Moon bound: the curse of Ashbourne

The night air was thick with the scent of pine and wet earth, carrying with it the chill of impending change. Mist clung to the forest floor, curling around Rowan's boots as if trying to hold her back. She stood at the edge of the woods, the towering trees of Ashbourne looming around her like ancient sentinels, their twisted branches creaking in the breeze, reaching out in silent, spectral greeting. The moon filtered through the canopy, casting fractured light across the trail ahead, illuminating the worn path that led deeper into the land she once called home.

The last time she had stepped foot in Ashbourne, she had been a girl-wide-eyed, eager, and still wrapped in the warmth of family. She remembered chasing fireflies just beyond the warded boundary, remembered her mother's laugh echoing through the woods, her younger brother's endless questions, and the way the pack had once welcomed her as one of their own. But now, she was a stranger to this place. A ghost returning to a home that no longer existed.

Her heart tightened at the thought. It had been five long years since she'd left. Five years since her family had been exiled under a cloud of shame and secrets. In all that time, she had never dared look back-not once. But something had shifted. The pull was undeniable now, an invisible tether drawing her across the miles. The curse that had haunted her family's bloodline-and the one that had twisted the lives of the Ashbourne pack-had grown restless. And Silas needed her. Whether he wanted to admit it or not.

A soft rustle broke the stillness behind her.

Rowan's hand moved instinctively to the dagger strapped to her thigh, fingers curling around the cool hilt. Her eyes darted to the shadows beyond the tree line. She hadn't expected anyone to follow her into the woods, especially not this close to pack territory. The werewolves were territorial-protective of their land and even more so of their secrets. And they didn't take kindly to trespassers, especially witches.

"Rowan Graves."

The voice was low and rough, a growl more than a greeting, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

She turned slowly, every muscle tense, her eyes locking onto a pair of piercing blue ones watching her from the darkness. Silas Ashbourne. The Alpha of the pack.

He stepped into the moonlight, his features illuminated in sharp relief. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, shadows clinging to the angles of his face. He wore a fitted black jacket over a dark shirt, the kind that did little to hide the strength beneath. He looked like the forest had built him from bark and bone and given him breath only to command it.

"Did you really think you could sneak past me?" he asked, voice calm but edged in steel.

Rowan didn't answer right away. She studied him-more than five years had passed, and yet the boy she remembered was nowhere to be found. Silas was no longer the young heir to the pack she had once sparred with beneath the trees. Now he was every inch the Alpha: tall, confident, and radiating the weight of a burden no one else could carry. But his eyes... his eyes were the same. Intense, stormy, and haunted by something he didn't speak of.

"I wasn't sneaking," she said finally, her voice steady despite the thundering in her chest. "I was simply leaving."

Silas stepped closer, each footfall slow and deliberate, his gaze never wavering. He stopped just a few feet away, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Leaving?" he echoed, brow arching. "I thought you were here to help us."

Rowan swallowed hard, willing herself to hold his gaze. Memories pressed at the edges of her mind-of a younger Silas laughing as he dared her to leap across the creek, of whispered promises carved into tree bark. But those days were long gone. Buried beneath the weight of betrayal and the shadow of a curse neither of them had chosen.

"I'm here for the curse," she said at last, voice clipped. "Nothing more. Nothing less."

Silas's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "Don't lie. I know you, Rowan. You think you can walk back in, wave your hand, and everything will go back to the way it was?" His gaze flicked down to the dagger at her hip before returning to her face. "The curse is older than both of us. It's more complicated than you think."

"I know," she said, softer now. "But that's why I'm here. Because I know how dangerous it is. And because I know you can't fight it alone."

He let out a low, humorless laugh. "You think being a witch makes you invincible? You think your magic can undo generations of pain? This curse-this madness-it's part of us now. A disease in the blood. There's no easy fix."

Rowan flinched. She didn't want to believe that. Couldn't. The curse had claimed too many lives, twisted too many souls. She had spent years researching it, tracing its roots, chasing whispers and half-truths across dusty grimoires and lost histories. She had found something-just enough to convince her there was still hope. And if she had to fight Silas every step of the way to save him, she would.

"I didn't come to fight you," she said, lifting her chin. "But I won't leave, either. I'm not afraid of the pack. I'm not afraid of you."

Silas stared at her, unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again-his voice quiet now, laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

"You're not welcome here, Rowan. Not yet. The pack remembers what happened. They won't trust you. And I can't protect you from them."

Rowan felt a pang in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. "I'm not asking you to protect me. I'm asking you to let me help."

His eyes softened, just for a breath. And then, without another word, Silas turned and melted back into the trees, his footsteps vanishing into the hush of the night.

Rowan stood in the silence he left behind, her breath shallow, her heart pounding. She wasn't sure if it was the threat of the curse-or the man Silas had become-that left her shaken. But one thing was clear: this was only the beginning.

She turned her gaze to the path ahead, the moon casting silver light across the underbrush. Whatever lay before her, she would face it. She had come back for a reason.

To break the curse.

For Silas. For the pack. For herself.

And she wasn't leaving until it was done.