Days went by and the pendant never stopped glowing
Later that afternoon Declan finds himself at a beat down diner near the outskirts of town
The place smelled of cheap wine and had poor lighting and if not for the necessity of the place Declan would never had dreamed of coming there.
After thorough research he had heard that that was the place to gather information about the supernatural world and Declan was really in need of answers.
It's one of the few spots where truckers exchange stories over inexpensive coffee and nobody asks questions.
Sitting quietly with his hood up, he occupies a corner booth and orders a beer mug just to blend in.
"You're a new face, the girl who waited tables said as she brought his beer to him.
He looked around quickly to see if anyone heard her but they all seemed to be engrossed in their conversations to pay any notice to him
He thanked her for the beer and sensing he did not want to be bothered the girl left him alone without prying further.
A group of strangers were seated at the table in front of him, he sat way back so no one would pick interest in him. The party in front of him were clearly not normal.
three men, weathered and broad, and a woman whose very presence cut through the diner's haze like a blade. Her posture was too still, too aware. Her movements were lean and purposeful, like a predator in a den full of sheep. Even from across the room, her eyes burned with the kind of focus that said: I see more than you want me to.
Declan didn't look directly at them. He didn't need to. Their scent was sharp—pine needles, rain-soaked earth, and something wilder. Something ancient. It clung to them like second skin. Not perfume. Not cologne. It was the scent of the wolf within.
He sipped his wine slowly pretending to be engrossed in a newspaper he had picked up on his way in. But his hearing—heightened, unwilling—caught every syllable from the hushed conversation around him.
"The Gathering's been called. They need to pick the supreme Alpha"
A beat of silence followed. Even the clinking of cutlery seemed to pause.
Another voice, older and heavier, replied:
Alphas only. Bloodlines will be tested—one of the lost lines might still be alive."
A scoff.
"Here you go again, you must really believe this rubbish of yours that the marked Alpha of the Crescent moon clan survived?"
Declan's stomach dropped.
The words sank into his bones like ice water. Crescent Moon. That name wasn't just a memory—it felt like was a legacy drenched in blood. His father's pack. His birthright. What exactly was this rage he was feeling?
The woman spoke then, her voice low and laced with venom:
"If he's out there, he better stay hidden. His half brother's are ever ready to kill him the second time will kill him before he breathes."
Kieran didn't flinch, but his grip around the mug tightened.
Before he breathes.
Not if he rises. When.
They weren't just speculating. They were preparing.
And somehow, they sensed a shift in the wind.
The woman leaned forward, her fingers tracing the rim of her untouched glass.
"I never believed the Marked Alpha died completely," she murmured. "No true Alpha line ends in silence. There's always blood left somewhere... hidden."
One of the men grunted. "Hiding is cowardice."
"Hiding is survival," she snapped back, her voice sharp as broken glass. "If I watched my mom slaughtered and my father butchered, I'd hide too. At least until I could tear out the throat of the one who ordered it."
Another man—the one with a scar splitting his brow—shifted in his seat, glancing around before lowering his voice.
"The false Alpha made sure no threat to his reign survived. That night was a purge, not a battle. They wanted every threatening alpha erased."
Declan's chest tightened.
"Then why call for bloodline testing at the Gathering?" the woman asked. "Why revive ancient rites if they're so sure no true heir lives?"
No one answered right away. The tension at the table thickened like fog.
Finally, the quietest of the group—grey-bearded, eyes like ash—spoke, almost to himself.
"Because something's stirring. Magic's shifting. I can feel it. The old blood... it's awake."
The woman nodded, thoughtful. "The blood moon rises in two weeks. That's no coincidence."
Scar-Brow scoffed. "If that boy lives, and he shows up at the Gathering, he's signing his own death sentence."
She smirked. "Or a death warrant for whoever underestimates him."
The table fell into silence again. A silence heavy with old grudges and unspoken truths.
Declan sat frozen in his booth, heart pounding in his ears, every instinct torn between fight, flight—and the dangerous urge to step into the fire he'd spent a decade avoiding.
They were looking for him.
And worse?
They were afraid of what he might become.
Declan couldn't sit there any longer.
