Chapter 6: Secrets in the Mist

(Lucian’s POV)

I shouldn’t have gone to the library.

Hell, I shouldn’t have gotten anywhere near her after last night. Every instinct I had told me to stay away, to let her dig around for her stories and eventually leave when the walls of Blackthorn Ridge closed in around her. Outsiders never stayed long. They always ran when the town started to show its teeth.

But Chloe Reynolds wasn’t like most people who stumbled into this place.

There was something about her, something wild. Even as I walked away from the library, her scent—sweet and sharp, like jasmine on a crisp fall night—still clung to my senses, making it impossible to focus. My body was buzzing, every nerve on edge. Being near her wasn’t safe. Not for her. Not for me.

But I couldn’t stop.

The full moon was coming. I could feel it building inside me, a relentless pull in my blood, in my bones. And with every passing day, Chloe was getting closer to the truth. She was right there, on the edge of discovering everything—things I wasn’t ready for her to know. Things that would change her life forever.

No, I told myself. It would destroy her life.

I stopped walking, clenching my fists at my sides as I stared down the empty street. The town was quiet, as always, but there was an undercurrent to the stillness tonight—a tension in the air, heavy and electric. The pack was restless. I could feel them, moving through the woods, watching the town, waiting.

They knew she was here. They could sense her, just like I could. And if they thought for a second that she was a threat...

I shook the thought from my head, turning back toward the woods. The moon would rise soon, and I needed to make sure everything was in place before things got out of control. The pack was loyal, but they were unpredictable this close to the change. If I didn’t keep them in line, Chloe wouldn’t be the only one in danger.

As I reached the edge of the trees, I paused, glancing back at the town one last time. A part of me wanted to go back. To tell her everything. To let her in on the truth before it was too late. But the other part—the part of me that had been protecting these secrets for so long—knew better.

Chloe couldn’t be part of this world. No matter how much I wanted her to be.

(Chloe’s POV)

There’s something really infuriating about a man walking out on you in the middle of a cryptic, life-altering conversation. Especially when that man happens to be infuriatingly gorgeous, mysterious, and very much withholding the answers I needed.

I stood there in the dusty library for what felt like forever, staring at the door Lucian had just walked out of. The air was still thick with his presence, and I could still hear his voice, deep and full of warning: Once you know, there’s no going back.

No going back? Well, buddy, it’s too late for that. I was already in. Deep.

Frustrated, I threw my pen onto the table, letting it roll across the old wood as I leaned back in my chair. My mind was racing. Werewolves. Blood pacts. Secret packs hiding in the woods. And Lucian, standing right in the center of all of it like some dark, brooding sentinel.

I couldn’t shake the image of him from my mind—the way he’d looked at me in the library, his eyes filled with so much intensity it practically crackled in the air between us. But it wasn’t just the attraction that had my pulse racing. It was the sense of something more. Something... ancient.

And dangerous.

“Great, Chloe,” I muttered under my breath, standing up and pacing in front of the dusty shelves. “You came here for a story, and instead, you found a sexy werewolf soap opera. Good job.”

I glanced down at the old book I’d found—the one filled with legends and dark tales of Blackthorn Ridge. It was still lying open on the table, the pages worn and yellowed with age. My eyes skimmed over the words, searching for something I might have missed, but the stories were all the same: packs of wolves, rituals, blood magic.

All things that felt a little too close to what Lucian had warned me about.

And yet, it was just folklore. Superstition. Right? My brain was still trying to reconcile the idea that the man I’d just been talking to might actually be something other than human. It was ridiculous. It had to be. Werewolves weren’t real. They were the stuff of movies and bad Halloween decorations.

Except... the more I thought about it, the more the pieces started to fall into place. The strange animal attacks, the way the townspeople seemed so... off. And Lucian. The way he moved, the way his eyes almost glowed in the dim light, like there was something lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to come out.

Werewolves, my brain whispered.

But no. It couldn’t be real. Could it?

I slammed the book shut, shaking my head. “I need more coffee.”

