The scent of blood is thick—metallic, suffocating. It coats my tongue, sharp as a blade. The iron bars dig into my back as I crouch, every muscle coiled. Torchlight flickers, throwing jagged shadows across the stone walls. The damp air hums with restless energy.

I am not alone.

Cages line the chamber, packed with bodies—wolves, stripped of their power, waiting to die. The Hunt. Blackthorn Hollow's sick tradition. Every year, the nobles descend, picking their prey like cattle. Some of us were warriors. Some were barely more than pups. It doesn't matter.

Because tonight, we are not people. We are sport.

Laughter echoes from the great hall above—drunken, cruel, filled with anticipation. They feast while we wait to die.

Beside me, a young wolf trembles. His name is Lior. His scent reeks of terror. His hands are too human, gripping the bars so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"They're coming," he whispers, his voice hollow. "They'll pick us soon."

I don't answer. I don't need to. We all know it's true.

Then—the sound of heavy boots against stone.

I should feel fear. I should be like Lior, trembling at the sound of approaching death. But I am not afraid.

I am angry.

The rage sits in my chest like a caged beast, claws scraping against my ribs. I have spent three months in this hell—three months waiting for a chance. Watching. Learning. Counting the movements of the guards, the shift changes, the weight of the keys on their belts.

They think they have broken me.

They have no idea what's coming.

But anger is not the only thing inside me.

Guilt.

My pack. My people. My failure.

I close my eyes, and the memories flood in like a curse.

Blood on the snow.

The howls of my brothers and sisters.

The betrayal.

The silver chains tightening around my throat.

I was an Alpha. A leader. Now I am a prisoner, waiting to be hunted like a common beast.

I open my eyes, and the weight of my past settles deep in my bones. I will not die here.

The Hunt is here.

But this year, the rules will change.

The heavy wooden door creaks open, and golden light spills into the chamber. A figure steps inside, flanked by two guards in polished black armor. Lord Alric Blackthorn. Master of this twisted game.

He moves through the room with a casual arrogance, surveying the cages. Some werewolves cower in the corners, too broken to fight. Others growl low in their throats, shackled and waiting for the inevitable.

Alric stops in front of me. His lips curve into a smirk.

"Ah, Kade," he says smoothly. "Still alive, I see."

I don't move. Don't react.

He leans closer. "They say you were a warrior once. A leader. Stronger, faster, smarter than most of your kind. I suppose that makes you the most entertaining choice for tonight's game."

Game.

My fingers flex. My claws press against my palms.

"They also say you don't break easily." Alric tilts his head. "Let's see if that's true."

He turns to his guards. "Take him."

The cage door swings open.

I explode.

I slam into the first guard before he can react, sinking my teeth into his throat. A wet gurgle spills from his lips as I rip away, blood splattering across the stone floor.

The second guard stumbles back, fumbling for his blade. Too slow. I grab his wrist—snap—and drive my elbow into his temple. He crumples like a sack of bones.

The chamber erupts into chaos.

Other werewolves stir, eyes gleaming with newfound hope. I snatch the fallen guard's keys and fling them toward the nearest captive.

"Run. Hide. Kill if you can."

A moment of silence. Then—all hell breaks loose.

Cages burst open. Snarls and screams echo through the chamber. Some werewolves bolt for the exit. Others tear into the remaining guards, claws flashing, teeth sinking deep.

Alric stumbles back, his polished boots slick with the blood of his own men. His smirk is gone now. Good.

I could kill him here. Rip his throat out.

Not yet.

The moon is rising. I can feel it pulling at me, tightening my bones, sharpening my senses. By the time it reaches its peak, I will not be a man anymore.

And when that happens… they will be the prey.

I sprint for the exit, vaulting over a body. A figure blocks my path—a towering brute with a massive axe. He swings. I drop low, rolling beneath the blade as it whistles over my head.

He brings it down again. I dodge, darting forward, inside his reach. My claws sink into his gut, and I tear.

He drops, intestines spilling onto the floor.

The great hall doors loom ahead, slightly ajar. Beyond them, I hear panicked voices. Good. Let them fear.

I shove through.

Golden chandeliers blaze overhead. A long feast table stands abandoned, goblets knocked over, roasted meat half-eaten. The nobles are frozen, wide-eyed, caught between running and shock.

A woman in silk presses herself against the wall, shaking. A fat merchant stares at me, wine dribbling down his chin. I see her, Blackthorn princess, looking at me from the balcony, with eagerness, I don't focus on her.

Alric stands at the far end of the room, breathless, gripping his dagger. Blood stains his pristine hunting leathers. His eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see it—doubt.

"Kade," he says, voice measured. "Be smart about this."

I step forward. "I am."

Then I hurl the sword.

Alric barely dodges. The blade whistles past his cheek, cutting flesh.

It doesn't matter. I'm already moving.

I slam into him, and we crash onto the feast table, shattering plates, spilling wine. I pin him down, claws digging into his throat.

His pulse pounds beneath my fingers.

"You think this ends here?" he rasps. "You think killing me will change anything?"

I lean in, my breath hot against his skin. "I'm not here to kill you."

Confusion flickers in his eyes.

I rip the dagger from his belt and drive it through his hand, pinning him to the wall. His scream is music.

Then I stand.

The doors are wide open now. Beyond them, the night calls to me. The wind carries the scent of pine, damp earth, and something else—something hungry.

Behind me, the other werewolves flood into the great hall, free for the first time in years.

I step outside. The cold air kisses my skin. The forest stretches before me, dark and endless.

The nobles wanted a hunt?

They're about to get one.

And this time, we are the hunters.