warriors moved as one, surrounding him in a flurry of snow and snarling. Andy fought like fury given flesh, teeth flashing, claws slashing, a wild young wolf against seasoned killers. He bought June seconds to crawl backward, eyes wide and terrified. Too terrified to run as Andy had told her.

He wasn’t fighting to win.

He was fighting to survive.

Or die. Anything to buy her time to run.

He leapt at another throat, barely missing as a heavy body slammed into his side. Snow burst upward. Pain flared across his ribs as claws raked deep into his flank. He twisted mid-fall, snapping, tearing fur from someone’s shoulder.

A boot struck him hard.

Air left his lungs in a violent rush.

But he was too small. Too young. Too outnumbered.

One slammed him down. Another raked claws across his flank. He yelped but surged up again, desperate, lunging for a throat, green eyes burning with feral rage.

He caught skin this time.

The lead warrior roared in fury.

“Enough.”

The command cracked like thunder.

“Andy!” June screamed, voice breaking.

A third warrior struck hard from behind — a sickening thud — and Andy crumpled, still and silent in the snow. His body shifted back, now laying naked on the frozen ground.

The forest went quiet.

June froze, breath caught in her chest. Her eyes wide with terror as she looked at her fallen brother.

She couldn’t hear him breathing. She stifled a sob and pulled her limbs in, drawing her body into a tight ball as her eyes never strayed from the sight of her brother.

The lead warrior shifted fully, standing over Andy’s limp body. He glanced at June and smiled slowly, dark amusement in his eyes.

Blood dripped from his forearm where Andy had bitten him.

“Stay quiet,” he said softly, voice edged with threat, “or the boy doesn’t wake up.”

June’s whole body shook. She ducked her head down behind her arms, keeping her eyes up just enough to keep her brother in view as she trembled under the male's gaze. She swallowed the scream clawing up her throat. She nodded.

“Good girl,” the man murmured when she didn’t speak. He gestured sharply. “Take them.”

Rough hands grabbed June’s arms. She didn’t resist. Not with Andy unconscious in their grip.

One warrior slung Andy’s body over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

June stared at the blood staining the snow where he’d fallen. Another male walked up to her and pulled her up roughly by her arm. His fingers, digging into her cold flesh cruelly.

They dragged the twins through the snow toward the heart of White Tail territory, the shadows of the forest swallowing them whole.

And behind them, the wind erased their footprints.