The Blood Moon

The moon hung heavy and crimson in the night sky, casting a blood-red glow over the sprawling grounds of the Blood Moon Packhouse. Wolves moved like shadows across the snow, laughter and music spilling from the great hall where the celebration roared. The rare Blood Full Moon was a night of power—a night when bonds were strengthened, instincts sharpened, and dominance reaffirmed.

Mia stood near the edge of the crowd, her very rare purple eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity. At twenty-five, she was the eldest daughter of Alpha Raul and Luna Sarah, her chestnut hair braided down her back, her posture regal despite the ache in her chest. She had trained in secret for years, honing skills her father refused to acknowledge. She was Alpha-blooded, born to lead—but Raul had never prepared her for succession. He had other plans. Plans that made her stomach twist.

Her gaze found him easily. Raul stood at the center of the hall, towering and commanding, his presence a storm that bent every head in submission. At fifty-five, he was still a force of nature—broad-shouldered, amber eyes burning like molten gold, his wolf prowling beneath his skin. But there was something different now. A shadow in his gaze. A hunger that went beyond power.

Mia watched him slip away from the crowd, moving toward the doors with the silent grace of a predator. Her pulse quickened. Where is he going? She glanced around—no one seemed to notice. Without thinking, she followed.

Into the Woods

The night air was sharp, biting against her skin as Mia trailed Raul into the forest. Snow crunched beneath her boots, the crimson moonlight painting the world in shades of blood and shadow. She kept her steps light, her breath shallow, her heart pounding like a drum.

Raul moved with purpose, his stride long and unyielding. He didn’t look back. Mia stayed far enough to avoid detection, her wolf straining against her control, instincts screaming that she was trespassing into something forbidden.

Mia undressed and shifted to move with more ease. The dress her mother insisted on her wearing to the Blood Moon Party was restrictive and she couldn’t keep up at the pace her father was moving. And her wolf is pitch black. No color anywhere on her muzzle or anywhere else. She blended into the dark forest at night. Not only was her fur coat camouflaged but her scent was masked. Mia always wore a necklace that her mother had given her the day she turned 18. The cord expanded when she shifted to her wolf form accommodating her thick wolf neck. There was something about the necklace Mia had grown to realize that allowed her to mask her scent. She never asked her mother about it. But she knew her mother had done things like this all her life in an attempt to protect her. Always leaving crystals out, and bowls of salt in windows, and quirky things like that. Mia assumed they were habits her mother had learned from the Omegas in the house. They were all from her mother’s home pack.

Then she saw it.

A clearing. A fire pit blazing in the center, flames licking the air like tongues of hunger. Wolves didn’t need fire—not in late fall, not even in their human form. The sight sent a chill down Mia’s spine.

Raul stood at the edge of the flames, his head bowed as a woman approached. She was tall, cloaked in black, her face hidden beneath a hood. Symbols glimmered faintly on the ground around the fire—circles and markings etched into the earth, glowing like embers.

Mia crouched behind a cluster of boulder rocks; her breath caught in her throat. What is this?

The Ritual

The woman spoke in a language Mia didn’t recognize—low, melodic, dangerous. She was speaking in a whisper tone, but Mia could still hear her while in her wolf form.

She hid behind a gathering of boulders in the dead of night and watched her father and listened closely. In a voice that sounded nothing like the father she knew. It was even deeper, harsher, threaded with something primal. He knelt before the fire, and the woman drew a blade from her cloak, its edge gleaming crimson in the moonlight.

Mia’s stomach twisted as Raul extended his hand, the blade slicing across his palm. Blood dripped into the flames, hissing as it touched the fire. The woman chanted louder, her hands weaving patterns in the air. The flames surged, twisting into shapes that defied reason.

Then, as the ritual reached its crescendo, the woman lifted her hand—and with a simple wave, the fire died. Snuffed out like a candle. Darkness swallowed the clearing, leaving only the echo of her voice and the pounding of Mia’s heart.

Mia’s Terror

She put out the fire with a wave of her hand. That’s not possible. That’s not… wolf. Her mind raced, terror clawing at her ribs. She couldn’t confront Raul—not without revealing she had followed him. But the image burned into her memory: the symbols, the blood, the fire, the woman’s power.

Why was the Alpha not with his pack celebrating under the rare blood moon. Mia knew that the rare blood moon had power. So, what was he doing out in the woods, alone with a stranger, a stranger who is not a wolf on a rare special night like tonight? Mia knew that over the years her father wasn’t just obsessed power and expanding his pack’s territory but more and more with the idea of immortality. He was chasing something darker. Something that could destroy them all.