His wolf stirred beneath his skin, restless and alert. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Every word from the nearby table still echoed in his mind—Crescent Moon, bloodline testing, the Gathering. He felt like a ghost in the middle of his own haunting.
Without finishing his beer, he slid a few crumpled bills onto the table and stood, moving with quiet precision. Not rushed. Not suspicious. Just another tired traveler leaving an empty cup behind.
But as he passed the table of wolves, the woman's eyes flicked up.
Brief. Sharp.
Their gazes locked for a fraction of a second—too long.
Declan kept walking.
Out the door. Into the cool night air. He didn't breathe until the diner's door swung shut behind him.
The forest scent was stronger out here. The moon hadn't risen yet, but the sky had already gone deep navy, bruised with coming darkness. Declan moved quickly toward his truck, parked under the shadow of tall pines.
Once inside, he locked the doors and sat still.
Silent.
Listening.
No one followed.
Not yet.
He pulled the pendant from under his shirt. It was glowing again—soft, steady, pulsing like a second heartbeat. The same rhythm that had started the night he turned fifteen. The same light that had always signaled change.
For years, he'd ignored it. Buried it.
But now? Now the world was looking for him.
"Crescent Moon," he whispered. "They're still afraid of me."
He turned the key in the ignition. The engine hummed low, steady. But something inside him roared to life—ancient, raw, undeniable.
"When the time comes, do not run" Declan heard an odd but familiar voice whisper to him
He wasn't just running anymore.
He was heading straight into the storm.
****************************************************************************
The engine growled to life beneath his hands, but Kieran didn't drive off immediately.
The diner's lights glowed behind him, blurred through the windshield like a distant memory. He could still feel the weight of the wolves' words. The Gathering. Bloodline testing. Crescent Moon.
His birthright was no longer a rumor buried in whispers. It was a flame rekindling across the territories—and now the scent of smoke had found him.
Declan gripped the wheel, knuckles pale.
They were talking about him.
And if they knew he was alive, it wouldn't be long before others came hunting. Bloodstone wouldn't hesitate to finish what they started ten years ago.
His pulse roared in his ears as he finally pulled out of the lot, tires crunching over gravel, headlights slicing through the night. But instead of heading
home, he took the forest road—the long, unmarked one that twisted through old Crescent Moon lands.
There was something he needed to do.
Something he had buried deeper than memory.
He parked near the stream that used to run past the Crescent shrine, now overgrown and forgotten by most. The air here smelled of damp earth, pine, and something older—like history that refused to die.
Stepping out, he walked into the woods, the moon casting silver light across the trees.
His hand went to his chest.
The pendant pulsed faintly against his skin, reacting to the forest. Or maybe to him. He slipped it off and stared at the slender chain coiled around it—dull silver, etched with glyphs, ancient and binding.
The chains, he remembered.
He had worn them since the night everything fell apart.
Ten years ago, they had disguised his scent, dulled his magic, buried his bloodline beneath layers of silence.
His mother had forced them on him to keep him hidden.
"These will make them think you're human," she had said, her voice shaking with urgency as she clasped them around his throat and wrists."They'll blind your essence. Suppress the shift. Keep the blood at bay."
And they had. For a decade, the chains had done their job. He passed as human. Powerless. Forgotten.
But now… the world remembered.
And his wolf was no longer willing to sleep
Declan unclasped the pendant and slowly uncoiled the silver from around his neck. The moment the metal left his skin, a cold wind ripped through the trees, and the forest seemed to breathe—as though the land itself recognized him again.
Power shuddered through his veins. Magic bloomed beneath his skin like fire tearing through old roots.
He sank to his knees, gasping as the weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying vanished. His fingers dug into the earth, grounding himself as the wolf within rose—wild, restless, alive.
The second chain—wrapped around his wrist—shimmered, then snapped with a sound like cracking bone.
The spell was broken.
The false silence was gone.
And beneath it all, he could feel it:
The true Alpha bloodline, no longer hidden.
No longer weak.
Kieran stood slowly, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His eyes glowed gold under the moonlight, primal and ancient.
"They want to test bloodlines?" he whispered, voice edged in steel."Let them test mine."
He looked toward the north—toward Crescent Moon Territory.
Toward the Gathering.
And for the first time in ten years, he wasn't running.
He was coming home.