Hunting My Outcast Luna

Four

The moment I’m dragged out of the pit, I know something is wrong. Grant’s anger is different this time. It’s not the casual cruelty he wields so effortlessly—it’s deeper, simmering beneath the surface, restrained only by the fact that we aren’t alone. His fury doesn’t come in sharp, biting remarks or amused taunts. This is something else. Something worse. The moment I step into the packhouse, I feel it pressing down on me, thick and suffocating.

My body aches, every muscle screaming in protest after the fight, but I don’t get the luxury of rest. Maddox’s hands clamp down tighter around my arms as they haul me forward, their grips like iron. I could fight—twist, shove, make them work for it—but I don’t. Not yet.

We move through the halls, past warriors and servants who pointedly look away. They always do. No one wants to see. No one wants to acknowledge the things Grant does behind closed doors. No one wants to stand up to the Alpha.

The door to his office looms ahead, carved with intricate symbols that once meant something. Once represented strength, unity, power. Now they’re just relics, hollow and meaningless.

The heavy thud of the door slamming shut behind me is deafening. The silence that follows is worse.

Grant stands behind his massive oak desk, hands braced against the polished wood, his fingers flexing slightly as if he’s restraining himself from breaking it in two. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. His whiskey glass from earlier is shattered against the wall, amber liquid dripping down the stone like blood. The room smells of alcohol, rage, and something else—something sharp, like barely-contained violence.

Seconds drag into an eternity before he finally speaks.

“Do you know why you’re still alive?”

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

It sends something cold slithering down my spine.

I swallow, keeping my gaze steady even as my pulse thunders in my ears. There’s no right answer here. No response that won’t set him off in some way.

I settle for the truth.

“Because I won.”

“Because you won,” he repeats, as if tasting the words, as if they’re poison on his tongue. His fingers curl into fists against the desk. “That feral should have ripped you apart.”

A slow, heavy pause.

“Yet here you stand.”

I don’t flinch. Don’t move.

“It wasn’t strong enough,” I say simply. “Or maybe you overestimated it.”

A mistake.

The desk screeches as he shoves off it, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. A hand lashes out, fingers clamping around my throat—not hard enough to cut off-air, but enough to make a point. Enough to remind me that he could, if he wanted to.

“Watch your tongue,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my face, laced with whiskey. “I don’t appreciate arrogance from someone who owes me their life.”

I don’t owe him anything.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I keep my expression blank, my body still, refusing to submit.

After a long, tense moment, he releases me, shoving me back a step. I steady myself, resisting the urge to rub at my throat.

Grant exhales through his nose, like he’s forcing himself to reel it in. He runs a hand through his hair before turning away, pacing slowly toward the shattered glass on the floor.

“You’ve become a problem,” he muses, almost to himself. “An anomaly. They bet against you, yet you keep winning. The crowd should be entertained, not… confused.”

I remain silent, waiting for the inevitable turn, the moment his amusement wears off and his fury returns in full force.

His pacing stops abruptly.

“And then there’s the matter of your survival.” He glances over his shoulder at me, eyes sharp as a blade. “Tell me, Zarya—do you believe in fate?”

I hesitate. “I believe in survival.”

A smirk. Not a kind one.

“You shouldn’t be standing here,” he says, voice low, calculated. “And yet you are.”

Something about the way he says it—something in the way his gaze lingers—sends unease curling in my gut.

This isn’t just about the fight. Something else is happening. Something worse.

I force myself to breathe evenly, to ignore the pulsing ache in my ribs, the sting of the gash on my arm. I school my expression into something neutral, something unreadable. He hates it when I show defiance, but he despises weakness even more.

“I have given you a place here,” Grant continues, his voice dripping with venom. “Despite what you are. Despite the stain you leave on my pack. And yet, you continue to survive. To defy expectations.”

I don’t dare speak. I can feel his fury, barely contained, like a predator circling its prey.

“You should be grateful. I’ve decided to make use of you.”

I don’t ask what that means. I already know it won’t be good.

