"No one survives the Blood Moon's Offering."
The words echoed in Elara's mind as she stood barefoot on the frozen earth, wrists bound, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. Seven of them had been chosen—their fates sealed by a kingdom that valued gold over human lives.
She didn't scream.
She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Behind her, the village gathered, their torches flickering like fireflies in the night. She felt their gazes on her—some filled with pity, most with relief. Relief that it wasn't them. Relief that this year, Elara was one of the seven.
The guards shoved her forward, the chains rattling as the line of sacrifices stumbled toward the black-carved gate of Duskmoor Keep—the domain of the cursed Alpha.
A shiver danced down her spine.
Legends said he was a beast, a demon in the form of a man. They said he ripped throats out with his bare teeth and bathed in the blood of those who displeased him. They whispered that his palace was a graveyard for the unfortunate souls chosen on the Blood Moon.
Elara never believed in fairy tales.
But standing there, staring at the towering obsidian fortress, she realized this was no fairy tale. It was a nightmare. And she was its newest victim.
---
Earlier That Night – The Betrayal
"Elara, it's for the best."
The slap came before she could stop it. Her aunt, Mara, staggered back, her hand flying to her cheek. For a moment, there was stunned silence in the dimly lit cottage—then Mara's lips twisted into a cruel smile.
"You hit me?" she whispered, voice dripping with mockery. "The wretched orphan girl finally grew claws?"
Elara's chest heaved. "You sold me. For gold."
Her cousin snickered from the corner, biting into an apple as if this were just another evening's entertainment. "We should've done it sooner. You were never family."
Mara sighed, rubbing her cheek as if Elara's slap had actually hurt. "You were a burden from the day your parents died. The only thing you ever brought us was bad luck."
Elara's nails dug into her palms. "You—"
"Be grateful," Mara cut her off. "If the Alpha kills you quickly, you'll finally be of some use to someone."
Elara lunged.
She didn't care if it was foolish or useless—she wanted to tear them apart for what they'd done. But before her hands could reach Mara's throat, rough hands wrenched her backward.
Two guards. Iron-like grips.
"Elara of Blackwood," one of them announced. "You have been chosen for the Blood Moon's Offering."
A scream tore from her lips as they dragged her away. Her cousin laughed. Mara didn't even look back.
---
Present – The Black Gate
The seven chosen stood in a trembling line as the great black gate groaned open. Beyond it lay darkness. A chilling wind howled through the trees, as if the forest itself mourned them.
Elara lifted her chin, refusing to look afraid. She would not beg. Not for her aunt, not for the villagers, and certainly not for the Alpha.
A soldier barked orders, forcing them forward. One of the men next to her—a boy barely seventeen—sobbed into his sleeve. Another girl muttered prayers under her breath.
And then—
Boom.
A deep, echoing howl split through the night, so powerful it shook the ground beneath them. One of the chosen let out a choked cry. Another collapsed.
Elara?
Her pulse pounded. She had never heard a sound like it—low, guttural, ancient. It was not the sound of a wolf. It was something worse. Something unnatural.
A shadow moved beyond the trees. A presence. Watching. Waiting.
Then came the growl. Low. Dark. Right behind her.
Elara turned.
And came face to face with death itself.
...