Hunting My Outcast Luna

Eight

Bellamy nods. “It suggests the heir is awakening but isn’t fully realized yet.” His gaze sharpens. “Have you noticed anything unusual? Anything... unnatural?”

I think of the dream. The black wolf. The feeling of something watching me.

“Not yet,” I lie.

Bellamy doesn’t press, but he doesn’t look convinced. He shifts the parchment again, revealing another section.

“The scrolls warn of more wolves going feral. Packs are struggling to contain them. And it’s not random—it’s tied to mate bonds.”

I frown. “Mate bonds?”

“Wolves who force bonds instead of waiting for their true mates are disrupting the balance. We’ve seen more arranged pairings since the rise in rogues—packs trying to secure power, safety. But it’s making things worse.”

The words settle heavily in my chest.

“What happens if the balance isn’t restored?” I ask.

Bellamy’s gaze is grim. “Then the world collapses.”

Silence stretches between us.

Then he rolls out the final section of the scroll—the ink still drying.

“This was the last thing written before I left the chamber,” Bellamy says quietly.

I read the words, and something inside me goes cold.

“The hunt begins. The lost and the hunter will collide, and the world will tremble.”

A weight settles in my chest. I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair before meeting Bellamy’s eyes.

“I had a dream the other night,” I say, the words feeling heavier now. “It felt… different. Like it wasn’t just a dream.”

Bellamy’s expression sharpens. “What did you see?”

I hesitate. “A black wolf. She led me somewhere—somewhere sacred. There were voices, witches, I think. They were speaking, but the words were blurred, like I wasn’t meant to hear them yet.”

Bellamy’s fingers tighten against the table. “A black wolf?”

I nod. “There was something about her. Familiar, but I don’t know why.”

Bellamy exhales, his jaw tense. “That’s… impossible.” He shakes his head as if clearing a thought. “No one has seen a black wolf in generations. Not since…” He trails off, eyes flicking to the scrolls, then back to me.

I frown. “Since what?”

Bellamy hesitates. “Since the time of the Royals.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “But the Royal line ended when the King lost his mate. There was never an heir.”

A shiver rolls through me.

The first light of dawn stretches over the treetops as I step outside, the cold morning air biting against my skin. The weight of last night’s conversation still lingers, pressing against my thoughts.

Bellamy stands at the edge of the packhouse steps, arms crossed. “Be careful, Ronan.” His voice is even, but there’s tension in the way he holds himself. “The scrolls haven’t stopped. If they’re right, something is shifting.”

I nod, though I don’t have the words to reassure him. “I’ll be in touch.”

Bellamy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives me a firm nod before stepping back.

The others are already waiting near the tree line, their wolves pacing in anticipation. The journey back is short—twenty minutes at most—but an uneasy feeling settles in my gut.

I shift, the familiar snap of bones giving way to something stronger. My wolf’s senses sharpen, and immediately, the world becomes clearer. The crisp air carries the scent of damp earth and pine, the cool morning mist clinging to the forest floor.

We run.

The ground blurs beneath us, paws hitting the earth in perfect rhythm. The morning mist curls around the underbrush, soft golden light filtering through the trees. It’s quiet—too quiet for my liking. My mind is restless, replaying Bellamy’s words. If the scrolls won’t stop writing, it means something is already happening.

Something big.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it.

Because as we near the ShadowCrest border, I smell them.

Not rogues. Not enemies.

Men. Too many of them. And then I see it—the line of supply wagons stretching across the clearing, heavily guarded.

My wolf bristles.

We slow as we approach, shifting mid-step, the enchantment on our clothing keeping us from arriving bare. The wind carries the unmistakable scent of authority, thick and overbearing.

And then I see him.

The King stands at the center of it all, dressed in deep crimson, his expression unreadable. His dark eyes settle on me, calculating. Amused.

I exhale, already feeling the trap closing in.

“Alpha Ronan,” he greets smoothly, gesturing toward the wagons. “I come bearing gifts.”

