The Bloodmoon Claim

Maya’s POV:

I sit on the cold concrete floor, the rough fabric of the blindfold biting into my skin while the rope around my wrists digs painfully into my flesh. Every small sound feels louder in the darkness. The soft rustle of movement startles me. I hear whispers and another girl crying.

Fear has a sound. And right now, it sounds exactly like this room. 

The smell is worse. Damp stone mixed with sweat and urine. And underneath it all, there is something metallic. 

Blood. 

My body shivers as the scene from earlier flashes through my head. I am back in my bedroom again. The door had slammed open so hard it hit the wall and nearly flew off its hinges. I remember how my heart jumped into my throat when the men ran into my room and pulled me from my bed.

My foster parents came running in behind them. My mother’s robe hung loose around her, her hair messy, as though she had just woken up. My father looked the same with his loose pajama pants and wrinkled shirt. They both had shock written all over their faces. 

For one stupid second, I thought they came to save me. That hope died when the men dragged me out of bed. I remember those rough hands on my body, and my thin nightdress offering no protection. “Mom! Dad! Please, help me!”

I screamed until my throat burned. I fought. I kicked. I begged. 

But they just stood there. 

Frozen, silent. Watching. 

I hit the floor hard, the carpet burning against my back as they dragged me. Tears blurred my vision. I begged my parents, “Please, what is happening? Why are you doing this?”

My father knelt next to me. His eyes look sad. Almost guilty.

“Maya...” his voice shook. “It’s not what I want. But now that you’re eighteen, the government won’t pay us anymore. We... we need the money. “

Money.

That word destroyed something inside me.

“This... this is our only way out.”

My mother looked like she wanted to protest. Her lips trembled. But then, one of the men threw a duffel bag at her feet, “No heroics,” he warned.

And just like that, my mother relented. That was the moment I knew that I wasn’t their daughter. I was their paycheck.

They dragged me outside. The cold air hit my skin as they shoved me into a vehicle. One of the men got too close, his breath hot against my neck as he tried to press himself against me. He slid my nightdress up above my thighs. I tried to push him with all my might and ended up kicking him in his groin. He grunted, “You little slut, let me show you how nice I can be.” He punched me in the mouth, and I tasted blood. He began fumbling with his belt buckle while holding me down with his one arm. One of the other men scoffed at him. “What, can’t we also have our fun. Nobody cares about this bitch.”

“Enough!” A woman’s voice cut through the moment. Coming from the front seat of the vehicle. She sounded sharp and dangerous.

“She’s worth more untouched. Don’t damage the merchandise.”

Merchandise.

That word followed me like a curse.

The man backed off, annoyed, but obedient. I stayed frozen because that was when I understood something even worse.

I am no longer seen as human. I am only something to sell.

Now I sit in the darkness again, hugging my knees and trying to make myself small. The sensory deprivation from being blindfolded is starting to heighten my other senses. I can hear every sniffle, every chain movement, every tiny sound around me. I hear it all. I can almost feel it in my soul.

I hear a girl nearby whimper and then pray. Her voice sounds young, maybe my age. Perhaps, even younger. I reach out with my trembling fingers, and our bound hands meet. I grab her hands and hold them tightly as she begins to sob uncontrollably. I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, offering the smallest bit of comfort. I have nothing else to give.

Time goes by agonizingly slowly. I press my forehead into my knees and focus on breathing.

In. Out. In. Out. I think really hard, in hopes that I could manifest some calmness in my heart.

But the flashbacks keep coming. I still see my father explaining my price. I can still hear the duffel bag, filled with cash, hit the floor. I still feel the rough, violent hands dragging me away from everything I worked for.

My dance career. My scholarship. My entire future came crashing down. Years of training and blisters and performances, and every dream I had about standing on a stage under bright lights while people applauded, now shattered. Gone. Replaced with, well, whatever hell this is.

My chest hurts, but I refuse to cry again. No one was coming to save me anyway.

Hours pass, my fingers flex, and the rope remains tight. I need to find a weakness. I need to escape. Might there still be a chance?

I would not allow them to break me.

I carefully close my eyes beneath the blindfold, wait, listen.

If I survive this, it will be because I refuse to become prey.

Ulric’s POV:

I am standing at the edge of the forest, staring into the darkness while the moon hangs high above me. Normally, it grounds me, but tonight, it only reminds me of the weight pressing down on my shoulders.

My father’s voice still echoes in my mind.

“Find a Luna, and give me an heir. Or you will not inherit the Alpha title.”

My father rarely offered advice or, for that matter, guidance. He only commands.

My fists tighten at my sides.

I had spent my entire life preparing to lead the Bloodmoon Pack. I had fought for the title, bled for it, even. I have proven myself stronger, smarter, and more controlled than any Alpha in the district. And yet none of that matters. I think it might be because my father feels intimidated by me. Threatened. I don’t know why. We used to be best friends, he and I. We would throw footballs and go fishing together. All of that changed when my mother died. A neighbouring pack called Silver Water killed her. Their Luna murdered her husband and blamed it on an affair with my mother, or that was the story she told. I don’t believe a word of it. Her pack ambushed my mother and killed her when she was alone on a hunt in the woods.

We have since made amends with that pack, but I will never forget, I will always remember my mother’s face.

Yet, none of this mattered. All that matters to my father now is producing an heir. I am nothing more than breeding stock myself.

I feel an involuntary bitter laugh escape my mouth.

My father spoke about legacy as if it were power, control, and dominance. He never truly understood what it meant to be an Alpha. It was not about instilling fear in others’ minds. It was about responsibility and protecting the weak.

We had to learn to control the beast inside ourselves before trying to control others.

My jaw tightens as I remember the other half of his demand, his solution to my problem.

His contact.

The woman who buys girls like property. Madam Sherry. The Luna of the Silver Water pack. I feel sick just thinking of her. Disgust twists in my stomach. I could never take a Luna like that. I will never claim a broken woman forced into submission. If I took a Luna, it would be because she was strong enough to stand beside me, not because she had no other choice but to comply.

My wolf, Fenrir, stirs beneath the surface of my conscious mind. He is restless, but does not disagree with my thoughts.

Fenrir knows how to comfort me. He knows when I am right.

“I will choose my own path,” I mutter into the night, “even if I have to defy my father, or delay my inheritance, and even if I cause a war in my own pack. “

I exhale slowly and look up at the moon again.

I know that somewhere out there is a strong woman who will stand beside me. Not behind or beneath me, but beside me. I don’t know where she is yet. And I will not claim her against her will.