Chapter 3

3rd person’s POV

The moon was red that night.

The kind of red that stained the pines, the stones, even the eyes of wolves who dared to look too long.

Kaelor stood first in the clearing. Tall, scarred across the jaw, his silver cloak brushing the earth as he waited. He was always the first. Always patient. Always steady. His men said he carried the weight of three packs on his shoulders, but in truth he carried something heavier the ghost of a woman’s scent, still fresh in his mind after so many years.

The pines rustled. A darker shape came through the trees, all restless strength and wild eyes. Rhydan. He didn’t bother with a cloak, his chest bare, skin marked by claw scars that told stories of battles he refused to hide. His growl rolled low before words came.

“She’s close. I feel it in my blood.”

Kaelor did not move, though his hand tightened at his side. “Patience, Rhydan. Feeling is not finding.”

“Don’t talk to me about patience.” Rhydan spat on the ground. His voice cracked with the fire of years left burning. “She ran. She took herself from us, from me. And I’ve been hunting shadows ever since.”

Another silence. Then came the last one, colder than both. Draven stepped into the bloodlit clearing. He wore black, leather fastened to perfection, not a hair or scar out of place. His gaze was sharp enough to cut, his movements too controlled. Yet his eyes were dark and endless betrayed him. They always betrayed him when her name was whispered.

“You think she ran from you,” Draven said quietly, his voice a blade sliding free. “I say she was taken. The world does not let a woman like her go free without a chain.”

Rhydan’s jaw flexed, but Kaelor lifted a hand. “Enough.” His scar tugged when he spoke, a reminder of what he’d lost in battle long before that night. “We are not here to fight each other. We are here because the Blood Moon called us. And because she is near.”

The three men stood in the circle of red light, and though none spoke of it aloud, the memory came.

Kaelor remembered the fire first. The way she had laughed, head thrown back, sparks catching in her hair. He had thought then that she was fire itself untamed, glowing, dangerous. When her hand brushed his scar, he had not flinched. No one had ever touched him there before. But she did, and it felt less like pity, more like recognition.

Rhydan’s memory was louder. Her body pressed against his in the shadows, the way her breath hitched when he kissed her. She had not been afraid of his wildness. She met it on her own. He had never begged for anyone before, but he would have begged that night if she asked.

Draven’s memory was sharper. The moment her eyes had caught his dark to dark. She had seen through him in a way no one else had, peeling back layers he kept buried. When she whispered his name, low, trembling, it had undone him. He, who controlled everything, had been controlled by her.

And then she was gone. One night, and gone.

The Blood Moon burned higher. Kaelor was the first to kneel, pressing his palm to the dirt. Rhydan followed, nose tilted toward the wind. Draven crouched low, scanning, calculating.

Then Kaelor’s hand twitched. His head lifted.

“Do you smell it?”

Rhydan froze. His nostrils flared, wild and hungry. “Her.”

Draven did not breathe for a full moment. Then his lips parted. “She passed here.”

It was faint, but unmistakable. That same blend of earth and storm, of fire and skin. Years had passed, yet the forest still carried her trace.

Kaelor rose, eyes narrowed toward the trees. “She hides in these lands.”

Rhydan’s fists clenched. “Then why wait? We should burn Heavenbrook to ash until she crawls to us.”

“No,” Draven said sharply. His gaze cut like iron. “Not ash. Not yet. She ran once. She will not run again.”

But Kaelor’s scar pulled when he frowned. “We must tread carefully. She chose to leave us. We cannot…”

“She did not choose,” Rhydan snarled. “You always make her softer than she was. She was wild. Like me. She wanted more, and we gave it, and then she…” He trailed off, unable to finish. His chest rose and fell, breath sharp as broken glass.

Draven’s voice cut through. “Whatever the reason, she is here. And we will take her back.”

They followed the trail deeper. Hours blurred. The night grew heavy, the blood moon sinking but still fierce in the sky.

Then Rhydan stopped. His whole body stilled, as if struck. His nostrils flared once, twice, and then his eyes widened with something between rage and awe.

“Do you smell that?” he whispered.

Kaelor inhaled, steady at first until the sharp truth hit his lungs. His scar seemed to burn with it.

Draven’s mask cracked, just for a moment. His pupils thinned to slits. He looked at the others, but his voice shook when he spoke.

“Children.”

Two scents. Young. Pure. Carrying the same wild fire, the same shadowed storm. Blended with hers.

Rhydan staggered back, hands dragging through his hair. “No. No, it can’t be….”

Kaelor’s hand gripped his shoulder hard. “It is.” His voice was iron. “She bore children.”

Draven said nothing. His jaw tightened, his fists curling at his sides. For the first time in years, the control slipped. He turned toward the trees, eyes gleaming red beneath the moonlight.

“They are ours.”

The three of them stood there, bound by one truth. The night they thought was only memory had left its mark in flesh and blood. She had not only vanished—she had taken pieces of them with her.

Kaelor’s patience cracked. Rhydan’s rage burned. Draven’s cold obsession deepened.

And as the last howl split the sky, echoing over the pines, all three lifted their heads.

The hunt was no longer for a woman.

It was for their mate.

And their children.