Chapter One: The Hunt Begins
She was bleeding. And the moon was watching.
The scent of blood shouldn't have reached this far. Not under concealment spells. Not buried this deep in neutral land. But something had cracked.
Something ancient.
Aria Vale stumbled backward, clutching her palm. Crimson trickled between her fingers, thick and hot. The blade had only nicked her—but that wasn't what made her breath hitch.
It was the air.
The stillness.
Like the forest itself was holding its breath.
A wind swept through the clearing, too cold for spring, slicing through her cloak and through her skin. Her blood hissed against the mossy ground like it had touched fire. And then—
The howling began.
Low. Distant. Wrong.
Not a wolf's cry of longing or warning.
It was a summons.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"No," she whispered, panic choking her. "Not now."
She grabbed the herb basket and bolted, heart punching against her ribs. Branches clawed at her face as she ran, the wind howling louder behind her. She knew better than to bleed under a blood moon.
She should never have left the cottage. Never.
But her body had burned all night, fevered and restless. Her skin prickled like it didn't belong to her, her bones aching as if something inside wanted out.
Her wolf.
The one she'd spent nineteen years suppressing.
She didn't make it ten steps before the world shuddered.
---
Miles away…
Lucien Draven's eyes snapped open.
The air was sharp, metallic—like the taste of fate.
He rose from the stone throne in silence. Around him, his war council froze mid-sentence. The firelight flickered across his scarred jaw and bare chest, shadows dancing like serpents across the runes inked into his skin.
He didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
"Do you smell that?" he asked, voice like black velvet over steel.
The guards exchanged nervous glances.
"Alpha?" his beta, Darius, asked.
Lucien's nostrils flared. A slow, wicked smile curved his mouth.
"She's real."
He moved like a beast released from a cage, crossing the hall in three strides. His wolf was snarling beneath his skin, demanding freedom. Demanding her.
"Send the hounds," he said. "She bleeds."
---
Back in the valley…
Aria slammed the cottage door behind her, chest heaving. Mirren, the old healer, turned sharply from the fire.
"You went out?"
Aria said nothing, dropping the herb basket and stumbling toward the table.
Mirren reached her in seconds, grabbing her wounded hand.
"You cut yourself under a blood moon?" she hissed. "Are you trying to die?"
"I didn't mean to—" Aria's voice cracked. "I didn't know it would—"
"The moon doesn't care about intention, girl." Mirren's wrinkled hands trembled. "You were born under it. Your blood is a beacon."
Aria stared into the old woman's eyes. "You said I was safe here."
"You were. Until tonight."
Aria's throat closed. "I felt something. Watching me."
"You were seen," Mirren whispered. "You need to hide. Now."
"No." Aria backed away. "I saw him. In my head. A man. Black hair. Gold eyes. He—he looked at me like he knew me."
Mirren's eyes went wide. "The prophecy…"
"What prophecy?"
But the healer turned away, already muttering in ancient tongue, drawing symbols in the ash.
---
On the ridge above the valley, hours later…
Lucien stood still as stone, the scent pulling him like a thread woven through the night.
He'd tracked it here—to this forgotten corner of the world. A valley cloaked in magic and moonlight. His wolf paced beneath his skin, every muscle taut, ready to rip through bone.
"She doesn't even know what she is," Darius said behind him. "She's… unshifted."
Lucien's voice was low. "And yet her blood sings to mine."
"She's dangerous, Alpha."
"She's mine."
And gods help the world if she tried to run.
---
Aria
The silence was worse than the wind.
It pressed against the walls of the cottage like a living thing, breathing, waiting. Aria sat by the fire with her knees to her chest, a blanket wrapped tight around her, but it couldn't stop the trembling.
Not the shaking in her bones.
Not the heat beneath her skin.
Not the strange ache in her chest, like something inside her was… missing.
She touched the cut on her hand again. It had stopped bleeding—but her fingers still tingled. The edges of her vision shimmered with color she couldn't name. Her heartbeat didn't feel like her own anymore.
It felt echoed.
Like it belonged to someone else, somewhere far away.
Someone coming closer.
"Mirren," she said quietly, "what did you mean… the prophecy?"
The old woman didn't turn from her place at the hearth, where she stirred a mixture of wolfsbane and feverleaf into a bowl. Her hands moved methodically, but her voice was quiet. Tense.
"Some bloodlines are not meant to survive," she said. "Your mother was from one. A line the Alpha Kings feared more than war itself. Moonbound, they were called. Wives of prophecy. Bearers of ruin."
