Chapter 9. The Hunter’s Blood

Selene walked into the night alone.

There were no guards flanking her steps, no bond-mate at her shoulder, no weapons she trusted completely. Only the steady presence of her wolf beneath her skin, the persistent burn of the mark across her chest, and the small leather pouch at her side filled with salt, ash, and bone.

The forest ahead was darker than the woods surrounding Alaric’s territory. These trees were ancient—older than names, older than the stories wolves told to explain themselves. Their roots twisted through ground that had once been burial soil, where the dead were laid without markers or prayers, returned quietly to the earth. This was spirit-ground, the one place the Council’s blades could not strike without consequence.

Sacred, however, did not mean safe.

Mist