Page 18 of The Blood Moon Oath

“Sooner, if I have my way,” I reply, draining the rest of my drink. My mind spins, weighing the possibilities. Rothgar isn’t the kind to challenge us without thinking he can win, but he’s also reckless enough to miscalculate. A dangerous combination.

Ghost’s gaze flickers toward me. “What if we use her?”

I pause, setting the glass down with deliberate care. “Use her how?”

“If she’s as powerful as we think, she could be an asset. A wildcard against Rothgar. He won’t see her coming.”

I lean back, considering his words. It’s a bold idea, one I hadn’t entertained. “That...could work,” I admit slowly. “But it’s risky. We don’t know the full extent of her powers, or how much control she has over them.”

Ghost shrugs. “Riskier than waiting for Rothgar to make the first move?”

I don’t answer immediately. He has a point. “We’ll see,” I say finally. “For now, we focus on figuring her out.”

Ghost tilts his head, his smirk returning. “Reaper seems to have taken an interest in her. Maybe we let him handle it. Give him something to focus on while the Trials are paused. It might keep him...occupied.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you really think she can handleReaper? More importantly, do you think Reaper can keep himself from killing her in the process?”

Ghost’s smirk widens. “He’ll manage. He’s unhinged, not stupid. And it’s not like we’re giving him free rein.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Fine. Set it up. But make sure he knows the boundaries.”

As Ghost turns to leave, he glances over his shoulder. “Careful with her, Alpha. She’s more dangerous than she looks.”

I smirk, leaning forward. “Likewise.”

He nods, slipping out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The fire crackles softly, the shadows on the walls dancing like ghosts. Dangerous, indeed. Not just to us, but to everything we’ve built.

And yet, there’s a part of me that wonders if she’s the danger we need.

Chapter

Twelve

SABLE

Breakfast with warlocks. Not exactly how I imagined my life would go.

Kael’s chambers serve as our dining room, though calling it "chambers" feels laughably understated. The vast space is both grand and intimidating, with its high vaulted ceilings and stone walls that bear the weight of centuries. The long table stretches across the center of the room, carved from dark wood polished to a gleaming finish. Massive windows line one wall, spilling pale morning light over the thick fur rugs and casting a warm glow on the roaring fire in the enormous hearth. Despite the fire’s heat, the air still carries a hint of the chill from outside, a constant reminder of the northern winds beyond.

I sit stiffly near the end of the table, still in the nightgown they’d forced on me. Finn had come to my chambers that morning, opening the door with an ease that told me locks were a mere suggestion to him. His expression had been asimpassive as ever, but there’d been a flicker of amusement in his eyes when he saw me scowling at him.

“Breakfast is ready,” he’d said simply, stepping aside as though he expected me to obey without question.

When I refused to move, he’d raised a brow, letting a faint smile curve his lips. “Suit yourself. But I doubt you’ll find anything edible in here.”

The thought of starving hadn’t been appealing, so I’d grudgingly followed him, hating every step as he led me back to Kael’s quarters. Now, seated at the table with all three warlocks, I feel like an animal under observation.

Across from me, Torin is openly staring. His sharp grin stretches across his face, and his dark eyes glint with amusement and something far more dangerous. It makes my skin prickle with irritation—and something I refuse to name.

Kael, seated at the head of the table, seems to radiate authority with every movement. He eats with a measured grace that only amplifies the weight of his presence. Finn, meanwhile, sits to Kael’s right, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease, his long fingers rolling a silver ring across his knuckles. Together, they make the room feel stifling despite its size, their attention weighing heavy on me as I poke at the food on my plate.

Kael is dressed impeccably, of course, because why wouldn’t he be? A fitted black sweater stretches across his broad chest, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo winding along his forearm. His dark trousers are pressed perfectly, the kind of detail that shouldn’t matter but somehow makes him even more infuriatingly put-together. The simplicity of the outfit only emphasizes his physique—lean but powerful, every inch of him screaming control. His dark hair is neatly combed, though a single strand falls across his forehead in a way that seems almost toodeliberate. He looks far too good, far too composed, and I hate him for it. No one should look that... commanding at breakfast.

The sound of Torin’s low chuckle pulls my attention back to him. He isn’t wearing a shirt—because why would he be? I’m definitely not staring at the thick cords of muscle in his arms that ripple with every flick of the blade he’s spinning between his fingers. Or the way his shoulders flex as he shifts in his chair, all restless energy barely contained. No, I’m not looking at any of that. Definitely not.

His gaze hasn’t shifted once, and the edges of his grin only widen when our eyes meet. I have to force myself to look away, a stubborn flush creeping up my neck.

These men might not be human, but they’re as insufferable as any man I’ve ever met—and far more dangerous.

---