Hunting My Outcast Luna

Thirteen: Zarya

I am awake.

But I am not where I fell asleep.

The rogue tents are gone. The people—gone.

Fog curls over the moss-covered ground, thick and restless. The air is colder than it should be, pressing against my skin like unseen hands. Darkness stretches in every direction, suffocating, endless. There is no moon. No stars.

Where the hell am I?

I exhale slowly, but the breath barely leaves my lips before the silence swallows it whole. I can’t see. Not having a wolf makes it worse. My instincts are dulled, my senses weaker. So I do the only thing I can.

I move.

Sliding one foot forward, then the other, I keep my hands outstretched, searching for something—anything—to anchor me. My fingers graze rough bark, and I flinch before realizing it’s a tree. A massive one.

The more I feel, the more I understand—this tree is ancient. Nothing like the ones back home in Bloodmoon territory. And the ground at its base is smooth, untouched by roots or decay.

A chill slides down my spine. I am not alone. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I still, holding my breath. I strain to listen, but without a wolf, my senses fail me. Then— Silver eyes.

They appear just ahead, cutting through the dark, staring at me with an intensity that stills the air itself. At first, they are level with mine. Then, they rise. Higher. Higher. As if whatever owns them had been lying down and is now standing.

Something in me screams to step back. To run. But I don’t. I can’t. The silver eyes hold me captive, but it isn’t fear that roots me in place. It’s something else. Something deep. Familiar. Then the creature blinks. Its gaze softens. It lowers its head slightly, takes a step forward.

The fog shifts, clearing a path as it moves toward me. That’s when I see it—not just a wolf, but something more. A spirit wolf. Its silver fur glows faintly in the dim light, and across its chest, dark markings twist together, forming a shape—a wolf howling.

What does it mean? The spirit wolf steps closer, within reach now. Its silver eyes lock onto mine, peering into something deeper than flesh and bone. Then, with a flick of its ear, it lets out a soft yip and turns. Walking away. It wants me to follow.

I hesitate, but only for a breath before I take a step—then another. I try to keep up, but no matter how fast I move, the wolf drifts further away, just beyond my grasp.

“Hey!” I call. The fog thickens again, swallowing its form.

“Wait for me,” I whisper.

Alone. Again. A hollow ache settles in my chest, heavier than it should be. I don’t understand why losing sight of the wolf feels like losing a part of myself.

Then the wind shifts. It starts as a whisper, then builds—swirling, raging, howling around me like a storm. I crouch down, shielding my eyes as debris spins through the air, caught in a whirlwind I can’t escape.

And just as suddenly as it began— It stops. I lower my arm, slowly opening my eyes. I am no longer in the forest. The night is gone. The sun is shining. And the scent of iron and pine fills my lungs. I know this place.

The training yard stretched before me, the ground packed firm from years of drills. Moonlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the crisp night air carried the distant sounds of wolves in motion—guards patrolling, warriors sparring. But in this moment, there was only one figure in front of me.

My father. I remember.

He stood tall, his presence commanding even in the stillness of the dream. The deep crimson of his cloak barely stirred in the wind. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes burned with something sharp—something knowing.

"Again," he said.

I squared my shoulders, shifting my weight instinctively. I knew what was coming I lunged.

He stepped aside effortlessly. I barely caught myself before stumbling, but the slight hesitation was all he needed. His arm moved in a blur, a firm pressure against my back—light enough not to hurt, but strong enough to send me off balance. I landed hard, breath forced from my lungs.

"Too obvious," he murmured.

Frustration curled in my chest, hot and bitter. I pushed up onto my elbows, glaring. "I didn’t hesitate this time."

"Your attack wasn’t the problem," he said, stepping closer. "It’s that I already knew what you were going to do."

I frowned, but he crouched beside me, his gaze steady.

"You always show too much, Zarya. Your anger, your intent. Every time you move, you tell me exactly what you’re thinking." His voice was calm, but the weight of his words sank deep. "You put all your cards on the table before the game has even begun."

I clenched my jaw, unwilling to admit he was right.

"Power isn’t just about strength," he continued. "It’s about control. Deception. Knowing when to strike—and when to make them think you won’t."

He held out a hand. I hesitated, then took it. He pulled me to my feet with ease.

"Never show your full hand," he said, voice quieter now. "Not to your enemies. Not to your allies. No one." His eyes bore into mine. "Because the moment someone knows all your weapons, they’ll find a way to break them."

