Jax walks in and exhales. “That was too close, sister.”
My jaw clenches. “I will make her suffer,” I tell him, hands closing into fists. “I want you to tell Kade to get Ivy back here in the nursery. Convince him—I don’t care how. I don’t want my daughter sleeping curled up next to that witch!Youwill make sure she never gets a moment alone with my kids, Beta Jax. Is that clear?”
Jax nods. “Your wish is my command, Luna Freya.”
THE HUNT DISPLAY
Nyx
Nyx runs.
Her paws drum the earth, her thick fur rustling against the wind. The forest stinks of sweat and blood where the pack scatters, tearing after rabbits and foxes. Their growls and yelps charge the air.
Nyx is unimpressed because these are small prey. They’re not enough for her. She veers away from them, nose lifting to the wind. She will not waste her jaws on scraps. The Moon Goddess demands more.
Bigger,she thinks.Prove it. Prove her worth.
She slips through brush like smoke, ears flicking. The others crash loudly and carelessly. But Nyx listens. A twig snaps in the distance. She knows it in her heart—it’s not a hare or a fox.
A pristine stag bursts into the clearing, antlers wide, and eyes wild. Its hooves strike sparks on stone as it leaps.
Nyx bares her teeth, joy flooding her veins.Yes. This one.
She lunges. Muscles coil, claws slash bark as she launches high. Her fangs sink at the throat, clean and deep. The stagshudders, then collapses. Nyx stands over it, panting, chest blazing with triumph.
The Moon Goddess has her proof.
She noses the stag once, then steps back.She will come now. She will carry what I have won.
And so, she lets go.
HONOR AND HUMILIATION
Freya
Iblink hard as the wolf peels back, leaving me in my skin again.
Quickly picking up my robe from where I left it on a large boulder, I slip it over my head. My arms burn, but I grab the stag by the antlers and heave. Nyx’s strength drones in my muscles, helping me drag it toward the clearing.
By the time I stumble out of the treeline, most of the hunters are already gathering. Carcasses litter the grass—hares, foxes, even a scrawny boar that Jax managed to find. The pack buzzes with voices as kills are weighed and displayed.
The Hunt Display is no simple sport. It is our way of proving ourselves to the Moon Goddess each year, a ritual older than the pack itself. The Alpha calls it to measure strength, and to remind us we are hunters first—wolves, humans second. Each kill is offered to the altar fire, a sign that the pack is fed. That we can still take what the land offers.
Izel stands at the center, her green gown draped hastily over her shoulders. She cradles her kill—a rabbit so limp and spotless I wonder if it was even alive when she caught it. She tilts her chin high, eyes shining like she’s led the hunt herself.
“The Moon Goddess smiles on us,” she declares, voice clear across the crowd.
Murmurs rise in agreement, though thin.
And then the gasps begin.
Because I drag the stag into the circle. Its body is whole, antlers catching the firelight like golden branches. I let it drop with a heavy thud that echoes across the stone.
“By the Moon…”
“No wolf has brought a stag in years…”
“It’s perfect—untouched…”
