The Feast of the Luna

The village of Oakhaven was a place built on silence and iron. For generations, the humans who lived in the valley had followed a strict set of unspoken rules: never stay in the woods after the sun dips below the peaks, never leave a window unlatched on a full moon, and never, under any circumstances, speak the name of the things that lived in the Black Ridge.

Elara adjusted her grip on the heavy cedar trunk, the wood grain biting into her palms. Her room, once a sanctuary of dried lavender and sunlight, now felt like a cage she was about to be traded from. Outside the window, the sky was a bruised purple, the first stars blinking like cold, uncaring eyes.

A sharp, rhythmic rapping at her door startled her. She dropped the folded wool cloak she was holding, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Elara? It’s me."

The tension in Elara’s shoulders gave way just enough for her to breathe. "Come in, Sarah."

Sarah slipped through the door, closing it with a finality that made the room feel even smaller. Her best friend looked as though she hadn't slept in a week. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and her blonde hair, usually braided with meticulous care, was frayed and messy.

"You’re really doing it," Sarah whispered, her voice trembling. "You’re really going to let that... that monster take you away."

"His name is Fenris," Elara said, though the name felt heavy on her tongue. "And the Council agreed to the Union. It’s for the safety of the village. As long as a Luna sits beside him, the pack stays on their side of the Ridge. No more missing livestock. No more missing children."

Sarah let out a harsh, jagged laugh that set Elara’s teeth on edge. "You actually believe that? You think they want a bride? Elara, look at yourself. You’re small. You’re soft. You’ve never even seen a wolf up close, have you?"

"I met him," Elara defended, her voice small. "Three times. In the clearing by the creek."

"And you think those little meetings were romantic?" Sarah stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, terrifying hiss. "My father was at the tavern last night. He heard the Elders speaking with the scouts who returned from the border. They aren't preparing for a wedding, Elara. They’re preparing for a harvest."

Elara felt a cold chill wash over her. "What are you talking about?"

"The 'Luna Ceremony,'" Sarah said, her eyes wide and manic. "Why do you think the girl from the South wilage—Clara—was never heard from again? My father said the scouts saw the bones, Elara. They don't want a queen to lead them. They want a human sacrifice to 'purify' the pack during the full moon. They believe human marrow makes the wolves stronger, faster... more human. They wait until the girl is settled, until she’s 'relaxed,' and then..." Sarah made a sharp, gutting motion with her hand.

"No," Elara gasped, clutching her throat. "He wouldn't. He was so... gentle."

Flashback: The Creek

Six months ago.

The air had been thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Elara had ventured further into the woods than she should have, lured by the rare bluebells that grew near the Black Ridge border. The ground was slick with morning dew. One moment she was reaching for a flower, and the next, her foot slipped on a moss-covered stone.

She had gasped, bracing for the impact of the cold water and the sharp rocks below. But the impact never came.

Massive, warm hands had caught her mid-air. They were larger than any human hands, the skin tanned and rough, the grip possessing a terrifying strength. She was hoisted upward and pressed against a chest that felt like a wall of heated granite.

She had looked up into eyes the color of molten gold—Fenris. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt dangerous, his hair dark and wild, his jawline sharp enough to cut silk. He didn't let go immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest vibrating against hers.

"You smell... incredible," he had rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that she felt in her very bones. "I’ve never smelled anything so sweet in these woods. I could stay right here forever."

Elara had blushed, her heart racing not from fear, but from a strange, magnetic pull. She had thought it was love at first sight. She had thought he was captivated by her beauty.

The Present

"He wasn't smelling my perfume," Elara whispered to the empty room, Sarah’s words ringing in her ears.

He was smelling the meat.

"He was gauging the sweetness of the blood," Sarah added, leaning in, her eyes gleaming with a hidden, jagged jealousy that Elara was too terrified to notice. "They say if the human is scared, the meat turns bitter. That’s why he’s being 'gentle' now. He’s seasoning you, Elara. He’s making sure you don't spoil before the moon reaches its peak."

Elara sank onto her bed, her knees turning to water. The beautiful memory of the creek was now a horror story. The way he had held her wasn't protective; it was possessive. He wasn't checking to see if she was hurt; he was checking the quality of his prize.

"What do I do?" Elara asked, her voice breaking.

"You play the part," Sarah said, gripping Elara’s shoulders. "If you run now, they’ll hunt you down before you reach the tree line. Go with him. Move into the pack house. But keep your eyes open. Listen to what they say when they think you aren't around. Find a weapon—something silver if you can find it. And when the time is right, you run. You run and you don't look back."

A low, haunting howl echoed from the distance, rolling down the mountainside and vibrating through the glass of Elara’s window. It wasn't a lonely sound; it was a call. A summons.

"He’s here," Sarah whispered, her face turning ashen. "The Alpha is at the gate."

Elara stood up, her movements mechanical. She felt as though she were watching herself from a great distance. She put on her traveling cloak—the deep red one her mother had made for her. She had chosen it because it was her favorite color. Now, as she looked in the mirror, she realized she looked like a drop of blood against the pale walls of her room.

She picked up her trunk and walked down the stairs. Her parents were standing in the foyer, their faces masks of grim stoicism. In Oakhaven, giving a daughter to the wolves was considered a grim necessity, like paying a tax or burying the dead.

Her father opened the heavy oak door.

Standing in the courtyard, framed by the iron gates, was a black carriage pulled by two massive, soot-colored horses. Beside it stood Fenris.

He was dressed in dark furs and leather, looking every bit the predator he was rumored to be. When he saw Elara, his golden eyes flared with an intense, predatory light. He stepped forward, his movements fluid and silent.

"Elara," he said, his voice like the roll of distant thunder. He reached out, taking her hand in his. His skin was scorching hot against her cold fingers. He didn't just shake her hand; he brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. "The pack has been waiting. I have been waiting. Everything is prepared for your arrival."

Elara forced a smile, her lips trembling. She thought of Sarah’s warning. Everything is prepared. The salt. The herbs. The spit.

"I'm ready," she lied, her voice barely a whisper.

As Fenris helped her into the carriage, he leaned close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "You look radiant in red, my Luna. It’s a color that suits you... perfectly."

He shut the carriage door, and as the wheels began to grind against the gravel, Elara looked back one last time. Sarah was standing in the shadows of the doorway, a strange, dark smile touching her lips as she watched her best friend being driven toward the slaughterhouse in the woods.

Elara clutched her silk skirts, her mind racing. She wouldn't be a meal. She wouldn't be a sacrifice. She would find a way to survive the Black Ridge, even if she had to burn the whole forest down to do it.