Page 8 of The Blood Moon Hunt

The women inside hesitate, some looking around in confusion, others laughing nervously. They don’t understand what’s about to happen. Not yet.

Except Selene.

I watch as she immediately reaches for one of her friends, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her toward the opposite direction of where the warlocks stand. Smart. She’s running away from us, away from the danger. But as she runs, I wince inwardly. I wish she hadn’t done that.Staying in the crowd would have kept her somewhat shielded. Among the chaos, it would have been harder to pinpoint the exact source of the power emanating from her.

But now, separated, her signature will become clearer, easier for the others to sense.

Her friend, oblivious to the danger, laughs, clearly thinking it’s all part of the show. “Selene, slow down!” she teases, trying to pull her back toward the center of the clearing. I can see the panic flickering across Selene’s face, the internal struggle written plainly in her eyes. Does she leave her friend to save herself, or do they both fall into danger?

“Let the games begin,” Ronan mutters beside me, his voice a low growl. His eyes are locked on the prey, and without another word, he bolts forward, moving faster than the others.

Ronan has never been one for patience. He’s always preferred the thrill of the chase, and tonight is no different. “I’m not letting the lesser warlocks have their first choice,” he says under his breath as he rushes toward the nearest woman.

She’s one of the easy ones. There are always easy ones in the Hunt—those who are too caught up in the fantasy to realize what’s happening until it’s too late. She sees Ronan approaching, his powerful figure cutting through the crowd, and she smiles back at him, clearly thinking he’s part of the act. She’s unaware of thedanger that lurks behind that skull mask, of the magic that radiates off him in waves.

Ronan’s never been one to waste time with the easy prey. In one swift motion, Ronan tackles her to the ground. He pins her wrists above her head, holding her firmly in place. The woman squirms beneath him. Perhaps she thinks this is mere role play. Better that way. Better for her mind after tonight.

"Stop struggling," Ronan growls, his voice low and commanding. "You know you can't escape me."

The woman whimpers, but there's a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. She arches her back, pressing her breasts against his chest.

Ronan tears at her clothing impatiently, buttons flying everywhere as he exposes her flesh. He grabs her roughly, squeezing and kneading her soft mounds.

The woman moans, her body responding eagerly to Ronan's aggressive touches. He flips her over onto her stomach, yanking her hips up to meet his thrusts.

With a brutal force, he drives himself inside her, stretching her walls to their limits. The woman cries out, overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion. But she quickly adjusts, meeting his strokes with her own desperate movements.

Ronan pounds into her relentlessly, his pace merciless. Sweat drips down his face, muscles straining with each powerful thrust. The woman's cries escalate, her pleasure mixed with pain as he claims her thoroughly.

Their bodies slam together, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing through the air. Ronan's grip on her hips tightens, almost bruising, as he chases his climax.

Finally, with a guttural roar, he buries himself deep. She climaxes with him and I can see it, the faint glimmer of her soul.

Humankind has called us many names over the centuries—incubi, demons, spirits of the night. But they’re all the same. We are warlocks, creatures bound to the ancient art of soul harvesting. And there’s a reason for how we do it, for why we claim souls at the height of ecstasy. It’s in those moments—when the body is overwhelmed by pleasure—that humans are free, unshackled from the moral chains they love to bury themselves under. In those seconds, they’re vulnerable, open to us in ways they would never be otherwise. It’s then that their souls are easiest to take, slipping through their grasp as they lose themselves to the sensation. They don’t even realize what they’ve lost until it’s too late.

Ronan gets up, his clothing rematerializing around him and I can sense that his power has increased. The woman lays there, still in the throws of her climax. Other warlocks descend on her. There's no longer a soul to claim, that power is now with Ronan. But, some lesser warlocks are scavengers, happy to rut into ahuman body for the sensation, unconcerned with their power or status in our realm.

My attention is drawn elsewhere, back to Selene, as she struggles to get her friend to understand the gravity of the situation.

Her power tugs at me, that familiar pull I felt earlier, but stronger now, more potent. She’s drawing it in, even if she doesn’t realize it. But soon... soon the others will feel it too. I can’t afford to intervene, not now, not in front of the others. I’m the facilitator. I have to play my part.

But I can’t shake the feeling that, for her, this Hunt will be unlike any other.

Selene, still torn between her instincts and loyalty to her friend, hesitates just long enough for the rest of the warlocks to begin their chase.

I watch her closely, my heart pounding in my chest. Whatever happens next, one thing is certain: Selene is in far more danger than she realizes.

And if the others catch her... her fate will be sealed.

Chapter

Six

SELENE

Istand frozen, my feet sinking slightly into the damp earth as I watch one of the men from the platform stalk forward. His eyes are locked on a woman just a few feet away from me. She’s smiling, her body relaxed as if this is all part of some twisted game. She doesn’t flinch when he reaches her. In fact, she seems to welcome him, her lips curling into an eager grin.

For a moment, I wonder if I’ve imagined the danger. Maybe Lila’s right. Maybe this is all some elaborate Halloween performance, something we’re supposed to laugh about later. But then, the man moves closer. He pins her to the ground, his clothing dissipating as he rips hers off. His hand grips the woman’s waist, pullingher onto his cock with a force that sends a ripple of unease down my spine.

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