CHAPTER 5

"Eat. You're shaking like a leaf."

Adrian held a piece of honeyed fruit to Samuel’s lips. The silver fork clicked against Samuel's teeth. The master suite smelled of sex, ozone, and the sharp copper of the bite mark still weeping on the side of Samuel’s neck. Every muscle in Samuel’s legs spasmed, a brutal reminder of the hours spent pinned beneath Adrian’s crushing weight.

"I can feed myself, Adrian. I’m not a pet."

Samuel tried to push the Alpha’s hand away. His fingers felt like lead. Adrian didn't move. He sat on the edge of the silk-draped bed, his broad chest bare, showing the jagged red furrows Samuel’s nails had carved into his skin.

"You’re my Consort," Adrian rumbled. His thumb traced the edge of the new mark on Samuel's throat. The skin there burned, a raw, stinging heat that pulsed in time with Adrian’s heartbeat. "Last night proved you belong here. But the pack? They don’t see the Sun-Omega. They see a human playing dress-up."

Adrian pulled a robe of heavy, midnight-blue silk over Samuel’s shoulders. The fabric felt like ice against his sensitive skin. "Today is the Great Hunt. It’s tradition. The pack tests the new blood."

"Testing? You mean hunting." Samuel spat the words, his jaw tight. "You’re letting them chase me like an animal."

"I’m letting you show them why I chose you." Adrian’s eyes flashed silver, a predatory light that made Samuel’s pulse spike. "Don't disappoint me, Sam."

The air in the Stain Forest was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles. Samuel stood at the edge of the clearing, his breath hitching in his chest. Behind him, the sounds of snapping twigs and low, guttural snarls signaled the younger wolves of the pack. They were hungry. They wanted to see the human bleed.

"Ten minutes, Samuel," a guard barked, checking a stopwatch. "Run."

Samuel didn't wait. He bolted.

He didn't have claws. He didn't have the speed of a True Blood. But he had a mind that saw the world in blueprints. He didn't see just trees and dirt; he saw load-bearing structures, tripwires of roots, and the natural physics of the terrain.

He skidded down a steep ravine, the dirt staining his expensive silk trousers. Deadfall here, he thought, eyeing a precariously balanced log. He kicked a rotted branch into place, creating a tension trap.

He heard them. The yapping of two younger wolves—brothers, likely—catching his scent. They were arrogant. They were loud.

Samuel ducked behind a massive oak, counting the seconds. One. Two. Three.

A howl of pain echoed through the trees. The log had swung down, catching the lead wolf square in the chest, pinning him into the mud. The second wolf skidded to a halt, snarling at the empty air. Samuel didn't stay to watch. He moved like a ghost through the underbrush, utilizing the narrow rock formations he’d memorized from the estate’s topographic maps.

In the shadows of a cedar grove, Adrian stood perfectly still. He watched Samuel lure a third wolf into a pit of thorns. A dark, obsessive grin tugged at the Alpha’s mouth. His mate wasn't just a healer; he was a tactician. He was a weapon that didn't need a shift to win.

"Enough of this games," a sharp voice sliced through the trees.

Isabelle Reed stepped out from behind a jagged rock. She wasn't in wolf form. She wore hunting leathers, her face a mask of cold, calculated rage. In her hands, she gripped a heavy, black crossbow. The bolt notched in the groove glittered with a dull, sickly grey.

Silver-tipped.

"Accidents happen in the Great Hunt, human," Isabelle hissed. "A stray bolt. A tragic end for the pretender."

Samuel backed away, his heel catching on a root. "Adrian will kill you for this."

"Adrian will move on once you're a corpse." She leveled the weapon at his heart. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Twang.

The bolt hissed through the air, a streak of silver death. Samuel closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

He heard a roar. Not a man’s roar. Not a wolf’s. It was something deeper, something ancient.

A shockwave of pure energy hit the clearing. It felt like a physical wall of air, slamming into Samuel and throwing him backward into the moss. Isabelle was lifted off her feet, her crossbow shattering against a tree trunk.

Samuel opened his eyes, gasping for air.

Liam stood in the center of the clearing. The five-year-old’s small hands were raised, his fingers partially shifted into black, obsidian claws. He had caught the silver bolt mid-air. The metal was twisted and crushed in his tiny grip. His eyes were a terrifying, neon blue, bleeding into a void of black.

"Touch my daddy again," Liam growled, his voice vibrating with a power that made the very ground tremble, "and I’ll eat your heart."

The entire hunting party, who had been closing in, froze. They cowered, their ears pinned back in primal fear of the child. This wasn't a pup. This was a king in waiting.

The heavy thud of boots announced Adrian’s arrival. He stepped into the clearing, his presence silencing the remaining wolves. He looked at the shattered crossbow, then at Isabelle, who was scrambling backward in the dirt, her face a mask of terror.

"You used silver in my woods, Isabelle?" Adrian’s voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of a mountain.

"He... that child... he's a monster, Adrian!" she shrieked. "Look at him! He's not normal!"

Adrian walked over to Liam, his hand resting on the boy’s head. The boy’s claws retracted, the black void in his eyes fading back to silver. Adrian looked at Isabelle with utter disgust.

"You are banished," Adrian declared. "If you are found within the Stain borders by sunset, your head will be on a spike at the gate."

Guards moved in, dragging a screaming Isabelle away. As she passed Samuel, who was still trembling on the ground, she leaned in, her voice a poisonous thread.

"You think he's your savior?" she hissed, her eyes wild. "Ask him about the night your father died, Samuel. Ask him who held the blade."

Samuel froze. The air suddenly felt ten degrees colder. He looked up as Adrian approached him, reaching out a hand to pull him up. Adrian’s knuckles were bruised, and there was fresh blood—not his own—splattered across the cuff of his shirt.

"Are you hurt?" Adrian asked, his voice returning to that terrifyingly soft, possessive tenderness.

Samuel stared at the blood on Adrian’s hands. The seeds of doubt, cold and sharp, took root in his chest. He didn't take the hand.

"What is she talking about, Adrian?" Samuel’s voice was a thin, jagged line. "Who did you kill?"