Luna ran as if all the demons of hell chased her through the forest. Perhaps they did. Her packmates—her former packmates—were little better than demons now in her eyes. The betrayal burned in her chest, a physical ache that rivaled the strain in her muscles.
She pushed deeper into the wilderness, lungs heaving, legs pumping with preternatural strength. Branches whipped at her face, but she barely felt them. Her body had already begun healing the scratches, another reminder of the unnatural abilities that had made her a target.
What was happening to her?
The question pounded in her mind with each footfall. Normal shifters didn't possess the strength she'd demonstrated today. They couldn't make the impossible leap she'd executed to capture the chimera. They didn't heal with such frightening speed.
The chimera.
Luna faltered, her pace breaking as the memory of the creature's death flashed before her eyes. Silver blood on her muzzle, on her hands. The life draining from its unusual eyes. She had killed it without hesitation, efficiently, brutally.
Just as they believed she would.
"A threat to the natural order," Darius had called her. And hadn't she just proven him right?
Luna shook her head violently and forced herself to keep moving. Self-doubt was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not when the pack might still be pursuing her. Not when Archer might be—
Her throat tightened. Archer had sacrificed himself for her. The only one who'd stood against the pack's treachery.
"Find the exiled Elder in the eastern mountains," he had said. The mountains rose in the distance, their peaks bruised purple against the darkening sky. East. She needed to head east.
Luna adjusted her course, the setting sun at her back. She had no supplies, no weapons, nothing but the hunting leathers she wore. But she had her wolf form, her strength, and a growing fury that seemed to burn just beneath her skin.
The anger kept her warm as twilight fell, kept her legs moving when exhaustion threatened to claim her. The forest thinned, giving way to rockier terrain as she approached the foothills. Still, she pushed on, unwilling to stop while there was even a chance of pursuit.
Hours passed. The moon rose, nearly full, bathing the landscape in silver light. Normally, such a sight would fill Luna with peace. Tonight, it only reminded her of what she'd lost—her pack, her home, her place in the world.
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Had she ever truly had a place? Always the outsider, always too different, too strong, too much. Perhaps this exile was merely making official what had always been true.
The higher she climbed into the foothills, the more her supernatural strength began to falter. Her enhanced abilities weren't infinite. The sustained flight, the emotional shock, the earlier Hunt and fight—it was all catching up to her.
Luna's vision blurred. She stumbled over a protruding rock, barely catching herself before she fell face-first onto the stony ground. Her body trembled with exhaustion and the beginning of shock.
Keep moving. Just keep moving.
The mantra kept her going for another mile, maybe two. But even her extraordinary endurance had limits. When her legs finally gave out, she collapsed against the trunk of a gnarled pine, gasping for breath.
Her enhanced senses, usually so sharp, began to dull. The night sounds—the rustle of leaves, the distant cry of a hunting owl—faded to a muffled hum. The cool night air against her skin felt distant, disconnected.
Luna tried to force herself back to her feet, but her body refused to obey. A strange warmth spread through her limbs, at odds with the chill night. Not the heat of exertion, but something deeper. Something that seemed to pulse from inside her very bones.
She glanced down at her hands, startled to see a faint silvery light emanating from beneath her skin. The same light she'd noticed in her wolf form earlier, now visible in her human shape.
"What am I?" she whispered to the empty forest.
No answer came but the whisper of wind through pine needles.
The silvery glow intensified momentarily, pulsing like a heartbeat, then began to fade. As it dimmed, so did Luna's consciousness. Darkness encroached on the edges of her vision. She struggled against it, knowing that to lose consciousness was to become vulnerable.
But her body had reached its limit. Whatever power burned within her, it had exhausted itself for now.
Luna's last coherent thought was of Archer, wondering if he had survived, if his sacrifice had been in vain. Then of the chimera, its strange eyes dimming as life left its body. Silver blood on her hands.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, though whether to Archer or the chimera, she couldn't have said.
Then darkness claimed her, and Luna knew no more.
She dreamed she was running.
In her wolf form, Luna raced through a moonlit forest she'd never seen before. The trees were ancient, their trunks wider than houses, their canopy so dense that only scattered fragments of silver light pierced through. Moss-covered stones hummed with strange energies beneath her paws.
She ran with effortless speed, her body lighter than it had ever felt. The sensation was exhilarating, freeing. Then came the strange part—an itching between her shoulder blades, intensifying with each stride.
The forest opened onto a cliff edge, and without hesitation, Luna leapt—not across, but upward. A searing pain lanced through her back as something tore through flesh and fur. Great wings, silver as moonlight, unfurled from her wolf body, catching the air currents.
She was flying.
Below her, the forest spread in all directions, but ahead lay mountains shrouded in mist, beckoning. Luna beat her impossible wings, soaring higher, a creature that couldn't—shouldn't—exist.
In the distance, a shadowy form with three distinct silhouettes watched her from the highest peak. It made no sound, gave no sign, yet somehow Luna knew it was waiting. For her.
