The Nameless Luna's Daughter

SEBASTIAN.

She comes to me in my dreams.

Late at night, when my demons are finally quiet, and the world is cloaked in shadows, I dream of the strange girl with eyes like amethyst. They are a wonderfully unnatural shade of purple with golden flecks around her pupil that go perfectly with her warm olive complexion. She has silky, chestnut-brown hair, which she always wears up in a braid or a bun tied with a ribbon at the back of her head.

The girl laughs at me in my sleep.

In my dreams, she is almost always smiling, her voice lilting and cheerful. She is rarely alone, often surrounded by blurry figures I can never make out, but I can feel her love for them. I can feel her joy when she hugs them and teases them, radiating out of her like a crackling fire that surrounds her with a warmth I cannot understand.

At first, I did not think much of the dreams. I figured they meant nothing, just some conjured-up fantasy of my subconscious mind. But then they kept coming. For years I dreamt of the same girl, and I still don't know her name. Sometimes, I swear I heard one of the faceless figures calling out to her, but by the time I wake, the memory of her name has been erased from my mind like the tide washing away footprints on the sand.

When morning comes, there is no trace of her. There is no sign or hint that she's even real. At some point, I stopped caring. Whether she exists or not, she has been a light amidst my darkness. Most days, I find myself looking forward to the night, longing to see her face when sleep drags me into a place where reality cannot hurt me.

She's getting closer somehow, clearer. When I first started dreaming of her, I got glimpses, but lately, her voice is louder, her image sharper. It's like she's becoming solid within me, less a figment of my subconscious and more like a memory of something that hasn't happened yet.

But every time I try to get close to her, the girl slips through my fingers. She flickers and fades like a candle blown out by the rising sun at dawn, and every morning the world steals her away from me.

Perhaps it is for the best.

Because if she is real and I can find her, that means the other thing can find her too. The monster growls in response, pacing like a caged beast, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness to break out. It longs for her, maybe even more than I do.

Mine is a hopeful yearning, but there is nothing gentle about the beast. It hungers for her, aches for her, burns for her. It would shred its way out of Me and through the world to reach her if I allowed it. There is a small part of me that is tempted to let it. But where I see a girl, the beast sees a gem. Something to covet and protect. Something to possess.

I cannot allow it to reach her. I can never let it hurt her.

But dreams can easily become nightmares.

Last night she came to me in my sleep again, only this time, she was not laughing. She was alone in a room that I did not bother to notice because I would probably forget the details by the time I awoke. All I saw was her.

She was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling as if she could look right through it and see the stars above. Her brow was furrowed, her gold and amethyst eyes narrowed. She teeth dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, and the sight twisted my stomach into a knot.

I could feel her fear. I could smell it in the air around her and read it on the delicate lines on her face. Something was coming. Something evil and terrible, and for some reason, I sensed that she could not fight it.

I tried to call out to her. I tried to reach her, stretching out my hand toward her despite the distance that felt infinite between us.

When I wake, she is gone, and all that remains is the bittersweet aftertaste of her fear. I sit up on my own bed. My sharp features are uneasy and tense as I glance toward the window.

How many more wolves fell while I slept? How many more lives lost?

Every day the darkness grows stronger, spreading farther. I do not know how to stop it, and before today, that had not bothered me.

I have no interest in being a hero. If the world is going to burn, it might as well take me with it. Maybe then he'll finally have some peace. There is no reason for me to fight it, nothing for me to hold on to or miss.

But the girl...she has something to lose. Family. Friends. A future.

If chaos crashes over these lands like a wave, the current will take her with it. Can I really stand to see such a lovely jewel reduced to sand?

The beast licks its lips, sensing its chance.

‘Go to her,’ it says softly, its voice deceptively distant. ‘Find her, and I will keep her safe. I will keep her...’

I run my hand through my golden blonde curls, trying to tame the growing sense of urgency at the thought of something frightening the girl of my dreams. Whatever tore the easy smile from her lips is drawing near. I can feel it.

‘Mate,’ the beast growls softly, the word reverberating in my bones. ‘Let me find your mate. I will destroy any threat to her until nothing remains but her smile and the ash of her enemies.’

No.

She cannot be real. She cannot be my mate. I've never even met her. I don't so much as know her name. Yet at the same time, I know her. She is the purest soul I have ever seen, shining like a star in the night to guide me and make me feel less alone.

And something is scaring her.

‘Let me out...’ the beast whispers, its voice like ebony claws stroking my mind. ‘Let us go to her.’

Something feral flashes behind my emerald green eyes, and the beast feels the exact moment the young man gives in. With a sigh, I roll out of bed and get dressed, my angular jaw clenched in determination.

I will find her, one way or the other. It's the only way I can be sure that she's safe. But as I head to the door, committed to my decision to seek out the girl I have only ever seen in my dreams, there is one thing I do not consider. The beast would protect her from the world, and I would protect her from the beast.

But who could ever hope to protect me?

DAISY.

It always starts with the eyes.

The plague begins by blinding you. The pupils dilate, and everything goes dark. Then it spreads, and your eyes turn completely black until no white or iris remains, only an empty, onyx gaze. But that's not the worst part.

The worst part is what happens next.

Because once the plague closes your eyes, nothing can open them again; not medicine, nor time, nor prayer. It drains the body of strength and consciousness, leaving you devoid of hunger and hope.