I don’t move. I don’t respond.

He chuckles, motioning to the supplies. “Enough to last ShadowCrest through the next winter. Fresh grain, dried meats, even medicinal herbs. Your pack will thrive.” His eyes flick to mine, sharp as a blade. “All you have to do is one thing.”

His smile widens. “Bloodmoon pack recently had a runaway who stole something of vaule, and considering I find Alpha Grant not very useful. Find the girl. Bring her to me. Deliver her, and you will never have to worry about trade routes or starvation again.”

My jaw tightens. A girl.

The supposed thief. I wonder what they arent telling me and why is this girl have the kings interest.

I keep my expression blank. “And if I refuse?”

The King sighs, tilting his head. “Then you refuse your pack a future.” He gestures lazily at the wagons. “These supplies will go elsewhere. To those who are loyal.” His smile fades, voice hardening. “And you’ll watch your people starve.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks.

The message is clear. Comply, or suffer the consequences.

“I glance at the wagons, at the warriors surrounding them, at the abundance of food that my pack desperately needs.

My duty is to them. Always.

Slowly, I nod. “I’ll bring you the girl.”

The King’s smile returns, victorious. “Good. I knew you would see reason.”

He steps forward, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Don’t disappoint me, Ronan. You know what happens to those who do.”

With a snap of his fingers, his men begin turning the wagons, leaving behind only a fraction of the supplies—a show of good faith, or a reminder of what’s at stake.

I watch in silence as they disappear into the trees, his words lingering in the cold morning air.

I’ve made my choice.

For my pack. For their survival.

But as I turn toward home, unease settles in my gut.

The dream. The black wolf. The sacred land.

Bellamy was right. Something is shifting.

And I just put myself in the center of it.

As the last of the wagons disappear into the trees, I turn to the supplies left behind. Stacks of grain, barrels of dried meats, and crates of medicinal herbs sit in neat rows. It’s not everything, but it’s enough—not just scraps, but a true offering that will keep ShadowCrest steady for months.

It’s a calculated move. The King wants me to know he keeps his promises. That compliance is rewarded.

A muscle in my jaw ticks, but I push the thought aside. Survival comes first.

I turn to my warriors. “Get the supplies into the pack. Prioritize the healers and the storehouses.”

They move instantly, calling for others to help haul the goods back. The tension in my chest loosens—just slightly.

Alex steps up beside me, arms crossed. “Well, at least he paid upfront.”

I grunt, watching as the last of the supplies are taken. “That just means he expects me to deliver.”

Alex doesn’t argue. We both know what’s at stake.

I exhale, turning to my warriors. “We leave for Bloodmoon within the hour. Only those willing to track the girl come with me. The rest stay and guard the territory.”

A few exchange glances, but there’s no hesitation. They trust me.

Still, unease lingers in my gut. The supplies have bought us time, but I know the King’s game.

I exhale and turn to Alex and Xzavier. “I won’t force either of you to come. This is Bloodmoon—we know what they’re like. If you stay, I’ll trust you to hold things down here.”

Alex, ever composed, just nods. “You already know I’m going.”

Xzavier scoffs, throwing an arm around Alex’s shoulder. “And let you two have all the fun? Please. Besides, I’ve been meaning to see if Alpha Grant’s wolves are as ugly as the rumors say.”

Alex sighs, shaking him off. “Really?”

Xzavier smirks. “What? I have a right to know.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You don’t.”

But despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitches. Xzavier’s an i***t, but he’s our i***t. And as reckless as he is, he’s a damn good warrior.

I roll my shoulders, pushing the tension aside. “We leave within the hour. Get ready.”

Xzavier grins. “Time to go make some enemies.”

Alex elbows him. “Or, you know, not.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I shake my head and turn toward the treeline. The supplies have bought us time, but I know the King’s game. Once we set foot in Bloodmoon, everything changes.

And I have a feeling this deal will cost more than I bargained for.