Maddox grabs me again, dragging me away before I can react. My mind races as I’m thrown into the small, cold space I call my room. The door locks behind me.

My pulse hammering. Grant’s anger was different. More controlled. More dangerous. My stomach twists as a horrifying thought takes root—did he suspect something?

Does he know about Kellan?

I sit on the edge of my bed, trying to slow my breathing. If Grant knew, Kellan would already be dead. But that doesn’t mean he won’t figure it out. If I stay, I’m not just putting myself in danger—I’m putting him in danger too.

A soft knock on the door startles me. It’s barely a sound, but I know who it is before I even stand.

I open it just enough to see Kellan’s face, his expression tense.

“You okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I exhale sharply. “No.”

His gaze flickers over my face, taking in the bruises forming along my jaw. His hands clench at his sides, but he says nothing about them. Instead, he steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Here I brought some medicine to help with the soreness.”

“I need to get out of here,” I murmur, taking the medicine from him, not taking it. “Tonight.”

Kellan’s jaw tightens. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Staying is worse.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Zarya—”

“I can’t risk him finding out about you,” I snap, voice low but firm. “You think I don’t see how he looks at me? How he watches everything I do? If he suspects anything—”

“He doesn’t.” Kellan’s voice is steady, reassuring, but I don’t believe him.

I turn away, clenching my fists. “I won’t let you get hurt because of me.”

Kellan steps closer, his warmth just behind me. “Then don’t do something reckless.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You mean like fighting a feral in a cage for sport?”

“Zarya.” His voice is softer now, but there’s something else there—something heavier. “Just… wait. If you run tonight, they’ll catch you. And then your good as dead. I will think of something. Maybe Alpha Grant will see your potential and make you a member of the pack”

I grit my teeth, hating that he’s right. Hating that I feel trapped in every direction. But hating how much he actually thinks Grant will actually change. “You and I both know that will never happen, Its beena long time that I have been having to go through this. He is only going to get worse.”

“We dont know that. “

“I won’t stay forever,” I whisper.

Kellan nods, but something flickers in his eyes—something I can’t place. “I know.”

And that terrifies me more than anything.

The moment the moon reaches its peak, I move.

Every muscle in my body screams in protest, sore from the fight and Grant’s fury, but I can’t afford hesitation. If I stay, I’ll die. Or worse.

The packhouse is silent, the halls empty save for the occasional sound of footsteps from the night patrols. I count their patterns, the same way I’ve done every night for years. There’s a gap—one small window of time where no one is watching. It’s now or never.

I slip out of my room, pressing my back against the wall as I move. The corridor feels impossibly long, each step careful, calculated. My breath is shallow, heart pounding so loudly I swear it’ll give me away.

As I round the corner, I nearly collide with a figure. My pulse spikes, but a rough hand grabs my arm before I can react.

Kellan.

My stomach twists at the look in his eyes—anger, fear, something else I don’t have time to name.

“You’re really doing this,” he murmurs, voice low. Not a question. A realization.

“I have to.”

His grip tightens for half a second before he exhales sharply, releasing me. “You know they’ll hunt you.”

I nod. “Then I better get a head start.”

His jaw clenches. I expect him to argue, but instead, he glances down the hall, listening. “Come with me.”

I hesitate, but he’s already moving. I follow because I trust him—because I don’t have another choice.

Kellan leads me through a side passage near the storage rooms, past the weapon they are to guard. My eyes flicker to the door, but it remains locked, undisturbed.

He pushes open a narrow exit that leads into the tree line, pausing just long enough to meet my gaze. “Follow the river east. Stay low, move fast, and don’t stop until you’re out of Bloodmoon territory.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Why are you helping me?”

His lips press into a thin line. “Because you deserve a chance.”

There’s more he isn’t saying, but I can’t afford to ask. Instead, I reach out, squeezing his hand once before stepping past him. The night air is cold against my skin as I break into a run, the shadows swallowing me whole. The hunt has begun.