The first victim identified in the town was Nico Ryder of the Rovers. His mate, Lucy, heard his scream through the mating bond. She sensed the life draining out of him and felt his fear coursing through her as he fell. She went out with her son, Matt, to find him.

Matt takes after his parents, with curly red hair, grey-blue eyes, and freckles that make him look younger than he really is. Still, it seemed like the boy aged a decade the moment he found his father.

Nico wasn't in a coma, at least not in the usual medical sense. A comatose patient requires care and treatment; a comatose patient has a chance of waking up. Those who fall to the plague do not. They are not dead but lifeless.

When they brought Nico back home, he was still breathing. Lucy examined her mate alongside several other healers and medics in the kingdom, and what they discovered was something impossible.

Nico Ryder no longer had a heart.

Or rather, he had a heart, but it did not beat anymore. Ironically, he was relatively unharmed in spite of this, trapped in an unearthly slumber. Steady breathing, normal blood pressure, healthy body temperature. But while blood still flowed in his veins, it seemed to be pouring through him rather than pumping.

Whatever sent him into his current state has been keeping him alive without a pulse. Neither doctors nor shamans can make any sense of it. That's just how the plague works. No explanation. No heartbeat. No sign of waking up.

At first, the members of the Rover pack believed our scout had wandered too far and caught the strange disease in another territory. Then other wolves started to get sick, as if the unseen threat that had chased Nico back home reached us shortly after he did. All those who fell ill were isolated and quarantined, but that did not stop it.

It didn't even slow it down.

The plague spreads across the ground regardless of who does or doesn't walk on it. It's in the earth, making the plants grow thinner and bear less fruit or flower. It's in the water, leaving behind a barely noticeable aftertaste of something bitter to anyone who drinks it. It's in the air, making it feel heavy and dense regardless of the weather.

Reports started pouring in from the neighboring pack. The Baneless Moon answers to my mother, Iris Lyall, but seeing as she chose to live out her days with my father, Tristan, in the Rover's territory, it is currently led by Mark Ryder. Uncle Mark was once Tristan's Beta. He was meant to lead the Baneless Moon alongside his mate Amara as regents on my mother's behalf.

But then Amara fell too. Her daughter Alice was the one that found her one day on the couch, still clutching the book she was reading when the plague dragged her under.

Alice Ryder takes more after her father than her mother, at least personality-wise. She has hazel eyes, brown skin, and black hair, which she wears in a short pixie cut that gives her elegant features a boyish charm. At only fifteen years old, she is the youngest in our group of friends, but she never lets anyone treat her like a child. I've never seen her cry. Not even on the day she told me her mom was not waking up.

Eventually, it was determined that the plague only affects mated pairs, with one person going into that unnatural comma while the other becomes sickly and weakened. Specifically, it seems the plague only affects mated wolves- with one notable exception.

My grandmother, Vanessa Silas, was never marked by her husband, Marco, on account of him being a nightwalker. However, she once told her daughter that the vampire king was her mate regardless. After the Moon Goddess herself gave her blessing, it seemed nothing would ever keep the star-crossed lovers apart. Then one night, Vanessa's eyes turned black while Marco watched in horror, and when they closed, I believe he felt the effects of the dark plague as much as any wolf.

Disease does not discriminate.

One by one, the heroes of Silvertooth Peaks are falling to the plague, frozen in sleep or awake and crippled by the loss of their mate. So many others across the territory have felt it too.

Which means that it's only a matter of time before it affects my parents. I know it, too. It keeps me awake at night and clouds my days.

My parents have given me everything. For sixteen years, they raised me in a happy home, safe and free. Now, it feels like an invisible hand is wrapped around my family, its grip tightening with every friend that falls victim to the plague.

I am not the only one that's afraid.

I see it on the faces of my pack. Everyone has lost someone or loves someone who lost someone. The wolf highlands have never been so quiet. The villages and kingdoms have never looked so bleak. Every night we go to sleep fearing who the plague will take next, and every morning we wake up no closer to finding a cure for those it already took.

I'm told that a few hopeful souls even tried true love's kiss in an attempt to raise their lost ones.

But this is not a fairy tale.

There is nothing poetic about the plague, and its victims are not sleeping beauties. They're just people. Young and old, male and female, innocent and guilty.

But leave it to Iris and Tristan Lyall to find hope in these uncertain times. My parents have summoned the council. Well, they've summoned what's left of it. The greatest healers, warriors, and scholars of the three kingdoms are gathered in the Villa du Lac in a desperate attempt to understand the blight sweeping through their land.

On any other occasion, I might have been happy to have so many of my loved ones gathered in the ponderous villa I call my home. Uncle Mark, Aunt Lucy, my grandfather, even my godmother, Helena, and her ward. After the war, Helena adopted a young nightwalker whose parents were killed in battle. Luke became like a son to her and like a brother to me. But this is not a happy reunion. This is a last-ditch mission to save everything we've ever loved.

Luke, Matt, and Alice are here too.

In fact, at this very moment, Luke is huddled on a branch below me, with Alice by my side and Matt crouching higher on the tree.

Luke sighs, breaking the tense silence with a whisper.

"Daisy," he breathes my name. "If they catch us, they're going to kill us."

I frown, brows furrowing over my gold-flecked violet eyes before answering:

"Then we'd better not get caught."