Nova was fascinated by everything around her. She felt like a child exploring a new place for the first time. Deciding to turn her new abilities into a game, she tried to see how many things different she could pick out with her senses.

  Her nose twitched and she inhaled deeply. Smoke, and pine, and…smoke, and pine…. she scowled. Damn it. She couldn’t get past Kael's scent, it was alluring and intoxicating.

  Fuck, she thought, okay, hearing then.

  She focused on the sounds surrounding them—the flutter of wings, the rustling of underbrush, the bubbling of distant water, the steady padding of Kael’s steps, his breath…his body.

  No. Focus, Nova.

  It didn’t matter how hard she tried, Kael was everywhere, she couldn’t get him out of her head.

  Nova quickly trotted up closer to him, and bumped him on the shoulder. She knew they should talk, but she didn’t know how to start, only that she couldn’t take the silence any longer.

  “Kael,” she said, testing out his name.

  “Mmm?” Kael hummed.

  “What are we? Are we some kind of monster? Does everyone…well, do they go through what I did?

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Kael let out a deep sigh. He glanced her way trying to figure out how best to explain. The silence between them stretched, and when he finally spoke it felt heavy. “Our kind…we come from the deep. The dark. Some of the other fae say we were cursed, others say we were chosen. Depends on who you ask.”

  He glanced at her, gauging her reaction before continuing, and she simply tilted her head in interest and waited patiently.

  He continued his tone steady and reflective. “I suppose you could call us monsters, if you viewed us like humans do. We are stronger, faster, and live longer…sometimes much much longer. Most people think we’re all the same, but that’s ignorance talking. There are actually three kinds of us: The cursed, the changed, and the born."

  “Werewolves are turned by a bite, cursed, infected, if you will. They change under the full moon, and are more like rabid dogs, very little control. They are stronger than humans, but weaker than us. They are half-mad really, caught between what they were and can never be again.”

  “Then there are the Lycans,” he continued. “They are stronger, faster, but still made, not born. They were once human, changed through ritual or blood sacrifice. They can shift at will, control their power, but they tend to be extremely aggressive. They look more like the werewolves you see in the movies."

  "Then there are us, the Moonborne, the first, the strongest, the ones who were never just men to begin with. The moon is not our master, it is more like our mother. Our wolves are not a disease or a borrowed form. They are a part of us, separate yet one. Our souls split in two, human and beast, living in the same body, bound by something older than time itself."

  He paused briefly then gave her a long look, and said, “Your situation is…unheard of. I do not know why you were with humans, you should have been with your own kind, our kind.

  "Moonborne receive their wolves their 18th year, which is what you experienced,” he hesitated, “but I’ve never seen one burst into flames.”