Chapter 2 002

Vuk Kael Lasković

I was watching three omegas on my bed when the scent hit me.

For three hundred and fifty years, nothing has made my pulse quicken. I have taken every body offered, broken every soul that begged, and still woke up cold. Tonight was supposed to be the same mindless ritual. Then it punched through the walls like divine violence.

Lunar blood. Pure. Untouched. Mine.

The crystal glass slipped from my fingers and shattered. Wine bled across the marble like fresh slaughter.

Every wolf in the room froze. The omegas stopped mid-movement, eyes wide with animal fear.

I stood slowly. Fangs punched through my gums. Lunar blood. Virgin. Mine.

The omega closest to me-some pretty redhead-reached for my thigh. I pushed her away without looking. She fell to the floor with a cry.

I didn't care. My wolf was screaming so loud the shadows bled across the ceiling like living things.

I snatched a black robe and walked out, shirtless, barefoot, veins glowing faint gold beneath the skin.

The scent was everywhere and nowhere. It curled through the hallways like smoke, taunted me, then vanished the second I turned a corner. I followed it like a mad dog, tearing through corridors, leaving gouges in the marble.

A maid rounded the corner carrying fresh linens. She took one look at me-eyes glowing, fangs visible-and dropped everything.

"Where is she?" I demanded, voice echoing.

She choked, eyes wide, legs shaking. I released her. She ran.

Still no scent. I punched the wall. Marble cracked.

Eryx-my beta-came running. "Alpha-"

"The Hunt begins in an hour," I said, voice low. "The new stock is ready. The council is waiting."

The Hunt. Normally I lived for it: naked prey released into the snow, arrows whistling, screams echoing for miles. Tonight the thought made bile rise in my throat.

But the scent was gone, and I needed to move before I tore my own fortress apart.

We walked to the arena in silence.

The high seats were already filled-old wolves in silver masks, sipping wine. Torches hissed. The air stank of fear and blood.

Below, the cages opened with a screech of rusted iron. Twenty naked bodies spilled out onto the white snow. They ran blind, screaming, leaving bloody footprints.

I raised the crossbow. Bolt after bolt. Bodies dropped. Blood steamed in the cold, painting the snow crimson.

Still nothing calmed the beast.

Then the scent hit me again. Stronger. She was here.

My head snapped toward the private cages on the far side of the arena. A masked lord in silver stood there, coat open, laughing with his pack of sycophants. Expensive cologne rolled off him in waves.

And draped over his arm, trembling in nothing but chains and his too-big coat... Her.

Silver-veined skin. White-gold hair spilling from the hood. Eyes wide with terror and something worse-recognition.

She was tiny against him, drowning in his coat, collar around her throat like she was already broken.

The masked bastard leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She flinched, tried to pull away.

He dared touch what was mine.

I dropped the crossbow. It clattered to the stone. The entire arena went silent. Even the dying stopped screaming.

I stepped off the platform. Snow crunched beneath my bare feet as I walked straight across the killing field-past the corpses, past the blood. Every single wolf in the stands dropped to their knees. Heads bowed. Throats bared.

The masked lord's smirk faltered.

I stopped one foot away. Her scent flooded me-moonlight and terror-and my vision tunneled until only she existed.

I looked at the hand he still had on her arm. Then I looked at him.

"Take your hand off my mate," I said, voice soft as a lover's, sharp as a blade. "Or I'll wear it as a necklace."