I stared at him, the weight of his words settling into my bones. His gaze softened, just slightly. "Again." This time, I didn’t lunge first. The dream shifted then, the training yard dissolving into mist, his form fading into shadow. But his words stayed, echoing in my mind.

"Never show your full hand."

Last night with Dian’s group was the first time in a long while that I didn’t have to wonder if someone was plotting my death. They didn’t care that I didn’t have a wolf. It was like they saw me as me, not as something lesser. They listened. They welcomed me.

Jasper had taken the night watch, keeping an eye out for the king’s return. Before he left, he offered me his tent. I hadn’t slept that well in years.

Now, as I sat eating breakfast, waiting for Jasper to return and report to Dian, the air felt heavier than it had the night before.

Jasper rolled in moments later, his face tight with urgency.

“What’s the word?” Dian asked.

Jasper’s sharp gaze scanned the group until it landed on me. “We have to move.” His voice was tense. “My contacts just confirmed—the king has put a bounty on your head.”

The world around me narrowed.

“What?” Myla asked.

Jasper’s expression darkened. “Whoever captures Zarya and delivers her alive will be granted a pack of their own to rule as Alpha.”

A slow, eerie silence settled over the group.

“Can he do that?” Myla asked, shaking her head. “Kings don’t just create new packs. The same ones have existed for thousands of years.”

“If I remember right,” Myla mused, “the old pack healer used to ramble about the Four Original Covens—the ones who created our world. She said they’re still among us, hiding, each one tied to an element: Fire, Air, Water, and Earth. And that the packs we have today are built on the balance of those forces.” She exhaled. “If the king is offering a new pack, he’s trying to disrupt that balance.”

“We can worry about the why later.” Jasper’s tone was clipped. “There’s more. Alpha Ronan was assigned to capture you as well. If things go bad, let’s hope he’s the one who finds you first. Because if another rogue faction gets their hands on you, they’ll use you as leverage.”

I clenched my fists. “I don’t understand why the King would want me so badly. We’ll figure that out. But right now, we focus on Myla’s situation. My problems don’t have to be everyone’s.” I added, but something in my gut told me this was far from over. “I think I know how to tell your father without him completely losing it,” I said, turning to Myla and Dian. “But you may not like it at first.”

The early morning air was crisp as I rode on Myla’s back, the wind tugging at my cloak. The terrain shifted as we neared the Stormveil border—rocky cliffs loomed in the distance, their snow-capped peaks piercing the sky. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, the forest thicker, greener.

Myla slowed in a meadow, and I slid off, stretching my sore muscles. One by one, the others shifted back. Myla hesitated, tension rolling off her in waves.

“Trust me,” I told her. “It’ll work. He might not like it at first, but he’s an Alpha. He’ll respect the move.”

She took a steadying breath. “Everyone remember the plan,” she said.

Dian nodded. “We’ll follow until Myla gives the signal. Then we wait.”

“I think it’s brilliant,” Jasper added with a smirk. “It might actually work—without too much bloodshed.”

We moved forward, Myla leading us toward the patrol line. A reddish wolf was the first to spot us. Within seconds, two warriors had shifted into their human forms, eyes locked onto Myla in shock.

“Myla?” one of them, Jerricho, breathed. “You’re alive?”

Their attention snapped to me, and their stances shifted—defensive, wary.

“Jerricho, Lenny,” Myla said sharply. “Stand down. One of you, go get my father. And if either of you so much as look at my friend wrong again, you’re off warrior duty.”

The two warriors stiffened. Lenny hesitated, but Jerricho, the smarter of the two, relaxed. “Why don’t you just come with us? This is still your home, Myla.”

We followed them through the thick forest, Myla making small talk to mask her nerves.

“What have I missed?” she asked.

Jerricho sighed. “Tempest is worse than ever. We can’t calm her. Your father even brought in witches to help, but they said nothing they could do would settle the beast.”

Before I could ask what that meant, movement ahead caught my attention. Alpha Rowan was running toward us, his face a storm of emotions.

“Myla,” he exhaled, pulling her into a fierce hug. “You have some explaining to do.”

His sharp gaze landed on me, recognition sparking in his eyes. His expression twisted.

“You,” he said, his voice suddenly like ice. “You’re the thief.” His jaw tightened as he turned back to Myla. “You brought a thief into my pack?”