The diner felt like the safest place to clear my head, mostly because it was the only place in town that didn’t feel like it was trying to eat me alive. The bell over the door jingled as I walked in, and I was immediately greeted by the smell of coffee and bacon—comforting, warm, and a far cry from the cold, eerie silence of the library.

The same waitress from last night glanced up from behind the counter, her expression as bored as ever. I half-expected her to warn me off like Lucian had, but instead, she just popped her gum and nodded toward the booth I’d sat in the night before.

I slid into the booth, setting my notebook on the table as I ordered another cup of coffee. The warm mug felt good in my hands, grounding me as I stared out the window at the mist-shrouded streets.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Lucian. Everything about him was a mystery. His warning, his intensity, the way he seemed to know everything about this town and yet refused to let me in on the truth. It was infuriating. And maybe... a little intoxicating.

Get a grip, Chloe. This is not the time to start fantasizing about dark, brooding werewolves.

I needed answers, not distractions. But Lucian wasn’t going to give them to me. Not willingly, at least. If I wanted to figure out what was really going on, I was going to have to do it myself.

The forest was calling to me.

That probably sounds crazy, but as I left the diner, walking aimlessly through the misty streets, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers I was looking for were hidden somewhere in those dark, twisted trees. Maybe it was the journalist in me, or maybe I’d just watched one too many horror movies, but either way, I found myself heading toward the edge of town, where the forest loomed like a shadow over Blackthorn Ridge.

The air was colder here, heavier, as if the forest itself was breathing, waiting for me to step inside. I paused at the tree line, staring into the dense wall of trees and undergrowth, and for a moment, I hesitated.

This was stupid. Wandering into the woods alone, with no plan, no idea what I was looking for—it was the exact kind of thing that got people killed in horror movies. And yet... I couldn’t turn back. Not now. Not when I was this close to the truth.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the woods.

The mist thickened as I moved deeper into the forest, wrapping around the trees like a ghostly shroud. The branches overhead formed a canopy, blocking out most of the light, and the ground beneath my boots was soft and uneven, covered in leaves and moss.

I wasn’t sure how far I’d walked, but the town had long since disappeared behind me. The trees pressed in closer, their shadows stretching out like fingers reaching for me. My breath came out in short, shallow bursts, the cold air stinging my lungs as I pushed forward.

And then I heard it.

A rustle. A snap of a branch. Something moving in the darkness.

I froze, my heart slamming against my ribcage as I scanned the trees around me. The sound had come from just ahead, somewhere in the thick underbrush. My mind raced, conjuring images of wolves, of glowing eyes and sharp teeth, of the creatures from the stories I’d read in the library.

But then, through the trees, I saw a figure.

At first, I thought it was an animal—a large one, moving silently through the underbrush. But as it came closer, I realized it wasn’t an animal at all.

It was Lucian.

He stepped out of the shadows, his tall frame blending with the darkness around him. His eyes—those piercing green eyes—locked onto mine, and I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched at his sides as he stared at me.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he demanded, his voice low and rough, like he was holding something back.

I took a shaky breath, my pulse still racing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

His gaze flicked to the trees around us, as if he was checking for something—or someone. “You shouldn’t be here, Chloe. I told you. This place isn’t safe.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on.”

He took a step closer, his expression darkening. “You’re not ready for the truth.”

“Try me.”

For a moment, I thought he might actually tell me. His eyes softened, and I could see the conflict written all over his face. But then, just as quickly, the hardness returned, and he shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists. “You don’t understand. This isn’t some game. It’s real. And if you keep digging, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m not afraid of the truth.”

“You should be,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Because once you know, there’s no going back.”

We stood there in the silence of the forest, the mist swirling around us like a living thing. I could feel the weight of his words pressing down on me, the danger in his voice, the pull of something dark and wild just beneath the surface.

But instead of fear, all I felt was curiosity. And maybe... something more.

“I’m not leaving,” I said softly, holding his gaze. “Not until I know the truth.”

For a long moment, Lucian didn’t move. His eyes locked onto mine, his body tense, like he was fighting some internal battle. And then, finally, he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“Goddammit, Chloe,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to be the death of me.”