Page 4 of The Blood Moon Oath

“We… we were ambushed,” one stammers. “The hunter came out of nowhere, attacked before we could sense?—”

My lips curl in a snarl. The hunter again. This ghost has plagued us for a decade now, taking down our kind one by one, cutting off our access to the very life force we need. My fists clench, and I feel the threat of power brimming, urging me to unleash it on them.

The warlocks don’t even meet my gaze. They know they’ve failed. In the northern realm, strength is all that matters. Down south, warlocks cling to their family names, hide behind their lineage, engage in formalized hunts where the prey is handed to them on a platter, and pass down power like a family heirloom. Here, in the north, our strength isn’t inherited; it’s earned. Our rank is determined by what we can take and keep—by who we defeat, by whose blood we spill. And as Alpha, I have earned my place by being the strongest, the fastest, the best.

This hunter, this nuisance who picks us off and evades our best trackers, has been like a shadow. Worse, they’ve grown bolder, now blocking our magic. I growl low, fury simmering beneath the surface. No one challenges the Sabers. No one disrupts our hunts and lives to speak of it.

Before I can give the order, something…shifts. It’s a ripple, a surge of power that crashes through me, through my brothers, like lightning. I exchange a look with Reaper and Ghost, and I can see it—my own fierce need mirrored in their eyes. It’s a pull unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, magnetic and all-consuming, throbbing with an energy that makes my skin prickle with heat. A delirium almost, as if something vital is out there, waiting for us to take it. Possess it. I must have it.

The warlocks in front of me are forgotten. I wave them off with a flick of my hand, and they stumble backward in relief, bowing low as they slink out. They know the consequences of their weakness. If I ordered it, they’d be put to the Trials, and in their state, it would be a certain death. But they’re lucky. During the month of the blood moon, all trials cease. This is our holy time, our pause to honor the power coursing through us.

I look to my brothers. Reaper's dark smile has only widened, while Ghost's lips twist into something predatory. Neither of us has hunted in months, not like this. This pulse, this power—it promises the hunt of a lifetime. Something irresistible and rare. My own lips quirk in a smirk as we turn toward the back of the hall.

“Think this hunter’s finally ready to crawl out of the shadows?” Reaper asks, an unhinged glint sparking in his eyes. Torin is known as Reaper among the tribes for a reason. One side of his head is shaved, revealing intricate, dark tattoos that twist down the side of his neck and shoulder, each line etched by pain rather than magic. He bears every scar with pride, a testament to his love of pain—and of dealing it out.

Ghost rolls a silver ring along his knuckles, his gaze flicking to me, sharp and calculating. “Maybe they are. But we’ve all hunted enough to know… it’s never that simple.” Finnian, the tactician, the quiet storm. Known among the tribes as Ghost, he doesn’t waste movements or words, and unlike Reaper, his killing is swift, without the need for bloodshed or the spectacle that Reaper and I savor. It’s his intelligence that brings balance to our pack, that fine edge of precision.

I nod, feeling the pulse of power vibrating beneath my skin. “The hunter’s audacious, but I’m not so sure they’re the biggest fish tonight.” There’s a thrill in my voice that I can’t keep hidden. Whatever that surge was, it promises something far more tantalizing than the little ghost who’s been picking off our weaker kin.

“They can wait. If we felt that surge, so did every other creature sniffing around these woods tonight. Let’s have a real hunt, and then we’ll handle the hunter later.”

Reaper shrugs his massive shoulders and nods.

“Agreed,” Ghost says, slipping a dagger into his boot. “A hunter with half a brain knows when to flee. But what we’re tracking… that’s no coward.”

"It's possible they are the same." My tone is casual, but the thrill in my chest is undeniable. I can feel the excitement sparking between us, the instinctive surge of energy that reminds me why we’re the leaders of the Sabers, the northern tribes’ most feared pack. We’re unbreakable because we don’t waste time with alliances and petty disputes. We took down the former leader, united the tribes under one rule, and in return, they defer to us. Not because they’re loyal, but because they fear us. And they should.

We push open the heavy doors to our private quarters to prepare. The icy mountain wind gusts through the corridor, and our power crackles in response. There’s a pull to this energy, something like hunger—and we are more than ready to satisfy it.

Ghost and Reaper trail after me, each with a fierce smile tugging at their lips. Reaper slaps my shoulder with a laugh. “Finally, a night that promises something more than chasingshadows. I was beginning to wonder if our Sabers’ teeth were getting dull.”

“Don’t let it soften you,” Ghost murmurs, a glint of something sly in his eyes.

“And miss a bit of fun?” Reaper jabs back, half-amused, half-challenging. “Where’s the satisfaction in that?”

I step between them, grinning as we approach the exit. “Focus, both of you. The hunter can wait. Tonight, there’s bigger prey.” I reach out, letting the power hum through me, letting it sink into my senses as it draws us forward.

And tonight, there’s something waiting out there that’s begging to be caught.“Alpha, you lead,” Ghost says to me, slipping a blade into his boot. "But I think we all want a piece of this one.”

My brothers might be polar opposites, but they’re bound to me, as I am to them. It’s not blood; it’s choice. Our pack was forged in battle, and we carved out our place in the tribes by our own strength. There’s no loyalty like the one you build with your own hands, forged in blood and sharpened by victory.

I grin, adjusting the cuffs on my jacket, feeling the surge of power prickling beneath my skin as we step into the cold. The moon hangs high, casting its blood-red glow over the snow-covered mountains. The energy pulses, calling to us, urging us forward. Together, we cross the boundary into the human realm, bodies tense, senses heightened, every nerve alive with anticipation.

As we approach the edge of the forest, our forms shift, bones and muscles contorting as we descend into something more primal, more ancient. Sabertooth cats, fur bristling and claws digging into the earth, we move as one, silent and deadly.

The scent of power fills the air, intoxicating, irresistible.

And we are the Sabers, bound to the hunt, unstoppable.

And tonight, the hunter becomes the hunted.

Chapter

Three

SABLE

Igroan as I push myself upright, my whole body aching like it’s been run over by a truck. Snow clings to my skin, and the icy air burns my lungs. Everything feels… wrong. I scan my surroundings, half-expecting to see someone or something that attacked me, but the forest is empty, untouched under the eerie glow of the blood moon. No footprints, no signs of struggle. It’s just me, sprawled out in the snow, feeling like I’ve been broken apart and put back together wrong.

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