Black Moon Pack Book 1: Falling for Storm

The bar hummed with laughter and cheers as I sat across from Dakota, my new friend-slash-roommate, feeling a mix of excitement and disbelief. I was finally living the best days of my life; I had made it.

Sure, Duke University wasn’t exactly an Ivy League school. The truth was, I’d applied on a whim, driven by a moment of insanity, just wanting to live far from home. But here I was, sipping a drink—nonalcoholic, of course—trying to absorb the reality of my admission.

Duke felt like a cathedral built not for saints, but for seekers. I knew I’d fit in somehow. I first saw it when it was used as the backdrop for a teen thriller movie, and I was automatically drawn to it.

The place had a kind of cinematic gravity to it, as if the landscape itself was always holding its breath, waiting for the next scene to unfold. Sometimes, walking through campus felt like moving through a story someone else had already written, only now it was mine to rewrite.

The trees were tall, the kind that had a history. Their shadows laced the walkways like half-written stories, and I, with my sketchbook tucked under my arm, often found hundreds of subjects to sketch.

Classes were a whirlwind. The professors all spoke as if they had swallowed a microphone. Sometimes I felt like I was drowning in brilliance, and other times like I’d been born to swim in it.

Durham, just beyond the university’s stone-laced borders, was its own kind of art—messy, loud, and real. I could finally breathe there, where I didn’t feel as if I was performing.

I was slowly learning its rhythms with late-night food runs, cheap coffee, and hushed stories traded across library tables with new friends who felt like they’d been waiting for me.

Coming here had made me understand the difference between belonging somewhere and becoming someone.

“You know,” I began, swirling my drink, “I wasn’t really expecting that I’d make it here. My sister always reminded me how I’d never measure up, and I believed her.

“How could I not? I mean, she’s the golden child, the perfect cheerleader, popular and pretty.” I sighed, thinking of her.

My hand found its way to the silver pendant I always wore around my neck. I’d never been close with my family, but I’d had the necklace for as long as I could remember. It was the only thing they’d ever given me that I actually liked.

Amid all the strangeness, it was kind of nice to have one thing that was comforting and familiar.

“What does she look like, anyway?” Dakota asked.

“She’s five seven, blonde, and has had more boyfriends than I can count. Then there’s me.” I gestured vaguely at myself.

“Five five, brunette, and awkward. I bury myself in art and books. And the worst part? I’ve never had a boyfriend in my life.”

Dakota nodded, encouraging me to go on. I appreciated that about her; she was a good listener. My mind wandered back to my sister. The way she’d always laugh at my sketches, how she’d roll her eyes and laugh when I mentioned wanting to pursue art.

She always made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. We both shared blue eyes, but mine were darker. A small difference, but it felt significant somehow.

“Honestly, I thought applying here was crazy,” I continued, forcing a smile. “So, what’s your story?”

“Okay, I have something to confess,” Dakota stated, and I nodded.

“I’ve lived here all my life, which makes me a local girl, and this bar? This belongs to my older brother.”

“No wonder no one carded us.” I laughed.

Dakota went on talking about her childhood and why she’d chosen to live in the dorms rather than stay at their house. As she told me more about herself, my mind kept drifting back to my own childhood.

It was a stark contrast to how Dakota grew up. And our differences didn’t stop there.

Dakota was an attractive and confident girl. She didn’t completely look like someone who caused a lot of trouble, but I could sense that she was a force to be reckoned with.

She had long, black hair, gray eyes, the face of an angel, and curvy hips. She stood about the same height as me, and her vibe said, “I’m nice, but I could be your worst nightmare.”

“Hey, are you all right? You spaced out there.” Her voice was warm with a hint of concern.

I blinked, shaking my head. “Yeah, just… thinking. Sorry, what did you say?”

Before she could respond, a loud voice cut through the noise.

“Hey, pretty girl!” A drunk guy stumbled over, a sloppy grin plastered on his face.

My stomach churned immediately because I didn’t know how to deal with this. He leaned closer, invading my space while snaking his arm around my waist.

“Why don’t you come hang out with me instead of your friend here?”

I glanced at Dakota, my heart racing. For a moment, I was completely frozen in shock, and all I could think about was my sister’s mocking voice, telling me how weak I was.

Irritation and disgust then kicked in. I whipped around, slapping his hand away as hard as I could. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

I had half a mind to sucker punch him or knee him in the groin, but I didn’t want to cause a scene.

The asshole didn’t take my warning seriously. Let’s face it, what asshole did? So instead of dragging his huge ass back to where he came from, he opted to grab my elbow, pulling me closer to him.

“Let go of me!” I shouted.

Being in this predicament made me think about a few things: first, I was going to murder my roommate!

“Come out to this bar with me. It’ll be fun,” she’d said. “It’ll be safe,” she’d said. Well, nothing in this situation said fun or safe, now, was it?

Second, I was debating giving the sleazeball a high five on the face with the tray the waitress behind me was clutching for dear life.

Third, I was wondering if there were any bouncers around to help us.

And lastly, I was about to throw up! He reeked of alcohol, sweat, and cigarettes—never a heady combination if you asked me.

Just as the drunk guy was leaning in to kiss me, Dakota was suddenly at my side, roughly and effectively yanking him away from me. I blinked, unable to comprehend how she was able to make him budge that easily.

There was something in her eyes as she glared at my attacker—an intensity that sent chills down my spine. The way her eyes glowed with rage made me somehow believe that she could beat the shit out of the bastard.

“Back off, man. She’s not interested.” Dakota’s voice was firm.

The drunk guy only scoffed. “This is none of your business, but you look pretty too. Why don’t you just join the fun?”

But Dakota wasn’t having it; she pushed me behind her as if she were a knight in shining armor. “It is my business when you’re harassing someone in my territory,” she warned.

I held my breath, unsure of what would happen next. Part of me felt grateful for Dakota standing up for me, but another part of me was on overdrive. My eyes darted from Dakota to the bottle on the bar counter, thinking of using it as a weapon just in case.

Then, just as the drunk guy took a step forward, his words slurring into something darker, angrier, everyone and everything stilled—like the whole place had drawn one collective breath.

I stepped back instinctively, pulling Dakota with me, my pulse a frantic drum in my throat. I quickly glanced around, praying a “Hail Mary” for someone, anyone, to intervene, but faces blurred and dissolved into shadow.

Then suddenly, a voice, low and calm, cut through the tension like a blade through silk. “That’s enough.”

The drunk guy froze midmotion, eyes narrowing, confused.

From the edge of the circle stepped a figure I hadn’t noticed before. He was tall—taller than anyone I’d seen here—and he moved with a quiet, deliberate power that made the hairs on my arms rise. His presence hit the space like cold thunder, undeniable and intense.

I couldn’t see his face clearly, but his aura was electric. It stopped everyone cold, as if he were…the most dangerous man in the entire continent.

Dangerous not because of his clothes, which were simple, dark, and clean-cut, but because of the way the world seemed to adjust around him. Like the ground knew he was coming and made room. Like everyone leaned toward him to listen.

“Get the hell out of here, and don’t come back,” he growled.

In an instant, my attacker took a clumsy step back, muttering something incoherent, looking scared and suddenly sober. Like, what the hell?

“Who is that?” I couldn’t help but whisper to Dakota under my breath.

The stranger’s gaze slid to me then, just for a second, and my heart nearly stopped.

In that instant, as strange as it might sound, I knew: my story at Duke was no longer just mine. It belonged to this man too.