CHAPTER 5: The Red Moon Hunt

I hadn't seen him since the throne room.

Three full days.

Three nights of silence, meals delivered through the door, and a maid who wouldn't look me in the eye. No one spoke to me. No one touched me. It should've been a reprieve.

But the absence felt worse than the cruelty.

The silence was suffocating. My room had become a cage of waiting — every creak of the floorboards above, every distant voice in the corridors, every shadow that passed by my window made me tense with expectation. He was letting me stew in my own dread, letting my imagination run wild with possibilities.

The meals came at precise intervals — bread, water, sometimes thin soup that tasted of nothing. The servants who brought them moved like ghosts, sliding trays through the door without a word, never meeting my eyes. I might as well have been invisible.

Or already dead.

I spent hours staring at the walls, tracing the patterns in the stone with my eyes, memorizing every crack and stain. The silver collar had grown heavier during the wait, or maybe I'd just become more aware of its weight. It pulsed with my heartbeat.

The not knowing was its own torture.

Like he was letting me wonder what form the next punishment would take.

I tried to sleep, but rest wouldn't come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face — those silver-flecked eyes that held no warmth, no mercy. I felt his hands on my skin, heard his voice promising worse things to come. The anticipation crawled under my skin like insects, making me restless and raw.

By the third night, I was jumping at shadows.

When the knock came at twilight, I didn't answer.

The door opened anyway.

Kael stepped inside without a word.

The sight of him after three days of absence hit me like a physical blow. He looked exactly the same — perfectly composed, immaculately dressed, not a hair out of place.

He didn't look tired. Or angry. Or anything at all.

Just… composed.

Which was always worse.

His presence filled the room instantly, making the walls seem smaller, the air thinner. I'd forgotten how completely he commanded space just by existing in it.

He wore dark leather tonight — a long coat that reached his knees, fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders. Silver buckles gleamed at his throat and wrists. His hair was pulled back, revealing the sharp angles of his face, the scar that traced from his temple to his jaw.

He looked like something carved from shadow and winter.

He dropped a red silk onto the bed.

It landed like a warning.

The fabric caught the lamplight, shimmering like fresh blood. Even from across the room, I could tell it was barely substantial — more suggestion than clothing.

I looked at it, then back at him.

He didn't explain.

He didn't need to.

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken threats and promises. I could hear my own heartbeat, could smell the leather of his coat, the faint wild scent that clung to him always.

"What is it?" I asked softly.

Kael finally looked at me — those silver-flecked eyes blank as winter.

"Your offering dress."

The words hit me like ice water.

My mouth went dry. "Offering for what?"

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until he was in front of me.

Each footstep was measured, purposeful. He moved like a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.

"The Red Moon rises tonight," he said. "And you will run."

The words made no sense, but the tone — soft, final, absolute — made my blood freeze.

I shook my head once. "No."

Kael's hand shot out. Not to strike.

To grip my chin, fingers tight against my jaw.

His touch was firm, possessive, the calluses on his palm rough against my skin. He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"You will run," he repeated, quieter. "And if you want to survive, you'll run fast."

My breath caught.

There was something in his eyes — not cruelty this time. Something that might have been concern, if I didn't know better.

"Explain," I rasped.

He released me, my skin tingling where his fingers had been.

Walked to the window.

Looked up through the bars.

In profile, he looked younger somehow. The harsh angles of his face softened by shadows and moonlight. But when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of centuries.

"The Red Moon Hunt is an old rite," he said. "One we've honored since before the Kingdoms were carved. The females run. The males chase. If they catch you—"

His gaze flicked back to me, and I saw hunger there. Raw and barely leashed.

"They claim you. In the dark. On the ground. With teeth."

I stood frozen, my mind struggling to process his words.

The implications crashed over me like a cold wave. Images flashed through my head — wolves in the darkness, hands grabbing, teeth biting, claiming.

"No."

He smirked.

The expression transformed his face, making him look cruel and beautiful and terrifying all at once.

"It's symbolic," he said. "Usually."

I stared at the red slip on the bed. It was barely fabric — more shadow than cloth. Backless. Sleeveless. No undergarments.

It would hide nothing. Protect nothing.

"You expect me to—"

"I expect obedience."

The words cut through my protest like a blade.

He walked toward me again, slowly, until I could smell the leather on his coat. The faint wild scent of his skin.

My heart hammered against my ribs as he approached. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. The room suddenly felt impossibly small.

"And I've told the others not to touch you."

Relief flooded through me — brief and foolish.

He leaned down, breath grazing my throat.

"But I didn't tell them to let you go."

The relief died instantly.

My stomach clenched with understanding. He'd protected me from the worst of it, but only barely. The hunt would still happen. The chase would still be real.

His lips brushed the silver collar.

"You'll run," he whispered. "Barefoot. Marked. Wet, if I have my way."

I flinched at the last words.

He stepped back.

"Dress. You have one hour."

The command hung in the air between us.

Then he left.

And the moment the door clicked shut, I collapsed onto the bed, fists clenched.