Page 5 of The Blood Moon Oath

I try to stand, stumbling as my legs shake. My cabin isn’t far. Just a little further and I can figure out what happened, why I feel like this. But then, the air shifts, charged with a power unlike any I’ve sensed before. A power that makes my blood run cold. They’re coming.

Through the rip in the realm’s barrier, three massive forms emerge. I blink, thinking I’m seeing things, but the creatures stalking toward me are no hallucination. Three enormoussabertooth tigers prowl in the snow, their fur gleaming like steel under the blood moon’s light. I know warlocks can shift—most of the northern ones do. But this? No warlock shifts into something like this. This is ancient, deadly, and the sheer weight of their power tells me I’m in more trouble than I’ve ever been in before.

My instincts kick in, and I press myself against the trunk of a tree, hoping to stay hidden. But everything about tonight feels wrong. My energy’s drained, my body aches, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not as invisible as I usually am.

Growing up, I learned early how to stay out of sight—how to make myself invisible to threats. It was my mother who taught me the basics: how to move through the shadows, to slip between worlds without leaving a trace. But over the years, I honed those skills myself, practicing until I could ghost through any terrain without a sound, without a footprint left behind. I became a master at masking my movements, at erasing any sign that I’d been there. Tonight, though, it’s different. It’s as if that practiced invisibility has been stripped from me. I’m exposed, vulnerable, and I hate it.

The sabers sniff the air, and their eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, flick straight to where I’m hiding. Just like that, they’re moving toward me, faster than I could ever hope to outrun.

I try to move, try to force my legs to cooperate, but it’s useless. I stumble, barely making it a few steps before they’re around me, caging me in. They shift, and suddenly, three towering men stand before me, each more intimidating than the last.

The one with the shaved head and tattoos down one side of his neck grins, toying with a knife as he studies me with dark, unhinged eyes. He flicks the blade across his thumb, drawing blood as if it’s a game. He licks it, then steps forward.

“Look what we’ve caught,” he says, voice dark and amused. “Something with a lot of power in its veins.”

“Stay back,” I manage, my voice hoarse, but it’s all I’ve got. The three of them stop, glancing at one another, grins spreading across their faces. One of them laughs, low and rumbling, and it’s as if they find this all one big game.

“Didn’t expect our little hunter to be a woman,” the one with the calculating gaze says, his fingers rolling a silver ring on his hand. His expression is cool, amused. His eyes flick between his two companions, and then he looks back at me. There’s a calm, collected malice in his stare, something detached yet all-seeing.

The third man, the one in a crisp, tailored suit that looks all wrong in the snow, arches an eyebrow. His dark hair is swept back neatly, and he surveys me with a dispassionate gaze that’s somehow worse than any expression I’ve ever seen. His lips curl up in a faint, satisfied smile. “A huntress.”

I curse under my breath, heart pounding. I’ve kept my gender hidden from the warlocks I’ve encountered before. The less they know, the better. But these three—they’re not just any warlocks. They’re something else, something much darker. And here I am, trapped in a circle of snow and shadows, unable to defend myself.

The largest one lets out a laugh, low and savage, his sharp grin revealing too much pleasure in the moment. The sound is jarring and unexpected for how tense the moment is. “Seems like our little kitten could keep us entertained for a while,” he growls, flipping the blade in his hand. “I can practically taste her already.”

“Reel it in, Reaper,” the tall one says dryly, rolling a silver ring between his fingers. His lean frame is deceptively relaxed, but his tone carries a warning. “You’re scaring our plaything.”

The one called Reaper's grin widens as he steps closer,licking the blood off his blade like a wolf toying with its prey. “You're no fun, Ghost. Besides, she doesn’t look scared. She looks pissed.”

“Still,” the one called Ghost continues, his calculating eyes locking onto mine. “Wouldn’t want to break her too soon, now would we? I’d hate to clean up your mess—again.”

Reaper growls but doesn’t respond. Instead, he flicks his blade shut with a snap and shoves it into his pocket. He doesn’t back down, though, his predatory gaze fixed on me.

The one in a suit finally speaks, his deep voice cutting through their exchange. “Enough. We’ll figure out what she is before you start tearing her apart.” His cold eyes land on me, assessing, and I can see the calculation behind them. “So, you're the one responsible for killing our tribesmen, I presume?”

"Fuck off," I grit my teeth, refusing to confirm anything. It was a stupid thing to say, but my silence only seemed to amuse them further. Ghost's smirk sharpens, and he shares a look with the apparent leader. Reaper just grins like he’s already won.

Reaper steps forward again, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light as he twirls the blade in his hand. “Looks like our little kitten has some claws,” he says, voice dripping with dark amusement. He reaches out, and I twist, shoving my hand into a pressure point near his wrist. It should completely block his magical pathways and render him unable to use his powers for about an hour. He recoils, laughing that twisted, maniacal laugh, shaking out his arm as if it’s just another thrill to him.

“Feisty,” he says, voice laced with something feral. “I like it.”

I frown, sensing only the slightest dampening of his powers. These three must be pulsing with magic in order for my techniques not to work on them.

The one in the suit watches me carefully, a hint of intrigue in his eyes. “Enough, Reaper,” he says, voice smooth but commanding. “We’ll take her. She’s got too much power to waste on a game.”

“Ah, so you’re the leader here, are you?” I mutter, though my voice lacks the strength it usually does.

He inclines his head, a mocking bow. “You could say that.”

The other one—the calculating one with the rings—shares a look with him, the two of them exchanging a silent message I can’t read. I shift on my feet, weighing my chances, wondering if I can make a break for it. But Reaper, the tattooed one, is already back, his thick arm wrapping around my neck, holding me still. I try to focus, try to push down the sheer terror that rises in me, but then I feel him. His body pressed against mine, his scent intoxicating, a dark allure that only deepens the horror of the situation.

“Don’t fight it, little kitten,” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. “We’re going to have some fun together.”

“No,” I grit out, my voice raw. “Let me go.”

But the man in the suit steps closer, gaze steady and unforgiving. “We will. But first, we’ll take you with us. We have time. And we’ll take our time figuring out what to do with you.”

I can feel their power gathering, thick and suffocating, and just as I start to struggle, to push back, a dark cloud rolls over me. My vision blurs, and my last thought is that this, finally, might be the end.

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