Page 60 of The Blood Moon Hunt

The manor is unusually quiet. Too quiet. It’s as if the walls themselves are holding their breath, waiting for whatever comes next. I lean back in the plush chair, watching Adrian with narrowed eyes as he stands near the window, his back to me. The tension between us is thick, an unspoken rivalry simmering just beneath the surface.

I’ve always been a patient man, but tonight, patience feels like a luxury I can’t afford.

Adrian leans against the window, his gaze distant, yet calculating. I know that look; it’s the same look he’s had for days—like he’s been piecing together some puzzle we’re not aware of. It’s been gnawing at me since the Hunt began, and I finally decide I’ve had enough.

“You know something,” I say, crossing my arms and narrowing my gaze. “Don’t you?”

Adrian doesn’t turn to look at me, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

I step closer, my patience fraying. “About Selene. About what she is. About why the Order wants her so badly.”

He sighs and finally turns to face me, his expression carefully neutral. “I’ve been piecing it together. Trying to understand.”

“You’re holding back,” I accuse, my voice growing sharper. “You’ve known more than you’re letting on. You always have.”

Adrian’s posture stiffens, and for a moment, he doesn’t turn around. When he finally does, his expression is calm, almost bored, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. “And you’ve been trying to use Ronan against me,” he counters smoothly. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

I flinch, caught off guard by his accusation. He sees it—he’s always been perceptive like that—but I don’t deny it. What’s the point? It’s not like we’re not all playing our own angles in this. Still, I keep my gaze steady, unyielding. "And if I was? It's a competition, after all, isn't it? Or have you forgotten?"

Adrian’s lips twitch into a sardonic smile, but there’s no real humor in it. “Of course, it’s a competition. I don’t care what you do with Ronan, Lucien.”

Adrian doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something he’s hiding. "Lucien, you need to understand that this isn’t about playing some game. This is bigger than any of us. The Order... they’re not what you think they are."

I scoff, crossing my arms. "What are they, then? Enlighten me."

For a moment, there’s only silence. Adrian sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of whatever he’s been hiding finally presses down on him. He walks toward the fireplace, the flickering flames casting shadows across his face. “Fine,” he says, his tone laced with a mixture of exasperation and resignation. “But this is just based on my own research, passed down from my family lore. No guarantees, Lucien.”

“Spare me the preamble,” I snap. “Just tell me.”

Adrian steps closer, lowering his voice as if the shadows themselves are listening. "The Order weren’t always like this. They were once warlocks, just like us. Mortal men, with a hunger for power. And they found it... in witches."

I frown, unease settling in. "Witches?"

Adrian nods, the flames reflected in his eyes. “There was a time when witches were... plentiful. They had magic unlike anything we’ve ever seen, drawn from the very essence of nature itself. The warlocks... well, our ancestors discovered that witches’ souls held immense power. So they began to hunt them, like we hunt now.”

His words sink in, and my mind races. “You’re saying the Order... they were cursed by the witches they hunted?”

Adrian nods, his gaze sharpening. "Witches are creatures of nature, connected to the very fabric of life and magic. Their souls are infinitely powerful. A single witch’s soul could give a warlock more power than he could ever need in a lifetime. But it comes at a price."

I stay silent, letting him continue.

"That power drives a warlock mad with hunger," Adrian explains, his voice taking on a darker tone. "Once you consume a witch’s soul, you crave more. Nothing else will ever satisfy you. That’s why witches were hunted to extinction. Our ancestors were mortal men, Lucien, who discovered the secret to consuming witches’ souls and ascended into something more."

The disgust rises in my throat, but I suppress it. "Mortal men? Our ancestors? That’s... revolting."

Adrian gives me a wry smile. "The truth usually is."

He continues, pacing now. "At first, warlocks thought the only way to release a witch’s soul was through death, so they burned them at the stake. It was barbaric, but they believed it was the only way to tap into their power. But the witches... they fought back. They cursed those who burned them, warping their souls and turning them into something monstrous. Those warlocks became what we now know as the Order."

I grimace. "The burnings... that’s what caused the curse, isn’t it?"

Adrian nods, his jaw tight. "Yes. The witches, in their final moments, cursed those warlocks. The more they burned, the stronger the curses became, until the warlocks could no longer fend them off. The Order... they are what remains of those cursed warlocks. Immortal, yes, but no longer themselves. The power they sought has trapped them in an eternal prison. They exist now only to control others, forever tormented by the very power they coveted."

I shudder at the thought. "And the Hunt? Is that how it started?"

"Not exactly." Adrian’s gaze darkens. "The Hunt came later. You see, after the Order was cursed, realized that burning witches wasn’t the only way to extract power. They discovered something else. A soul is at its most vulnerable during pleasure, not death. In that moment, it can be consumed, and the witch survives—but her power is stolen, turning her into a mere human.”

I feel my stomach churn. "That’s..."

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