The Hunt Begins

POV: Alpha Marcus (Luther’s Father)

The fire in my study was low, flames licking the logs with quiet hunger. I preferred it that way—dim corners, long shadows. Darkness strips men of their masks.

My son stood where I told him to: in front of my desk, back rigid, jaw locked, fists clenched at his sides. All sharp edges, iron posture, the image of an Alpha who conquered boardrooms and crushed rivals.

But I had seen him falter. We all had.

That howl.

It still reverberated through the stones of Red Moon. Two young voices, raw but potent, howling in unison with enough force to make half the pack collapse. Warriors, servants, even the elders had dropped to their knees, gasping under the weight of power too primal to resist.

I’d nearly bent myself. Nearly.

And Luther—Alpha, my heir, my blood—had swayed like the sound punched through his ribs.

I steepled my fingers on the desk. “Do you want to explain what happened?”

His jaw ticked. “Wolves howl, Father. You’ve heard them before.”

“Don’t insult me.” My voice was quiet, sharp as a whip. “That was no rogue. Those were pups. Alpha-born pups.”

A flicker in his eyes—denial, fear, something raw enough to bleed through the mask he’d worn for years.

“Impossible,” he said, but the lie faltered.

I rose, circling the desk, boots whispering on stone. Banners lined the walls, Red Moon’s victories stitched in crimson and silver. Blades glinted faintly in the firelight—swords, axes, spears taken from Alphas long buried.

“This house has endured centuries,” I said, letting the weight press down. “Because we’ve always known what strength is. Not your companies or headlines. Blood. Heirs. Legacy carved into marrow.”

His throat bobbed. He said nothing.

“When the latent fled,” I pressed, voice flat as stone, “did she leave with more than shame?”

That hit. His fists tightened, knuckles bone-white.

“How would I know?” His voice came out rough. “Conception doesn’t happen a day after… after. Even if she was, I couldn’t have known.”

I leaned close, catching the whiskey still sour on his breath. “No wolf in this house could sire power like that. No one but you. They are your heirs.”

His nostrils flared. Silence was answer enough.

“Do you want me to send trackers?” I asked softly. “Before rival Alphas sniff the truth? Iron Fang already presses our borders. Ash Claw mocks us with gifts. If they find those pups first, they won’t hesitate to claim them. Or kill them.”

His head snapped up. “No.”

“No to what?”

“To anyone touching them.” His voice dropped, dangerous. For a moment, Recce’s eyes looked back at me through his. “If the Goddess gave me heirs, no council, no rival, not even you lays a hand on them.”

Good. Claim it. Own it.

“Then you had better move quickly,” I said. “Humans won’t shield them. Your firms, your balance sheets—worthless. If they’re five now, the bond will roar louder at the next full moon. Every wolf with half a nose will feel it.”

His breath hitched.

I twisted the knife. “At least she’s a good breeder.”

His head whipped toward me, fury sparking.

“Latent as she was, the bitch bred strong,” I murmured, cruel as firelight. “Two heirs howling with enough force to crack this mountain. You didn’t crown her Luna. You rejected her. But her belly gave you what the Goddess demanded anyway.”

“Don’t,” he snarled, voice shaking with rage.

I smiled faintly. “Don’t what? Speak truth? You were too proud to claim her, but she gave you the future of this pack. You can deny me, deny the council, deny yourself—but you cannot deny blood.”

“Please, Father.” Quieter now, but dangerous. “Don’t go there.”

Recce growled in his chest, low and audible even to me.

I let silence stretch. The fire popped. The shutters rattled in the wind.

Finally, I said, “So what’s your next step, son? Chase them? Or sit on your throne while other packs hunt them like prey?”

His jaw flexed. “I’ll find them.”

“How?”

“Quietly. No colours. No council. My way.”

“And if they resist you?”

His lips curved cruelly. “Then I’ll remind them what it means to be mine.”

I inclined my head once, granting him the weight of my silence.

He turned for the door, hand tight on the latch.

“Luther,” I said.

He paused.

“When you find them, you don’t bring me trophies,” I told him, voice like stone. “You bring me heirs on their own feet. You bring them before the banners so every wolf knows the Goddess favoured Red Moon despite your foolishness. That is how you stop a war.”

His knuckles whitened. “If she stands with them,” he said, quieter but sharper, “no one drags her anywhere.”

Ah. The wound still bled beneath the mask.

I smiled faintly, though it tasted of ash. “Then you had better convince a woman you humiliated to walk beside you without a blade in her hand.”

A humourless breath left him—half laugh, half curse. Then he was gone, the corridor swallowing his shadow.

I stood alone in the firelight. The howl still echoed in my bones.

The pups had cracked more than the pack. They had split my son straight down the middle—Alpha and man, duty and regret.

I had spent a lifetime cutting softness out of him. Now the Goddess had returned it, doubled.

War comes easily when pups are at stake. Every elder knows it. Every Alpha smells it.

I pulled a map toward me, marking the borders we could hold and the ones we could not, and offered a prayer I did not believe in.

Run, girl, if you must. But run fast. Because my son has finally decided to hunt.

---

POV: Elara (Luther’s Mother)

The echoes of Marcus’s words still clung to the stones long after Luther’s footsteps faded. His scent—pine, sandalwood, myrrh—lingered too, sharp with anger and grief.

I stepped out from the shadowed alcove where I had listened, unseen, as father and son circled each other like wolves with blood between them.

Marcus didn’t startle. He never did. He poured more whiskey into his cup and said, “Eavesdropping, wife?”

“Listening,” I corrected softly, my voice carrying the weight of years. “The way you never do.”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”

“I should have started six years ago,” I said, stepping into the firelight. “When you stood silent while he rejected the girl the Goddess chose for him.”

His eyes flicked toward me, hard. “She was latent. Weak.”

I crossed the room, slow and sure, until I stood where Luther had been. “She was his mate. I saw it in his eyes. I felt the bond spark between them. You broke it. You broke him.”

Marcus drank, unbothered, though the vein in his temple pulsed. “He needed hardening. And you saw it yourself—he bent tonight when those pups howled. If he doesn’t move quickly, that softness will destroy him.”

I stared into the flames, seeing not fire but Olivia’s face the night of the coronation. Brave chin lifted, eyes glass-bright with unshed tears. “You call it softness. I call it strength. That girl had more spine than half your council. And now she’s out there, raising his heirs without him. Do you know what that means?”

Marcus arched a brow. “Enlighten me.”

“It means when he finds her—and he will—those children won’t know Red Moon as home. They’ll know her arms, her love, her loyalty. Not yours. Not his. Hers.”

For the first time, his lips pressed thin, a crack in his composure.

I stepped closer, voice sharp. “You think heirs are just weapons for your throne. But they are blood, Marcus. And blood remembers who cherished it—and who discarded it.”

He turned away, but I pressed harder.

“Mark me: if you force his hand again, you’ll lose not only your son, but the legacy you clutch so tightly. Luther will choose her. He’ll choose those children. And when he does, Red Moon will kneel—whether the council wills it or not.”

The fire snapped between us. Finally, he muttered, “You sound as foolish as he does.”

“I smiled faintly, bitter as gall.”

. “No. I sound like a mother who knows her son better than his Alpha does.”

I left him then, the firelight painting his shadow long against Red Moon’s banners.

As I walked the corridor, I laid my hand against the cold stone and whispered to the night:

Hold on, girl. Hold on, children. He will come. And when he does, I’ll be standing beside you—not against you.