Chapter 2: The Feral Hunt

Ares Nightbane had crossed the Ironspine Range, the Whispering Vale, and the forest surrounding the human villages in less than an hour.

It should have been impossible.

Even for a Lycan King.

Yet every league flew beneath his feet as if the earth bent for him, as if the night itself parted to clear his path.

Because the moment Lyra’s blood touched the ancient soil…

…something inside him snapped.

.........

It had begun at the Nightbane Fortress.

Ares stood in the war room, sharp candlelight carving shadows across his jaw as his generals droned about border threats. He wasn’t listening. He hadn’t listened for months. His Lycan side had been restless, prowling inside his ribs, irritated, hungry, agitated.

Barely under control.

Until suddenly, his breath cut off.

His claws extended involuntarily, slicing through the map table. His spine arched, every muscle locking in place. His vision went white then red. His heart slammed once, twice, then roared to life like a beast awakened.

“Ares?” General Thorne stepped toward him. “My king...”

Ares didn’t hear him. He only heard one thing.

A scent. Blood, warm, bright, pure.

But beneath it, a note he had never smelled in his entire life.

Moonblood. His mate.

The mate he swore he would never have.

The mate he did not want.

The mate the Moon Goddess forced on him.

Ares’s jaw clenched as a growl tore from his chest, claws ripping deeper into the table.

“Ares!” the general barked. “Your eyes!”

They were glowing gold.

Not bright.

Not burning, but blinding.

Ares couldn’t stay in the room a second longer.

He lunged forward, slamming his fist into the stone wall. It cracked like dried clay. Dust fell from the ceiling. Guards rushed in, but Ares roared, a sound so violent, so primal, that every warrior in the chamber instinctively fell to their knees.

His voice was distorted, deeper, layered with something ancient, 

“Move.”

No one dared disobey.

Ares tore off his cloak and stormed out of the castle, the scent pulling him like hooked talons. He shifted partially, bones elongating, muscles thickening, fangs sliding down. His clothes strained. His skin rippled with black fur patterns fighting to break through.

He forced the shift back.

Barely.

But the scent grew stronger, closer... hurting.

His mate was hurting.

A snarl ripped from his throat, feral and uncontrollable.

He ran.

And the world blurred.

............

Ares had crossed the kingdom before at full sprint, but never like this.

Tonight, the earth felt soft beneath his feet, almost springing upward as if pushing him forward. Trees whipped past in streaks of shadow. Rivers were crossed in a single jump. His lungs never burned. His legs never slowed.

His Lycan had taken the reins. And that Lycan was not calm.

Not rational. Not civilized.

“Faster,” the beast snarled from within. “She bleeds.”

Ares ground his teeth, sprinting harder.

“Faster. She dies.”

That thought nearly cost him control.

His body jerked, limbs snapping into half-shift. His vision sharpened to the point he could see each grain of dirt on the path. His heart collapsed into a violent rhythm. His bones creaked, ready to break and reshape.

He fought back with a roar, slamming one clawed hand into a tree as he ran past, shredding its bark.

“No. Not yet,” he growled. “I won’t reach her if I lose myself.”

But the beast didn’t listen.

It only repeated three words that shook him to the marrow: “She is mine.”

Ares’s breath ruptured in his chest. His legs pumped harder. His muscles burned with cold fire. He tore across the valley, not stopping even when the trail turned steep, rocky, or near impossible to cross.

When he finally sensed the clearing where her scent was strongest, he didn’t slow.

He exploded into the forest, crashing through the trees and sending birds screaming into the night.

And he saw her. Small, shaking, bleeding. Her hand protecting the child even as she bled.

And the world fell out from beneath him.

.........................

Now

Ares carried her through the forest, his arms like iron around her slight frame. She was warm even through blood loss. Too warm. Feverish.

Her scent, gods...her scent was all over him. On his chest, his neck, his hands. It crawled under his skin, soothing and torturing him at the same time.

Lyra shifted in his arms, sucking in a shaky breath. “How did you even get here so quickly…?”

He didn’t answer at first. Not because he didn’t want to. But because her weight in his arms was driving him insane.

Her head rested against his shoulder. Her breath touched his collarbone. Her fingers unconsciously curled against his chest as if she were clinging to him.

The mate bond pulsed.

Hard.

Ares growled softly.

“You spilled Moonblood,” he finally said, voice gravel. “Do you know what that means, little wolf?”

“No,” she whispered, trembled.

“Then listen carefully.” His arms tightened. “Your blood awakened the ancient call, the Feral Echo. It summoned me with a force no Lycan can resist.”

She flinched slightly. “Summoned…?”

Ares’s jaw clenched. “Yes. The moment your blood hit the earth, every instinct inside me snapped. The world disappeared. There was only...you.”

Lyra swallowed, her throat bobbing against his chest. “That’s… impossible.”

“It is forbidden magic,” Ares said. “Old, wild. Lost to our kind. No one should possess it anymore.”

“And yet…” She hesitated. “My blood did?”

He looked down at her, his eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.

“Your blood is not human, Lyra.”

His voice dropped, soft but razor-sharp.

“It carries a lineage that should have died centuries ago.”

She trembled. “You’re lying.”

“I never lie about blood.”

“Then wh-why me?”

Ares stopped walking. The forest quieted, as if listening. He lowered his head, his mouth near her ear, breath warm and rough.

“Because fate is a cruel thing,” he whispered. “And the Moon Goddess, may she burn, chose to bind me to someone who doesn’t know what she is.”

Lyra’s heart stuttered.

Ares inhaled her scent again, unable to stop himself.

“You asked how I crossed the kingdom,” he murmured. “The answer is simple.”

He angled her slightly, making the words hit deeper.

“I was hunting you.”

Lyra’s breath caught.

“And gods help anything that stands between a Lycan King and the mate he did not ask for,” he finished, voice dark and lethal.

He resumed walking, but slower, more controlled.

Yet she could feel it, Ares was shaking.

Not from exhaustion, but from holding himself back from her.

Lyra forced herself to speak past her trembling lips. “Would you… would you have stopped if it wasn’t me?”

Ares answered instantly.

“No.”

Her pulse skipped.

“A mortal wound wouldn’t have stopped me. A broken kingdom wouldn’t have stopped me. Not even death would have kept me from reaching you.”

He glanced down, his eyes molten gold.

“Understand this, Lyra, your blood called me, your scent anchored me, and your presence…”

His voice cracked low, dangerous.

“…your presence nearly pushed me into a full feral shift.”

Lyra’s breath shivered.

She didn’t know that was possible. She didn’t know she could do that to a king feared by all.

“Why?” she whispered. His answer was soft, raw, devastating.

“Because you are mine.”

He said it with a hunger that chilled her to the bone.

Not a question.

Not a hope.

A promise.

The forest thinned. The castle loomed ahead, black stone against the starless sky.

Ares tightened his grip, breath brushing her shoulder.

“And now,” he murmured, “I need to figure out whether fate blessed me…”

A pause.

A heartbeat.

“…or cursed me beyond redemption.”