The dream shifted, fragments of images flashing through her mind: silver blood pooling on stone, feathers falling like snow, eyes watching from darkness—eyes with vertical pupils that reflected her own face back at her.
No words were spoken, no prophecy delivered. Only the undeniable sense that something had changed, that boundaries had been crossed that could never be reestablished.
The wings on her back began to burn, not with pain but with a cold fire that spread through her entire body.
And then she was falling, tumbling through darkness, the ground rushing up to meet her...
Pain woke her. Not the sharp, immediate pain of injury, but the deep ache of muscles pushed beyond their limits. Luna's eyes fluttered open to unfamiliar surroundings—not the forest floor where she'd collapsed, but somewhere enclosed. Warm.
Rough-hewn log walls surrounded her. She lay on a narrow cot covered in furs, her body cleaned of the dirt and blood from her flight. Someone had removed her tattered hunting leathers and dressed her in an oversized shirt that smelled of pine and something else she couldn't identify.
Luna's instincts flared to life. She tried to sit up, only to have her muscles scream in protest. A groan escaped her lips before she could stifle it.
"Finally." A flat, disinterested voice came from a shadowed corner of the room. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep forever."
Luna turned her head, wincing at the effort. At first, she saw only a slender figure in dark clothing, but as the figure moved toward her, stepping into a shaft of light from the small window, Luna's breath caught in her throat.
A chimera.
Not the same as the one she'd killed—this one was female, with more delicate features. But the resemblance was unmistakable: the feline eyes with vertical pupils, the subtle shift in her gait that hinted at the goat-like legs concealed beneath her long black skirt, the way her dark hair moved slightly at her shoulders as if something was restlessly coiled beneath it—the serpent tail.
Luna tensed, confusion and apprehension washing over her. Why would a chimera be helping her? Was this some kind of trap?
"Where am I?" Her voice came out as a rasp.
"Camp Forsaken." The chimera's voice was monotone, her expression impassive as she placed a steaming mug on the small table beside Luna's cot. "Welcome to the island of misfit monsters."
"How did I get here?" Luna asked, eyeing the chimera warily.
"Thorvald found you collapsed in the forest during his night patrol." The chimera gestured vaguely toward the door. "Our resident gentle giant. All muscles, poetry, and herbal teas." Her lips quirked slightly. "He brought you back half-dead. You've been out for two days."
"Two days?" Luna struggled to sit up again, this time succeeding despite the pain. "I need to go. They might still be tracking me."
Something like amusement flickered across the chimera's face. "No one tracks anyone to Camp Forsaken without our permission. You're safe here." She pushed the mug toward Luna. "Drink. Thorvald insisted it would help with the pain. He's annoying, but he knows his herbs."
Luna eyed the steaming liquid suspiciously.
The chimera rolled her eyes. "If I wanted you dead, wolf-girl, poisoning your tea would be... unimaginative." She crossed her arms. "Besides, I could have done anything while you were unconscious for two days."
Luna tentatively reached for the mug, the realization slowly dawning on her. This chimera—this creature whose kin she had killed without a second thought during the Hunt—had been caring for her while she was unconscious. Had cleaned her wounds. Had possibly even saved her life.
A knot of something unfamiliar formed in her chest. Not fear, not confusion, but something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like shame.
"I'm Ariana," the chimera said, studying Luna with unnerving intensity. "And you are?"
"Luna," she replied, voice barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat. "I need to find someone. The exiled Elder. I was told she lives in these mountains."
Ariana's eyebrows shot up—the first genuine expression Luna had seen on her face. Then she let out a short, harsh laugh.
"That crazy old lady? She's gone. Nobody knows where to or when she'll be back." Ariana's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "But she won't die because she's too crazy. Probably wandering the wilderness talking to trees or whatever it is she does."
Luna's heart sank. The Elder had been her only lead, her only hope for answers. Archer's words echoed in her mind: "Find the exiled Elder in the eastern mountains—she can help you!" Had his sacrifice been for nothing? Had he—
"Luna," Ariana repeated, her voice flat but her eyes watchful. "Well, Luna, once you're strong enough to stand, there are some folks here who'll want to meet you." She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Word of advice? Whatever you're running from, whoever you're hiding from—we don't care. Everyone at Camp Forsaken has a past. Just don't bring yours to our doorstep."
The door closed behind her, and Luna sat in silence. The realization of what had just happened settled over her like a weight. A chimera had nursed her back to health, had possibly even saved her life—after she had killed one of their kind without hesitation, without mercy. Silver blood on her hands, life draining from unusual eyes.
The memory of the Hunt, which had seemed so justified in the moment, now felt different. Uncomfortable. A sick feeling grew in her stomach as she thought about what she'd done—not just killing the chimera, but doing it so easily, so efficiently. As if it had been nothing more than an animal.
Before she could sink further into these unsettling thoughts, the door swung open again, and a man ducked through the entrance—a startlingly handsome man. Luna's breath caught for an entirely different reason than it had with Ariana.