"And me?"
"You are the last."
Aria stared at her.
"You should have died as a baby," Mirren said simply, without cruelty. "But your mother made a deal with an ancient thing and disappeared into the neutral lands. I found you half-dead in the snow."
Aria's lips parted, but no sound came.
"You were meant to be hidden. But the blood moon calls what cannot stay buried." Mirren turned, her face grave. "He's coming for you, child. The Alpha King. The one whose reign was cursed before it began."
A chill licked down Aria's spine.
"I saw him," she whispered.
---
Lucien
She was close
Lucien crouched in the brush, eyes glowing faint gold, the wolf beneath his skin barely restrained. The valley was warded, cloaked in a net of old magic—but he could smell her now.
Sweet. Wild. Marked by the moon.
He'd known women. Fought beside them. Fucked them. Killed them. But this… this scent reached deeper than lust. It scraped something inside him that had never had a name.
The prophecy whispered again in his ears:
"Your true mate will either break your curse… or end your reign."
Lucien bared his teeth in a smile that wasn't human.
He wanted to taste her fear.
He wanted to cage her voice.
He wanted to own every inch of her—mind, body, soul.
But more than that…
He wanted to know her.
The creature in him stirred. Now, it growled. Ours.
"She's close," Lucien said, rising to full height. "No more scouts. No more waiting."
Darius looked uneasy. "You said we'd wait until moonset."
"I lied."
He shifted.
Bones cracked. Skin tore. Muscle expanded. His beast emerged—twice the size of a normal wolf, eyes burning molten gold, fur black as midnight. Silent as death.
He ran.
---
Aria
The firelight flickered violently.
Aria stumbled to her feet. Her skin prickled, her heartbeat accelerating.
He was here. Somewhere. Watching.
The cut on her hand began to pulse—glowing faintly silver beneath the skin.
"No," she gasped. "Not again—"
Then the wind outside shifted. And the howl returned.
But this time… it wasn't distant.
It was right outside the door.
The sound was low and vibrating, not a cry—but a declaration.
Mirren paled. "He found you."
Aria backed away, panic crashing through her veins. "What do I do? I can't shift—I don't even know how—"
The old woman stepped forward, placing a small charm into Aria's hand.
"Run. The river beyond the ridge will mask your scent. I'll stall him."
"Mirren—"
"Go, child. Now!"
---
Outside
Lucien shifted back to human form before reaching the edge of the cottage. His body steamed with residual heat, his hands still clawed. His heart pounded—not from exertion, but from something worse:
Recognition.
She was here.
He could feel her through the bond, even if she didn't know it yet. A thread of fire wrapped around his ribcage, pulling him forward.
The door burst open.
He stepped into the small home. Empty. The fire flickered. The scent—hers—lingered everywhere.
Then a hiss behind him.
Mirren.
He turned slowly. "Where is she?"
The woman didn't flinch. "Gone."
Lucien's gaze sharpened. "Do not lie to me, witch."
"She'll die before she's yours."
Lucien stepped forward, eyes glowing.
"Then I'll tear this land apart until there's nothing left but ash."
---
Aria
The forest was alive.
Branches lashed at her face. Roots clawed at her feet. The cloak snagged, tore, fell behind her—but she didn't stop.
She couldn't.
Something was chasing her. Not just a wolf. Not a man.
Both. Neither. More.
And her blood—the cursed blood—was singing.
Her lungs burned. Her legs trembled. The river ahead shimmered under the moonlight like a silver blade, and she threw herself toward it with everything she had.
She splashed into the water just as a snarl tore through the air behind her.
A massive black wolf burst into the clearing, muscles rippling, gold eyes fixed on her with something not quite rage.
She froze.
The bond slammed into her like a fist to the chest. Her breath hitched.
Heat. Panic. Pull.
Her knees gave out in the cold water.
Lucien.
She didn't know how she knew his name—but it pressed against her skull like a brand.
The wolf snarled again—but didn't move.
Why wasn't he attacking?
Aria stared at him, wide-eyed, breathless. "What are you?"
The beast growled low, but it wasn't anger. It was something more primal. Something older. He took one step forward—and she flinched.
His body tensed.
She could feel it—his conflict.
Then suddenly, he turned—vanished into the shadows.
Gone.
Aria collapsed into the river, sobbing from fear, adrenaline, and something she didn't yet understand.