The alarm bell tolls—a deep, bone-rattling clang that cuts through the night.
From the hilltop above the clearing, torches blaze to life, casting flickering light over the chaos below. The nobles' elite hunters—merciless, disciplined, armed with silver and fire—pour into the forest.
"Scatter!" I snarl, shoving an injured wolf forward. "Go!"
The survivors bolt in all directions, but the hunters move like shadows, swift and relentless.
A whistle cuts through the air—an arrow. I throw myself to the side, feeling the sting of it grazing my arm. Another thuds into the tree behind me.
Soren is beside me, slashing through a noble's guard. "They were ready for this!" he shouts.
I already know. We have minutes—maybe less—before we're overwhelmed.
I lunge forward, driving my claws into an attacker's throat. Hot blood spurts over my fingers. I rip the blade from his belt and whirl, slicing into another before he can react.
"KADE!" A voice shouts from the trees.
A figure drops down behind a hunter—two curved daggers flash. The man barely has time to cry out before his head hits the dirt.
A blur of movement. A flash of steel.
Rhea.
She moves like a storm—calculated, relentless, deadly. Not just a survivor. An Alpha warrior.
Dark hair, wild yet controlled, flows behind her as she strikes. Her golden eyes burn with fierce intelligence, tracking every enemy, every opening. She doesn't hesitate. She doesn't miss.
A hunter lunges—she's faster. She ducks under his swing, drives a dagger clean into his ribs, twists. He crumples before he can even scream.
Rhea isn't just fighting to survive.
She's fighting to win.
"You're bleeding," she notes, scanning my wound.
"Later," I snap, eyes darting to the incoming hunters. "We have to move."
She's already assessing. "They're herding us toward the river," she says. "A dead end."
Soren growls. "Damn it. We need a way out."
Rhea glances at me, eyes sharp. "There is one."
She gestures toward a cluster of trees ahead—the entrance to something hidden.
A tunnel.
I recognize it now. The old Blackthorn escape routes, carved centuries ago.
Without hesitation, I signal to the others. "Inside. Now!"
We break into a sprint. Behind us, the hunters shout, their torches bouncing wildly through the trees.
The first werewolf reaches the tunnel and vanishes into the darkness.
One by one, we follow.
I plunge into the underground, the damp scent of earth and stone filling my lungs. The tunnels are narrow, cold, but safe—for now.
Soren slides in behind me, panting. "That was close."
Rhea shuts the wooden hatch just as footsteps thunder above. We freeze.
A hunter's voice—muffled but near. "They were here. Find them."
For a long moment, no one breathes.
Then, slowly, the footsteps fade.
Rhea exhales, turning to me. "We can't run forever. We need to fight back."
I meet her gaze. "Then we make a plan."
This isn't over. The Hunt has only just begun.
***
The walls of the tunnel press in around me, damp with moisture, thick with the scent of earth and old stone. Shadows stretch and flicker under the dim torchlight as we move deeper into the underground passages. My breath is ragged, my muscles still thrumming from the shift that threatens to overtake me.
The moon has reached its peak.
I feel it like a drumbeat in my bones, an ancient call that demands to be answered. My hands tremble, claws aching to break free. The others feel it too—I can see it in their eyes, in the way they move, restless and wild, fighting the instinct to let go.
Beside me, Rhea keeps a steady pace, her golden eyes sharp. She's watching me. Not with fear, but with understanding.
"You need to control it," she says in a low voice. "We can't afford to lose you now."
I let out a slow breath, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the hunger clawing inside me.
Soren, limping slightly but still alert, walks ahead. "How much farther do these tunnels go?" he asks.
"They run for miles beneath Blackthorn Manor," I say, my voice tight. "Old escape routes from when the nobles feared invasion."
Soren lets out a humorless chuckle. "Guess they never expected the beasts they caged to be the ones using them."
A few of the others chuckle darkly, but tension still hangs over us like a blade waiting to fall.
"We should keep moving," Rhea says. "If they realize we escaped underground, they'll send hunters in after us."
"They won't," I reply. "Not yet."
"How do you know?"
I stop walking and turn to face them. "Because Alric thinks like a noble, not a warrior. He won't come hunting in the dirt himself. Not when he has mercenaries and warlocks to do it for him."
Rhea stiffens. "Warlocks?"
Before I can answer, a scream rips through my skull.
A voice—not mine, not anyone's—slithers into my mind like oil seeping through cracks.
"You belong to me."
Pain lances through my chest. Fire burns under my skin, twisting through my veins. I drop to my knees, gasping as a dark sigil carves itself into my flesh, glowing with an eerie, unnatural light.
"Kade!" Rhea lunges forward, catching my shoulders. "What's happening?"
I can't answer. The magic is spreading, digging deep into my bones. I feel it crawling up my throat, threatening to rip something vital out of me.
Then, another whisper.
"Run all you like, wolf. You are marked. And now… we come for you."
The tunnel trembles.
Far above us, the first warhorn blows.
Pain explodes through my body, white-hot, searing, like claws raking through my ribs from the inside. I drop to my knees, hands clutching my chest as something burns into my flesh.
"Kade!"
Rhea is at my side in an instant, gripping my shoulders. Her touch barely registers over the agony consuming me. My veins feel like they're on fire, my pulse a drum of chaos in my ears.
I can barely hear her. Because the voice is still there.
"Run all you like, wolf. You are marked. And now… we come for you."
A sigil burns itself into my skin.
I gasp, staring down as dark symbols carve into my flesh, glowing with an unnatural, sickly light.
A mark. A curse. A claim.
The realization slams into me. This isn't just pain. It's a tether.
"Kade, talk to me!" Rhea's voice cuts through the haze.
I shake my head violently, fighting to breathe. "Magic—dark magic. A tracking sigil."
The moment I say it, the tunnel trembles.
Above us, a warhorn blares.
Soren swears. "They know where we are."
I can feel them.
Lord Alric's men. The warlocks. Coming. Hunting. Closing in.
Panic flickers in the wolves' eyes, but I push through the fire in my veins, clenching my fists against the urge to lose control.
No. I will not be a pawn.
"Rhea," I rasp. "Help me."
Her grip tightens. "Tell me what to do."
I force myself to focus, to push past the pain. "The sigil—warlocks use them to bind or track their prey. If I let it take hold, they'll control me, force me to lead them straight to us."
Her expression hardens. "Not happening."
"Then we have to break it. Now."
Her golden eyes flick to my chest. The sigil is still glowing, pulsing, alive.
"How do we stop it?" she demands.
I squeeze my eyes shut, searching for an answer through the burning haze. Most magic has weaknesses. Warlock sigils rely on connection—blood, intent, or physical markings.
"It's trying to root itself into me," I grind out. "If I fight it—reject it—it might break."
Rhea doesn't hesitate. "Then fight."
I brace myself as she presses her forehead to mine. It's an anchor, a lifeline in the storm tearing through me.
I take a ragged breath. Focus. Push back.
"You do not own me."
The sigil shudders.
The voice snarls.
"You will bow, wolf."
I growl through clenched teeth. "Never."
The magic lashes out, twisting, writhing, trying to hold.
But I tear into it. I rip it from my mind, from my bones, from my very soul.
The pain reaches a blinding crescendo—then shatters.
The sigil erupts in a burst of dark smoke and vanishes.
I gasp, my body collapsing forward, but Rhea catches me, her arms steady.
"It's gone," she breathes.
I nod, shaking, but alive.
Then—
The tunnel explodes.