He was tall—extraordinarily so—with broad shoulders and a physique that made Darius look like a gangly teenager by comparison. His jaw was strong and perfectly sculpted, his cheekbones high, his lips full. Tousled dark hair fell over one eye, and when he brushed it back, Luna noticed a faint, barely perceptible greenish undertone to his otherwise golden skin—the only hint that he wasn't entirely human.
An Ogre? No, that couldn't be right. Ogres were supposed to be grotesque, misshapen creatures—not this walking embodiment of physical perfection. But there was something not quite human in the way he moved—a fluidity that belied his size, a grace that seemed impossible for someone so powerfully built.
"Ah! Our guest awakens!" His voice was deep and melodic, like warm honey poured over gravel. He carried a small leather-bound book in one hand—large, but still dwarfed by his long, elegant fingers. "I hope Ariana wasn't too... herself. She means well, in her own way."
Luna realized she was staring and forced herself to look away. "She was fine," she murmured, suddenly aware of how she must look—disheveled, unwashed, dressed in an oversized shirt. Heat crept up her neck.
"I'm Thorvald." He gave a formal, almost courtly bow that accentuated the perfect proportions of his body. "One-eighth Ogre, seven-eighths trouble, according to my mother." His smile was devastating—warm and slightly crooked, revealing dimples that should be illegal on a man built like he was. "How's the tea? I added chamomile and valerian root for nerves, but also skullcap for the muscular recovery. The dosage is quite precise—too much skullcap can cause vivid dreams, you see."
His eyes—a deep amber that seemed to catch and hold the light—held no suspicion, no judgment—just genuine concern and something like gentle amusement. It was so different from what Luna was accustomed to that she hardly knew how to respond. She found herself absurdly grateful that her enhanced healing abilities had at least erased the scratches on her face.
"Thank you," she managed, desperately hoping she didn't look as flustered as she felt. "For the tea. And for finding me."
Thorvald nodded, his smile softening. "Rest now. We can talk more later." He backed toward the door, his movements fluid and controlled. "There's fresh water in that pitcher, and I'll bring food soon."
When he'd gone, Luna let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. What was wrong with her? She'd just escaped a death sentence, lost her pack, possibly lost Archer, discovered strange new abilities, and yet here she was, momentarily distracted by a pretty face and impressive... everything.
Focus, Luna. Focus.
When he'd gone, Luna sipped the tea, mind racing. Two days unconscious. The pack could be anywhere by now—still hunting her, or perhaps believing her dead. And Archer... had he survived? Had he escaped as well?
The exiled Elder was gone, apparently. Another dead end.
But overshadowing all these concerns was the growing sense of shame about the chimera she'd killed. She had never questioned the Hunt before—it was pack tradition, pack law. But now, after meeting Ariana, after being helped by her... Luna couldn't stop seeing the parallels. The chimera she'd killed might have had a name too. Might have had friends who would miss it. Might have been more than just prey.
Luna set the mug down and forced herself to stand, gritting her teeth against the pain. She needed answers, and she wouldn't find them lying in bed.
As she steadied herself, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Her dark hair hung loose around a face that looked thinner, sharper than she remembered. But it was her eyes that made her freeze.
They had always been unusual—a clear, pale blue that stood out against her olive skin and dark hair. Now, however, a ring of silver circled each iris, glinting in the dim light like molten metal.
The flying wolf from her dream flashed in her mind, its wings spreading silver against the night sky.
She was still examining her changed reflection when the door swung open without warning. Ariana stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.
"If you're done admiring yourself, the others want to meet you." Her tone was as flat as ever, but there was something like amusement in her eyes. "Camp tradition. New strays get the welcome committee."
Luna turned from the mirror. "I don't know if I'm ready for a 'welcome committee.'"
"Too bad. They're ready for you." Ariana pushed off from the doorframe and glanced down at Luna's bare legs. "There are clothes in that trunk. Nothing fancy, all donations. Find something that fits."
Luna hesitated. "Thorvald said he'd be back with food—"
"Poetry Boy?" Ariana's expression didn't change, but her voice took on a subtle teasing quality. "He'll find us. Hard to miss him, considering he's approximately the size of a redwood tree with the face of a classical sculpture." She paused, then added in the exact same monotone: "It's completely unfair. The rest of us look like monsters, and he gets to be one-eighth ogre with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes you could drown in."
Luna couldn't help the surprised laugh that escaped her lips. "I... didn't notice."
"Sure you didn't." Ariana's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "I'll wait outside. Don't take forever."
When the door closed, Luna crossed to the trunk and began searching for clothes. For a brief moment, the weight of her situation lifted. Strange as it was, this place—Camp Forsaken—already felt less threatening than the pack she'd grown up with.
She pulled on a pair of worn but clean leggings and a loose tunic, then reached for the door. Whatever waited for her on the other side, whatever challenges this new world held, she would face them head-on.
Luna opened the door to find Ariana waiting, her back to the wall, eyes closed as if meditating. They snapped open as Luna emerged.
"Finally," Ariana said, pushing off from the wall. "Let's go meet the island of misfit monsters." She started down the hallway, then glanced back over her shoulder. "Fair warning: some of us bite."