LUNA OF THE BLOODMOON

The forest was quiet—too quiet. Louve had learned long ago that silence meant death was near. And tonight, death smelled like ash.

Her stomach growled, a cruel reminder of how long she’d gone without food. The last rabbit she’d managed to catch had been three nights ago, and even that had been nothing but bones and fur. Winter’s grip was merciless in these mountains. Snow clung to the roots of ancient trees like white fire, and the wind sliced through her thin leather jacket as if mocking her attempts to stay warm.

She pulled the hood tighter around her face, breath ghosting in the night air. Every step felt heavier, but stopping wasn’t an option. A rogue didn’t get the luxury of rest. Not when packs hunted anything that smelled of weakness.

Not when the mark burned against her skin like a curse.

Her fingers brushed the edge of her left shoulder where the scarred crescent moon rested, marred by three claw marks. The same mark that had damned her the night she was born. The same mark her mother had whispered about in terror before the pack cast her out like disease.

Moonbane. That’s what they called it. A word soaked in blood and fear.

She gritted her teeth and kept moving. She hated that word. Hated what it made her—a prophecy in flesh, a wolf without a home.

The forest shifted around her, the silence growing heavier. Louve’s wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin, urging caution. She stopped, head tilting. The snow carried scents—pine, frost, and… something else. Musky. Sharp.

Wolves.

Her pulse spiked.

Not rogues. Not loners. This scent was too strong, too layered with dominance and iron. A pack.

Louve swallowed hard and turned sharply, scanning the shadows. The trees stretched high and endless, black silhouettes under the silver wash of moonlight. She couldn’t see them yet, but she didn’t need to. The scent told her everything: she had wandered into claimed land.

Damn it.

She hadn’t meant to cross any borders. She’d been running on instinct for days, driven by hunger and exhaustion, moving without thought. But now… now she was standing in someone else’s territory. And if they found her—

A low growl rolled through the darkness like distant thunder.

Louve froze.

Another followed. Then another. Surrounding her. Closing in.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as shapes began to emerge from the trees—massive wolves, fur rippling like shadows come to life. Their eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, primal and merciless. Bloodmoon warriors.

Panic clawed up her throat. She took a step back, only to find another wolf blocking her escape. Its lips peeled back, revealing fangs glinting white.

“Shit.”

She shifted instinctively, bones snapping, fur tearing through skin. Pain flared, raw and searing, but it was a familiar agony, one she welcomed if it meant survival. Her paws hit the snow, claws digging deep, and her ears filled with the sound of her own ragged breathing.

Run.

She bolted.

The forest exploded around her as the warriors gave chase, snarls ripping through the night. Snow sprayed beneath her paws as she darted between trees, lungs burning, legs screaming. They were faster. Stronger. Pack wolves always were.

Her wolf pushed harder, muscles coiling, but hunger and exhaustion dragged at her like chains. She could hear them gaining, feel the heat of their breath on her tail.

Then something slammed into her side. Hard.

She crashed into the snow with a snarl, rolling, kicking, teeth snapping. A massive wolf pinned her down, its weight crushing the air from her lungs. Before she could twist free, another closed in, then another, circling like vultures.

A voice cut through the chaos—deep, cold, commanding.

“Shift.”

The word cracked like a whip through the pack bond she wasn’t part of but could feel like static in the air. The wolves obeyed instantly, stepping back as fur melted into flesh. Louve lay panting in the snow, chest heaving, eyes burning gold.

Then he stepped out from the trees.

Alpha.

Even without the scent of dominance rolling off him like smoke, she would have known. Power clung to him, dark and absolute, coiling beneath his skin like a predator waiting to strike. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes like molten silver and a face carved from shadow—too sharp to be beautiful, too brutal to be anything but lethal.

Alpha Dolph.

She knew the name. Everyone did. The Bloodmoon Alpha. A wolf whispered about in fear. Ruthless. Unyielding. A killer.

And the moment his gaze locked on hers, the world shifted.

Heat slammed through her, fierce and unrelenting, as if the moon itself had set her veins on fire. Her wolf roared inside her, a desperate, aching sound.

Mate.

The bond snapped into place like a trap, cruel and undeniable.

Louve’s breath hitched. She hadn’t believed in this. Not really. Not for her. And certainly not like this—not with him.

His expression didn’t change. If he felt it too, he hid it well. Those silver eyes stayed cold, unreadable, even as they raked over her with quiet contempt.

“A rogue,” he said, voice like steel scraping stone. “In my territory.”

Louve forced herself to shift back, biting back a cry as bones shattered and reformed. She knelt in the snow, naked, trembling from cold and fury, meeting his gaze with defiance burning through the terror.

“I didn’t know,” she rasped. Her voice was raw, cracked from disuse. “I was just—”

“Hunting?” His lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Or running?”

Her jaw clenched. She didn’t answer.

Dolph stepped closer, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. The air thickened with his scent—smoke, pine, iron—and it hit her like a drug, making her stomach twist and her wolf whimper despite herself.

Mate.

“Take her,” he ordered without looking away from her.

Hands gripped her arms, rough and unyielding, hauling her to her feet. She thrashed, teeth bared, but the warriors held her fast.

“You can’t—”

His eyes cut to hers, and the words died in her throat. There was no mercy in that gaze. No warmth.

“I can,” he said softly. “And I will.”

Then he turned his back on her, walking away as if she were nothing more than prey already claimed.

And gods help her, some part of her wished he’d looked back.