Chapter 9. The Hunter’s Blood

Selene walked into the night alone.

No guards. No bond-mate. No weapons she could truly rely on. Only her wolf beneath her skin, the burn of the mark across her chest, and a leather pouch filled with salt, ash, and bone.

The forest ahead was darker than the ones near Alaric’s territory. The trees were ancient—older than names, older than memory. Their roots tangled through graves that were never marked, never mourned. This was spirit-ground. The one place the Council’s blades could not reach without consequence.

But just because it was sacred didn’t mean it was safe.

Mist clung to the air like breath trapped between teeth. The wind didn’t move the trees. The air felt suspended. Watching. The moment she stepped past the stone threshold—the boundary between the living and the left-behind—Selene felt the shift.

Something had woke