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Await The Moon  Novel Cover

Await The Moon

Bound by a perilous fate, a human woman and a werewolf find their lives inextricably linked. As the lunar cycle progresses, she looks toward the sky in anticipation of the moon's rise, while he remains steadfast, waiting only for her. Their journey is defined by a hazardous destiny that neither can escape. Amidst the shadows of their world, the celestial timing and their deep connection collide in a story of longing and looming danger.
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Chapter 1

The autumn air in the small town of Oakhaven was always crisp, but tonight, it held a charge-a metallic tang that made Clara's skin prickle. She worked late at the dusty, forgotten bookshop, organizing ancient scrolls beneath the glow of a single, flickering bulb. It was past midnight, and the only sound was the rhythmic 'thump-thump' of her own heart. She told herself it was just the wind rattling the windowpanes.

But it wasn't the wind.

A scent, like wild mint crushed underfoot and something darker, more primal, drifted into the shop. Clara froze, her hand hovering over a book of obscure folklore. The light outside the shop door-a faint, amber glow-was suddenly eclipsed by a shadow so massive it drank the light.

The bell above the door didn't ring; it simply twitched, as if a silent breath had moved it.

A man stepped inside. He was unnervingly tall, dressed in a thick, charcoal jacket, and his presence immediately constricted the air in the small space. His hair was the color of midnight, and his eyes, a startling amber, swept the room until they locked onto Clara. There was an intense, hungry quality to his gaze, but it held a strange, desperate sadness, too.

"The book I seek is called 'Whispers of the Lycan'," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

Clara swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. "Moonsly," she read from the man's handwritten note, the name feeling heavy and significant on her tongue.

He took a slow step closer. "Have you found it, Clara?"

How did he know her name? The question screamed in her mind, yet she only managed to nod, pointing to a high shelf. As Moonsly turned his back to retrieve the book, a flash of something dark and complex moved under the cuff of his jacket-a scar, or perhaps a faint, silver embroidery. A low growl, quickly suppressed, escaped him as his hand brushed the old wood.

He turned back, the book in his hand, his eyes burning into hers. "You have no idea, Clara," he breathed, taking another step. "How much I have awaited this night."

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