Page 57 of The Blood Moon Hunt

“This is your lesson,” Callan says, his voice as cold as the air around us. “Take his life. Take his power. Or leave here with nothing.”

The blood drains from my face. “I—I know him. He was one of the apprentices. He?—”

“He was weak,” Callan interrupts, his tone dismissive. “And weakness has no place in the world you want to inhabit. This is the price of ambition, Ronan. If you can’t pay it, then you don’t belong here.”

The man in the cage doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plead. He just looks at me, his expression calm, resigned. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice barely audible. “There’s another way.”

“There isn’t,” I whisper, my throat tightening.

I raise my hand, the spell forming on my lips. My magic thrums in the air, a pulse of energy that fills the space around us. The man closes his eyes, and for a moment, I hesitate.

But then I hear Callan’s voice in my mind:Power isn’t given. It’s taken.

The spell leaves me in a rush, and the man collapses. His body crumples to the floor, lifeless, as a surge of energy floods into me. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating—a rush of power unlike anything I’ve ever felt. For a moment, I forget the guilt, the shame. All I feel is strength.

When it’s over, Callan steps forward, his expression unreadable. “You’ve taken your first step,” he says, his voice cold. “But don’t mistake this for victory. The hunger will only grow.”

Callan was right.The hunger doesn’t fade. It becomes a constant, gnawing presence in my chest, driving me forward. I leave his workshop weeks later, armed with more power than I ever thought possible but haunted by the echoes of that night in the cellar.

My family was never like Adrian’s, steeped in prestige and wealth. We were nobodies—barely scraping by, looked down on by the other bloodlines. But I’ve learned how to survive. How to thrive. I’ve learned that power isn’t about where you come from. It’s about what you’re willing to do.

And I’ll do anything.

Chapter

Thirty-One

DAMIEN

The moment Ronan ran off into the shadows, I was ready to follow, my instincts screaming that I needed to stop him. But before I could take a step, the Order’s familiar presence surged into my mind, their voices intruding like a swarm of angry hornets.

“Damien,”they hiss, the collective voices filling my head.“The Hunt is over for all but the girl. She is an imbalance. She must be ended. You will gather the remaining warlocks and finish her before the blood moon rises.”

The demand reverberates through my skull, pulsing with a weight that makes my temples throb. My jawtightens, and though my mouth forms the word“Yes,”it’s a lie. A lie to appease them.

I have no intention of following their orders.

I know what Selene is—what she represents. And the Order wants her eliminated because they fear her power, her potential to break the very balance they claim to protect. There’s no denying that she’s dangerous, but I’ll be damned if I let them destroy her.

I push the voices aside, dismissing their command, but their presence lingers, a dark reminder of what they expect from me. My hands tighten into fists as I feel the pull of Selene’s magic in the distance, stronger now, like a beacon drawing me to her.

I sprint through the forest, the trees a blur around me, anger propelling me forward. The clearing comes into view, and I already feel the heat rising in my chest—the familiar burn of jealousy mixed with something darker.

As I near the clearing, I see them.

Selene and Ronan, sprawled on the stone altar, the glow of the markings around them pulsing in time with their heartbeats. The sight of them together sends a wave of rage through me, my vision narrowing until all I can see is Ronan’s hands on her body, the way their skin is still pressed together.

I stop at the edge of the clearing, my magic already crackling at my fingertips. Ronan’s smirk, lazy and satisfied, is the final straw. Powersurges from me, and I lift my hand, ready to hurl it at him and tear him away from her, consequences be damned.

But then Selene rises, standing between us, her voice cutting through the fury.

"It was my choice," she says, breathless but firm. "It wasn’t him—it was me."

Her words pierce through the storm raging inside me. The magic on my hands dims, faltering. Her choice. Her decision. I hesitate, my heart pounding in my chest, the rage cooling into something else—something more desperate.

I lower my hand, my eyes locked onto Ronan’s. The bastard has the nerve to smirk at me, his satisfaction palpable, but Selene’s presence keeps me grounded. I turn my focus to her, ignoring Ronan, ignoring the jealousy still burning inside me.

I step closer to her, my breath shallow, the heat between us undeniable. She doesn’t back away. She stands tall, her eyes locked on mine. She feels it too—this pull, this raw energy that crackles between us.

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