Page 33 of The Blood Moon Hunt

He strides toward us with purpose, his gazeflicking between me and Gerald with barely concealed impatience. He looks... different. His power feels muted, dimmed by the rising sun. The cool confidence that usually radiates from him seems dulled, though not entirely gone.

“What are you doing out here?” Lucien asks, his voice low and dismissive as he addresses Gerald.

“Just tending the garden,” Gerald replies evenly, his tone calm. But there’s something there, something unspoken, like a secret only he knows.

Lucien barely acknowledges the response. His attention shifts entirely to me, his eyes narrowing. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.”

I glance back at Gerald, wanting to ask him more, to understand what he knows about this place and the Hunt. But Lucien’s hand is already on my arm, pulling me toward the manor’s doors. I don’t bother resisting.

As Lucien leads me away, I give Gerald one last look, but he just nods, his expression unreadable.

The manor looms ahead, dark and foreboding against the pale light of day. As I walk beside Lucien, my mind races, trying to make sense of what just happened. His touch still lingers on my skin, his voice in my ear, and yet I can’t shake the sense of dread creeping up inside me.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. There’s something different about him now. He’s quieter, more guarded. I can feel the tension in his body, the way hissteps seem more deliberate, as if he’s holding back. Is it because the sun is rising? Is his power fading?

We approach the massive iron doors of the manor, and I hesitate for a moment. The building looks ancient, with towering stone walls and ivy creeping up its sides. It’s the kind of place that shouldn’t exist in the real world, a place that belongs in myths and legends, not just outside of Washington, D.C.

Lucien notices my hesitation and shoots me a look. “Nervous?”

“A little,” I admit, glancing up at the manor’s dark windows. “This place... feels wrong.”

He smirks. “Everything feels wrong to you, doesn’t it?”

I don’t respond, just follow him inside. The doors creak open as we step into the foyer, the smell of old wood and dust hitting me. It’s colder inside than it was outside, and the silence feels oppressive, like the walls are closing in.

As we enter the grand hall, I notice the figure sitting by the fire immediately. He’s one of them—one of the warlocks who hunted me through the night. My pulse quickens, and a cold knot forms in my stomach. His presence feels different from Lucien’s, darker somehow, more calculating. The firelight flickers across his sharp features, and he looks up, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine.

Lucien tenses beside me, and for a brief moment, I feel his hand tighten on my arm.

The man by the fire rises slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he’s in no hurry. His eyes flick to Lucien briefly before returning to me, studying me with unnerving focus. There’s something dark and possessive in the way he looks at me, but then his lips curl into a smooth, almost disarming smile.

“You’ve got nothing to fear from me right now,” he says, his voice low, and despite his words, I’m not entirely convinced.

I take a step back, my instincts still screaming at me to run, even though there’s no use in trying. He’s one of the powerful ones—I remember that much from last night. He was one of the warlocks that sent fear coursing through me, his magic pulsing like a living force in the night as he hunted me.

Lucien releases my arm and steps forward slightly, his body a wall between me and the man by the fire. “Busy night?” the warlock says, his gaze flicking to Lucien again, this time with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Lucien doesn’t answer right away. I can feel the tension radiating from him, his posture rigid as if he’s expecting a confrontation. He’s watching the other man closely, like a predator sizing up its competition. “Busy enough.”

I step a little further into the room, my eyes dartingbetween them. The air is thick with unspoken words, with the heavy weight of whatever’s been simmering between these two since the Hunt began. I don’t know what their history is, but it’s clear they aren’t on friendly terms.

The warlock’s eyes land on me again, and I swallow hard, trying not to let my fear show. “And you,” he says, his voice dipping lower, more intimate, “how are you finding the Hunt so far?”

His words send a ripple of unease through me, but there’s no malice in his tone. Not yet, at least. He steps closer, and I feel myself stiffen as he stops just a few feet away, his presence overwhelming. “I’m... surviving,” I say, my voice coming out quieter than I’d intended. It’s all I can manage under the weight of his gaze.

His lips twitch in amusement, though there’s no humor in his eyes. "Surviving," he repeats, as if tasting the word. "That’s more than most can say by this time."

Lucien’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and direct. "This isn’t the time to play games."

The warlock raises an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by Lucien’s tone. "Oh, but it’s always time for games, Lucien." His attention shifts back to me, and he takes a small step forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examines me. "Especially when the prey is as... intriguing as this one."

I fight the urge to shrink back, my pulse racing in my throat. I glance at Lucien, unsure what to do, but heremains as still as stone, his eyes locked on the other warlock, tension coiling in the space between them.

The man before me lets the silence stretch for a moment longer before speaking again. "You can call me Adrian," he says, his voice smooth and dangerous, like a blade sliding through silk.

“Selene,” I say, almost on instinct, as if the name is pulled from me by some invisible force. The moment the word leaves my lips, I regret it. I shouldn't be telling someone so dangerous anything about me.

Adrian’s eyes flicker with interest, his lips curling into a subtle smile as he considers my name, letting it roll around in his mind. “Selene,” he repeats, his voice low, savoring each syllable as if it holds more meaning than it should. The way he says it sends a chill down my spine, a strange mix of both fear and something I can’t quite define. The tension between us grows, thick and heavy, as his gaze darkens.

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