Chapter 8 The Hunter's Mark

The air in the training yard was crisp, tinged with frost, and carried the faint scent of iron and ash. Aria swung the blade again. And again. Over and over, until her shoulders burned and her palms bled. Sweat soaked the neckline of her shirt, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Mira watched silently from the edge of the ring, arms folded, her face unreadable. “You're improving,” she said at last. “I need more than improvement,” Aria panted. “I need to survive.” Mira stepped into the circle, tossing her a fresh dagger. “Then learn how to kill.” --- They trained until the sun dipped low, casting shadows that bled like bruises across the ground. Aria’s reflexes sharpened with each passing day. Her senses were changing, too—hearing whispers from rooms away, feeling the heartbeat of sparring partners before they struck. The Moon Blessed blood inside her was awakening. Every bruise and cut healed faster. Every lesson burned deeper. But with her growth came something else. Visions. Nightmares. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she saw a silver forest. A field of bones. A baby crying in a pool of starlight. Other times, she saw him. Dominic. On his knees. Bleeding. Begging. She didn’t know what it meant, but her chest tightened every time she woke. --- That night, Aria slipped into the manor library to clear her thoughts. Moonlight bathed the room in blue, dancing across the spines of books centuries old. The scent of parchment and leather wrapped around her like a forgotten lullaby. She ran her fingers along the shelves until a sound made her freeze. A footstep. Barely audible. But there. She turned sharply. “Who's there?” No answer. She edged deeper between the shelves, pulse quickening. Her dagger was hidden in her boot. Her fingers itched for it. A shadow moved near the window. Aria darted forward, grabbing the figure by the shoulder and slamming them against the bookshelf. “Say something, or I swear—” “Easy!” gasped the figure. It was Lyle—one of Dominic’s trusted inner circle. Barely older than her, sandy-haired, with the sharp reflexes of a scout. “What the hell are you doing sneaking around?” she demanded. “I could ask you the same,” he muttered. “But if you must know—” He pulled something from his coat. A scroll. Marked with the Council’s seal. Aria’s blood went cold. “Where did you get that?” “I intercepted a raven at the border,” he said. “Figured Dominic should know the Council’s latest threat.” He didn’t meet her eyes. Aria stared at the scroll, her instincts prickling. Then she noticed something. Lyle’s wrist. A faint scar shaped like a crescent moon. Still raw. Still burning red. Her breath caught. The Hunter’s Mark. She backed away slowly. Lyle sighed. “Guess you saw it.” Her voice trembled. “You're working with them.” “I’m doing what’s best for the pack,” he said, stepping toward her. “You don’t belong here, Aria. You’re not one of us. You’re dangerous. Dominic’s too blinded by your face to see what you really are.” “You don’t get to decide that.” “I do when the Council offers me Alpha blood in exchange for delivering you.” Aria drew her dagger. But Lyle was faster. He tackled her to the floor, hand at her throat, pressing hard. “You’re not the first Moon Blessed I’ve handled. Won’t be the last.” Aria gasped, stars flashing behind her eyes. Her skin began to glow faintly. She reached deep—into that strange, pulsing well of power inside her—and let it burn. A shockwave burst from her chest, hurling Lyle across the room. Books flew. Shelves cracked. He hit the wall with a grunt and collapsed, groaning. Aria stood slowly, panting, eyes glowing white. “I won’t let anyone use me again,” she said. Then she plunged the dagger into his shoulder—not to kill, but to bind. Silver flared. He screamed. And passed out. --- Moments later, Mira burst in, eyes wide. “What the hell happened?” Aria didn’t speak. She held out the scroll. “The Council's inside the manor.” --- Across the continent, Dominic knelt in a circle of fire, hands bound by silver chains, his body trembling from the ritual purge. A wolf to his left had already collapsed, blood leaking from his ears. The High Council watched with cold fascination. “You should have given her to us,” the High Elder said. “Now you bleed.” Dominic’s head lifted slowly. Eyes glowing gold. “She is not yours to take.” The chains snapped. And his roar shook the temple walls. ---