Moons forbidden claim

The ancient espresso machine hissed like an angry cat, which seemed fitting since my entire morning felt like it was about to scratch my eyes out. I glared at the temperamental beast that had been the bane of my existence for the past three years, willing it to cooperate for just one more cup.

"Come on, Bertha," I muttered, giving the machine's chrome side an encouraging pat. "Don't fail me now."

The bell above Lunar Grounds' front door chimed, and I looked up to see Mrs. Patterson shuffling in with her usual Tuesday morning scowl. At seventythree, she had perfected the art of looking perpetually disappointed with the world, and my coffee shop was no exception to her disdain.

"The usual, Mrs. P?" I called out, already reaching for her preferred mug the one with the chipped handle that she claimed was the only one that didn't make her coffee taste like "sadness and broken dreams."

"Make it a double shot today, girl. The world's gone to hell, and I need the caffeine to deal with it." She settled onto her favorite stool at the counter, her sharp blue eyes scanning the empty shop. "Slow morning?"

"Every morning's slow when you open at five-thirty," I replied, pulling a perfect shot of espresso. The rich, dark liquid flowed like liquid gold, and for a moment, everything felt right in my small corner of Portland. "But hey, at least I get to enjoy the sunrise with my favorite customer."

Mrs. Patterson snorted. "Flattery won't get you a bigger tip, Lyra Chen."

I grinned, sliding her coffee across the weathered wooden counter. "Can't blame a girl for trying."

The truth was, I genuinely enjoyed Mrs. Patterson's gruff company. After spending most of my childhood bouncing between foster homes, I'd learned to appreciate the few constants in life. This little coffee shop, inherited from my foster mother who'd taken pity on an eighteen-year-old aging out of the system, had become my sanctuary. It wasn't much just twelve tables, mismatched chairs, and walls covered in local artwork but it was mine.

"You look tired," Mrs. Patterson observed, studying my face with the intensity of a detective examining evidence. "Those dreams again?"

I paused, my hand tightening around the cleaning rag. The dreams had been getting worse lately vivid, intense visions of forests bathed in moonlight, of running through trees with inhuman speed, of amber eyes that seemed to see straight into my soul. I'd wake up gasping, my heart racing as if I'd actually been running, my skin tingling with an energy I couldn't explain.

"Just the usual weird stuff," I said, forcing a casual shrug. "Probably too much caffeine and Netflix before bed."

Mrs. Patterson's knowing look suggested she wasn't buying my explanation, but before she could probe further, the bell chimed again. This time, it wasn't my usual elderly regular.

The man who walked through my door was... imposing. That was the only word that came close to describing the six-foot-four frame that seemed to fill the entire space. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and eyes the color of whiskey caught in sunlight. He wore an expensive black suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent, and moved with the kind of fluid grace that made me think of predators.

But it was the way my body reacted to his presence that made me freeze. Every nerve ending came alive, like someone had plugged me into an electrical socket. The air itself seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made my skin tingle and my pulse race.

His gaze swept the coffee shop before settling on me, and when our eyes met, the world tilted on its axis.

"Mate"

The word whispered through my mind, unbidden and impossible. I'd never believed in love at first sight, soulmates, or any of that romantic nonsense. I was practical, cynical, the kind of person who rolled her eyes at fairy tales. But standing there, caught in this stranger's intense stare, I felt something fundamental shift inside me.

"Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in my chest. "I'd like a coffee, black."

Simple words. A simple order. So why did I feel like he'd just asked me to strip naked and dance on the counter?

"Coming right up," I managed, proud that my voice came out relatively steady.

I turned toward the espresso machine, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. My hands shook slightly as I prepared his order, and I silently cursed my body's ridiculous reaction. So what if he was attractive? Portland was full of good looking men. None of them had ever made me feel like I was about to spontaneously combust.

"You're new to the neighborhood," Mrs. Patterson's voice cut through my internal panic. She'd apparently decided to insert herself into the situation with all the subtlety of a freight train.

"Just visiting," the stranger replied, though his attention never wavered from me. I could feel his gaze like a physical touch, following my every movement.

"Business or pleasure?" Mrs. Patterson pressed, clearly enjoying her role as impromptu interrogator.

"Business." His tone suggested that was all the information he was willing to share.

I finished his coffee and turned back, setting the mug on the counter. Our fingers brushed as he reached for it, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity up my arm that made me gasp.

He went completely still, his eyes widening slightly. For a moment, we stared at each other in stunned silence, both of us processing whatever the hell had just happened.

