BLOOD OF THE MOON

The moon hung low in the sky, its silver light casting long shadows through the trees. Lyra crouched in the underbrush, her sharp eyes scanning the clearing ahead. Every breath was measured, every muscle in her body coiled, ready to spring into action. She had been tracking the rogue werewolves for days, her senses fine-tuned to the subtle shifts in the wind and the faintest whispers of movement.

They are close now.

Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't afford a mistake, not tonight. The scent of blood clung to the air, familiar yet laced with the metallic tang of betrayal. She had followed that scent before. It had led her to her family's slaughter.

A snap of a twig broke the silence, and Lyra's gaze snapped toward the source. Three figures emerged from the treeline, their hulking forms shifting as the moonlight caught the glint of their fur. Their eyes gleamed with hunger, their growls low and menacing.

Lyra's lips curled into a snarl, the wolf inside her stirring. She could feel the beast clawing at the edges of her mind, begging for release, but she held it back. Not yet.

She watched as the rogues sniffed the air, catching her scent, but they were too slow. Too sloppy. With a swift movement, she rose from her crouch and stepped into the clearing.

"Looking for something?" she called out, her voice calm, though her blood roared in her veins.

The rogues turned, surprised by her sudden appearance. They were larger, more muscular, and undoubtedly more experienced in battle. But Lyra wasn't afraid. She had something they didn't have a purpose. And that purpose had kept her alive when so many others had fallen.

"You've made a mistake coming here," the largest of them growled, stepping forward. His eyes glowed with a sickly green light, a sign of a wolf corrupted by greed and power.

"I'm not the one who made the mistake," Lyra said, her hand slowly reaching for the dagger at her side. Her heart pounded, but she kept her grip steady. "You're hunting in my territory."

The leader laughed, a deep, guttural sound. "Your territory? This land belongs to no one, especially not some lone she-wolf. You should have run when you had the chance."

Lyra smiled a cold, dangerous smile. "I don't run.

With a sudden burst of speed, she lunged forward, the dagger flashing in the moonlight. The leader barely had time to react before she was upon him, her blade slicing through the air with lethal precision. He howled in pain as the silver edge tore through his flesh, sending him crashing to the ground.

The other two rogues hesitated, shock flickering in their eyes. They hadn't expected her to fight back. They hadn't expected her to be this fast.

Lyra stood over their fallen leader, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. The wolf inside her surged to the surface, and this time, she didn't hold it back.

"I told you," she whispered, her voice thick with the beast's growl. "This is my territory."

With a roar, she shifted. Her bones cracked and reshaped, fur sprouting as the beast within her took form. In an instant, she was no longer the lone girl standing against three enemies she was a predator, and the hunt had begun.

The rogues howled in response, their bodies twisting into their wolf forms. But it was too late. Lyra was already on them.

She moved like a shadow, a blur of teeth and claws, her rage fueling her every strike. The rogues fought back, but they were no match for her fury. Blood spattered the ground, the metallic scent filling the air as she tore through her enemies, one after another.

When it was over, Lyra stood in the clearing. Her breath was heavy, her fur slick with blood. The rogues lay broken at her feet, their bodies motionless. The beast inside her receded, but the hunger remained.

She shifted back to human form, the cool night air biting at her skin. Her heart still raced, but she felt nothing satisfaction, no relief. Only emptiness.

Wiping the blood from her hands, she knelt by the leader's body, her eyes scanning his features. There was something familiar about him, something that gnawed at the edges of her memory. She searched his pockets and found a small, silver amulet. Her fingers closed around it, the cold metal biting into her skin.

This wasn't over. This was just the beginning.

Lyra stood, slipping the amulet into her pocket. The night was quiet again, but she knew the peace wouldn't last. The real hunt was still ahead. And whoever had sent these rogues to kill her was going to regret it.

With one last glance at the fallen wolves, Lyra turned and disappeared into the night, her mind already focused on the next move.

She had a bloodline to avenge. And nothing would stop her.