Chapter 4: Moonlit Hunt

The full moon hung in the sky like a great, silver eye, casting long, distorted shadows through the ancient forest. The air was thick with the scent of pine, damp earth, and the raw, primal energy of the pack. It was the monthly hunt, a ritual as old as our kind, and participation was mandatory for all able-bodied members.

As an Omega, my role was not to chase and kill, but to follow with the other non-combatants, using our sharper senses to help track wounded game and to be ready to provide calm and healing energy after the frenzy. Usually, I found a strange peace in this role, in being part of the pack’s heartbeat. Tonight, it felt like a sentence.

Every howl that echoed through the trees, every rustle of a powerful body moving through the undergrowth, sent a fresh jolt through the bond. I could feel himout there, a blazing sun of power and focus in my mind’s eye. His wolf was close to the surface, the wildness of the moon amplifying his presence until it was almost all I could perceive. My own wolf strained against my control, wanting to answer his call, to run by his side.

‘He is hunting. He is strong,’she whined, a desperate admiration in her tone.

“He is not for us,” I muttered under my breath, my fingers clutching the strap of my small medical satchel. The headache and nausea had receded to a low hum, a constant reminder of the bond’s presence, but the proximity to him was both a torment and a relief. It was a confusing, maddening paradox.

The main hunting party surged ahead, a wave of fur and muscle, their excited barks fading into the distance. I lagged behind with a few older Betas and younger wolves, my feet dragging. The further the distance grew between Silas and me, the more the hollow ache in my chest expanded. It was a physical pain, a stretching of that invisible cord that bound us.

I was so focused on internal battle that I failed to notice the shift in the forest’s ambiance. The normal night sounds had ceased. An unnatural silence had fallen. One of the older Betas, a grizzled wolf named Gregor, lifted his head, his nostrils flaring. “Something’s wrong,” he growled.

A branch snapped to our left. Then another. Too heavy for a deer. Too deliberate.

Out of the thick gloom, three massive, mangy-looking wolves emerged. Rogues. Their eyes glowed with a feral hunger, and their lips were pulled back in silent snarls. They had been drawn by the scent of the hunt, but they’d found easier prey: the stragglers.

Panic erupted. The Betas formed a defensive circle, pushing the younger wolves and me behind them. But we were outnumbered and outmatched. The rogues charged.

Chaos. Snarls, the sickening thud of bodies colliding, the sharp tang of blood filling the air. I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs, my satchel falling forgotten to the ground. This was it. This was how it would end—not with a grand rejection, but torn apart in the dirt because I was too weak to keep up.

One of the rogues broke through the line, its yellowed fangs aimed directly at my throat. Time seemed to slow. I squeezed my eyes shut, a silent apology to my wolf for our short, miserable life.

A roar shattered the night.

It wasn’t just a sound; it was a physical force, a wave of pure, undiluted Alpha power that made the very air vibrate. I opened my eyes to see a massive, jet-black wolf—larger and more powerful than any I had ever seen—launch himself between me and the rogue.

Silas.

He moved with blinding speed, a force of nature unleashed. His jaws closed around the rogue’s neck with a brutal, efficient crack. He didn’t pause. He turned on the other two, his fury a tangible thing. This wasn’t a hunt for food; this was an annihilation. In seconds, the remaining rogues were either dead or fleeing into the night.

Silence descended again, broken only by the heavy, panting breaths of the great black wolf. He stood over me, his massive body shielding me from the carnage. His fur was bristling, and his sides heaved. Slowly, he turned his head, and his eyes, the same stormy gray even in this form, met mine.

The bond erupted, not with pain, but with a fierce, protective warmth that flooded my veins, momentarily erasing all the agony of the past days. It was a feeling of absolute, unquestionable safety. ‘Our protector,’my wolf sighed in blissful relief.

He shifted back to his human form in a ripple of muscle and power, standing before me naked and unashamed, his gaze sweeping over me, checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice rough with the remnants of his wolf’s growl.

I could only shake my head, mute. The sheer, raw power of him, the intensity of his focus solely on me, was overwhelming.

He took a step closer, and his hand, large and warm, came up to gently cup my elbow, steadying me. His thumb brushed against the bare skin of my arm.

It was like striking a match in a dark room.

A jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure shot through the point of contact, so intense it was almost painful. The constant, low-level ache of the bond vanished, replaced by a radiant, humming warmth that spread from his touch throughout my entire body. I gasped, my knees buckling slightly. A soft, involuntary sound escaped his lips, and his grip on my arm tightened, not in restraint, but in what felt like… gratitude. Relief. The harsh lines of his face softened infinitesimally. For a breathtaking moment, there was no pack, no duty, no Lucas. There was only the two of us under the moon, connected by a touch that felt more like a homecoming than a simple gesture.

His touch was a cure, a balm on my ravaged soul.

“Uncle Silas!”

Lucas’s voice, sharp and laced with venom, sliced through the moment like a knife.

The spell shattered. Silas’s hand dropped from my arm as if electrocuted. The warmth vanished, and the familiar, hollow ache rushed back in to fill the void, sharper than before. The Alpha mask slammed back into place, his expression becoming cold and remote.

Lucas stood at the edge of the clearing, his face a mask of fury as he took in the scene: the dead rogues, Silas’s naked, powerful form, and me, looking utterly wrecked and undoubtedly flushed from the bond’s reaction.

“The hunt is over,” Lucas spat, his eyes glaring daggers at me. “The others were concerned when you didn’t return with the kill. It seems you were… distracted.”

Silas didn’t look at me again. He turned to Lucas, his voice once more the cool, authoritative tone of the Alpha. “Secure the area. See to the wounded.” He gave me one last, unreadable glance, a look that held none of the tenderness of moments before, and then he turned and walked away, following Lucas without a backward glance.

The indifference was the poison. It seeped into the warmth the bond had provided, turning it cold and toxic. I stood alone in the moonlit clearing, the scent of blood and pine in the air, the ghost of his healing touch still tingling on my skin. He had saved my life, but in doing so, he had only made the prison of our reality feel more inescapable.