"That'll be threefifty," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He placed a twenty on the counter without breaking eye contact. "Keep the change."

"I can't take a sixteendollar tip for a cup of coffee," I protested, reaching for my register to make change.

His hand closed over mine, stopping me mid-motion. This time, the contact was deliberate, and the electricity that passed between us was impossible to ignore.

"Yes, you can," he said softly, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a gesture that felt far too intimate for strangers. "What's your name?"

"Lyra," I breathed, completely forgetting every lesson about stranger danger I'd ever learned.

"Lyra," he repeated, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue. "Beautiful."

Mrs. Patterson cleared her throat loudly, reminding us both that we had an audience. The stranger whose name I still didn't know released my hand and stepped back, though his eyes never left mine.

"I'll be seeing you again, Lyra," he said, and something about the way he said it made it sound less like a hope and more like a promise.

He turned and walked out, taking his coffee and leaving behind a twentydollar bill and a coffee shop that suddenly felt empty despite Mrs. Patterson's continued presence.

"Well," Mrs. Patterson said, her voice dripping with amusement. "That was interesting."

I stared at the door, my hand still tingling from his touch. "Who do you think he was?"

"Trouble," she replied without hesitation. "The kind that changes everything."

As if summoned by her words, my best friend Maya burst through the door, her black hair wild and her dark eyes wide with panic.

"Lyra, we need to talk," she said urgently, then noticed Mrs. Patterson. "Privately."

Mrs. Patterson took the hint, gathering her purse and coffee. "I'll see you tomorrow, dear. Try to stay out of trouble."

After she left, Maya locked the door and flipped the sign to closed, despite the fact that it was barely eight in the morning.

"Maya, what the hell"

"There are wolves in the city," she interrupted, her voice deadly serious. "Big ones. Dangerous ones. The kind that hunt in packs and tear people apart."

I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Maya was dramatic on her best days, but this seemed extreme even for her.

"Are you talking about actual wolves? Because I'm pretty sure we don't have those in downtown Portland."

"Not actual wolves," she said, running her hands through her hair. "Werewolves, Lyra. Shape shifter's. And they're looking for someone."

The laugh that escaped me was sharp and disbelieving. "Maya, I know you love your supernatural podcasts, but"

"I'm a witch."

The words hung in the air between us, and I waited for her to say she was kidding. When she didn't, I felt the first flutter of real unease.

"Maya"

"I've been hiding it from you for three years because I wanted to protect you. But something's happening, Lyra. Something big. And I think" She paused, her gaze falling on the twentydollar bill still sitting on my counter. "Who was in here?"

"Just some guy. Tall, dark, handsome. Left a ridiculous tip." I tried to keep my voice casual, but Maya knew me too well.

"What did he look like, exactly?"

I described him, watching as Maya's face grew progressively paler.

"Oh God," she whispered. "Lyra, that wasn't just some guy. That was Kieran Blackthorne."

The name meant nothing to me, but clearly it should have.

"He's the Alpha of the Shadow Moon Pack. The most powerful werewolf on the West Coast, maybe in all of North America." Maya began pacing, her movements sharp and agitated. "He's dangerous, Lyra. Ruthless. People who cross him tend to disappear."

"You're scaring me," I admitted, though I wasn't sure if I was more frightened by her words or by how right it had felt when he'd touched me.

"Good. You should be scared. Because if Kieran Blackthorne came to your coffee shop, it means he's found what he's been looking for." Maya stopped pacing and looked at me with eyes full of pity and fear. "He's found his mate."

The word hit me like a physical blow, the same word that had whispered through my mind when I'd first seen him.

"That's insane," I said, but my voice lacked conviction. "I'm human, Maya. I don't even believe in werewolves, let alone this mate business."

"Are you human, though?" she asked quietly. "Really? You've always been different, Lyra. Stronger, faster, more intuitive than you should be. Those dreams you've been having? The ones you think no one knows about?"

I went cold. I'd never told anyone about the dreams, not even Maya.

"How did you"

"Because I've been watching over you, casting protection spells, trying to keep you hidden. But if he's found you..." She shook her head. "My magic isn't strong enough to hide you from an Alpha, especially not if the mate bond has been triggered."

"This is crazy," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I was remembering the electricity when he'd touched me, the way my body had responded to his presence, the absolute certainty I'd felt when our eyes met.

"Crazy or not, it's happening," Maya said grimly. "And now we need to figure out what we're going to do about it."

Outside, storm clouds were gathering despite the morning's clear skies, and I had the strangest feeling that my quiet, predictable life was about to be turned completely upside down.