Page 38 of The Blood Moon Hunt

The moment lingers, stretching out, thick with possibility.

I lean in, my breath hot against her skin, my voice low. "You’re not prey, Selene," I whisper. "You’re so much more than that."

Her eyes darken, and I can see the pull in them—the need, the desire. The distance between us shrinks until there’s nothing left, and for a moment, I forget about the Hunt, the warlocks, even the Order.

It’s just her.

Just us.

And I know, deep down, that there’s no turning back now.

Chapter

Twenty

ADRIAN

18 Years Old

The library is silent, save for the faint scratch of my quill against parchment. The soft glow of arcane lamps bathes the room in a cold, sterile light, illuminating the towering shelves lined with tomes older than I am. This place is my sanctuary, my battlefield, and my inheritance. It smells of parchment and ancient ink, with an undercurrent of something metallic—power.

“Adrian.” My father’s voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and deliberate. I don’t look up. He’s a man who values precision, and to acknowledge him too soon would signal weakness. Instead, I finish the line of the spell I’ve been copying, set the quill down, and fold my hands neatly on the desk.

“Yes, Father?”

When I turn, his figure fills the doorway. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a face carved from granite. His dark eyes miss nothing. My mother stands just behind him, her expression as impassive as ever. Together, they are the architects of my life, the ones who have shaped me into what I am—and what I must become.

“Come with me,” my father says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I rise without question, my movements measured. My mother steps aside as I pass, her eyes flicking over me like she’s assessing a piece of fine machinery. She doesn’t smile. She rarely does. But her silence carries weight—a kind of approval that only comes when I’ve met their exacting standards.

We walk in silence through the halls of the estate, the sound of our footsteps swallowed by thick carpets and heavy air. My father leads me to the study, a grand room dominated by a massive table etched with runes. The air here is colder, heavier, crackling faintly with residual energy from countless rituals.

Standing by the table is Garrett. My... friend, though even the word feels ill-fitting. He’s more of an ally, a peer. Someone I’ve shared long nights of study with, someone who has trusted me more than I deserve. His blond hair is slightly disheveled, his posture less rigid than mine. He doesn’t belong here—not in this room, not in this moment. And yet, here he is.

My stomach tightens, though I keep my expression neutral.

“Father?” I ask, my voice steady, even as unease coils in my chest.

“You’ve reached the age where decisions must be made,” my father begins, his voice heavy with purpose. “You’ve proven yourself capable in the arcane arts, a tactician without equal. But strategy is meaningless without resolve.”

I nod once, waiting for him to continue. Garrett looks between us, confusion etched on his face.

“A choice lies before you,” my father says, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Garrett has served this family well, but his usefulness has come to an end. You will decide his fate.”

The words hit like a physical blow, though I don’t let it show. My gaze flicks to Garrett, who pales visibly. “What... what are you talking about?” he stammers, his voice breaking the heavy silence. “Adrian?”

I don’t answer him. My father continues, his tone unyielding. “He’s been accused of leaking family secrets to a rival bloodline. Whether or not it’s true is irrelevant. The appearance of loyalty is as important as loyalty itself. A message must be sent.”

Garrett’s breathing quickens, his fear palpable. “That’s not true! Adrian, you know me! I would never?—”

“Silence,” my father commands, and Garrett’s voice dies in his throat. He turns back to me. “This is your test, Adrian. Resolve this matter in a way that ensures our family’s reputation remains untarnished.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. The accusation is baseless; I know that. Garrett isn’t capable of betrayal, and my father likely knows it, too. This isn’t about Garrett. It’s about me. About whether I can make the hard choices, the ones that sacrifice the individual for the greater good.

I could defend him. I could refuse. But I know what that would mean. Failure. Disgrace. A stain on my legacy that would never wash away.

“Adrian, please,” Garrett whispers, his voice trembling. “You know me.”

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