Page 55 of The Blood Moon Hunt

I stand, pulling her up by her hair and bending her over the alter table. I kick her legs apart, exposing her vulnerable rear to my hungry gaze.

"Fucking gorgeous," I groan, tracing a finger along her spine before delivering a sharp slap to her ass cheek. "Love seeing you presented like a proper slut, ready to take my cock wherever I please."

I stroke my erection a few times as I admire her spread-eagled form. "This is going to hurt so good when I split you open," I promise darkly, pressing the head of my dick against her clenched asshole.

"With any luck, you'll be sobbing by the time I'm finished stretching out your poor little rosebud." I apply steady pressure, inching forward as I begin to penetrate her impossibly tight passage.

She moans, arching her back to meet my thrusts.

"Please, more," she gasps, her voice hoarse from screaming. "Make me yours completely."

I don't need further encouragement. Grabbing her hips, I piston into her with renewed vigor, our bodies slapping together in a symphony of lust.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she chants, meeting each thrust with equal fervor.

Suddenly, she stiffens, her inner muscles clamping down on my cock as she cries out another release. Another chance for me to see that beautiful soul. I'm salivating over it, but I can't even come close to touching it.

The sensation of her ass clamping on my cock forces my own climax, and I empty myself deep inside her, filling her to the brim with my seed.

As I come down from the high, my breathing ragged and skin slick with sweat, something catches my eye. The stone altar beneath us—its inscriptions, those ancient, twisted markings—are glowing. Not all of them, just some. A faint, eerie light pulses from the symbols, casting strange shadows around the clearing. It’s as if they’ve come alive, responding to the energy in the air, to the power we’ve just unleashed. I narrow my eyes, studying them, trying to make sense of why only certain parts have lit up. There’s something about this, something bigger than I thought. Somethingshehas unlocked, and the rest... is waiting.

Chapter

Thirty

RONAN

Before

The dirt tastes like iron. I spit blood onto the ground, but it doesn’t stop the coppery tang from coating my tongue. My ribs ache with every breath, sharp and insistent, but I force myself to push up onto my hands and knees. The laughter around me is loud, mocking, like the screech of crows circling a carcass.

“Get up, Ronan,” one of them sneers. His voice is light and mocking, the kind of tone that burrows under your skin. “Come on. You wanted to play with the big boys, didn’t you?”

I don’t look at him. I don’t look at any of them. If I do, they’ll see it—the fear, the shame. The tears that are dangerously close to spilling over. Instead, I focus on the ground beneath me, the cold, hard-packed dirt that smells of damp and decay. I dig my fingers into it, anchoring myself.

“Leave him alone,” a voice says, softer, hesitant. It’s the youngest of the group, a boy my age. He doesn’t meet my eyes as he says it, his voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s had enough.”

“Enough?” The leader’s voice sharpens, his laughter cutting off abruptly. “He hasn’t had nearly enough. Have you, Ronan?”

I feel the boot connect with my side before I see it coming. Pain radiates through my ribs, stealing my breath. I collapse back onto the ground, my vision swimming as another kick lands, and then another. I bite down hard on my lip, refusing to cry out. They won’t get that from me.

“Stop,” the younger boy pleads again, but he’s ignored.

The others are older, bigger, warlocks from families that matter—families with money, with power, with names that carry weight in the arcane world. My family? We’re nobodies. A bloodline without wealth or prestige, barely scraping by on the outskirts of the magical elite. My parents sent me here, to this academy, because it was the only way for someone like me to have a chance. But they didn’t tell me what it would cost.

“You think you belong here?” the leader hisses, crouching down in front of me. His face fills my vision—sharp, angular features, eyes filled with cold amusement. “You’re trash, Ronan. You’ll never be anything but trash.”

I want to hit him. I want to tear him apart, to make him bleed the way I’m bleeding. But my magic is weak, unfocused. Every time I’ve tried to fight back, it’s only made things worse. So I stay still, forcing myself to meet his gaze, forcing myself not to look away.

“That’s right,” he says, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Know your place.”

The others laugh again, their voices blending into an ugly cacophony that makes my stomach churn. I feel the tears welling up again, and this time, I can’t stop them. They spill over, hot and humiliating, streaking down my face as the laughter grows louder.

“Pathetic,” someone mutters, and I hate them. I hate all of them.

Eventually, they grow bored. The leader stands, brushing dirt from his expensive coat, and motions for the others to follow him. “Let’s go,” he says, his tone dismissive. “He’s not worth it.”

They leave without another word, their footsteps fading into the distance. I wait until the sound is gone, until the silence wraps around me like a suffocating blanket, and then I let out a shaky breath. My whole body trembles as I push myself up, wincing at the pain in my ribs. My vision blurs with tears, but I blink them away, biting down hard on my lip until the coppery taste fills my mouth again.

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