The first sliver of moonlight cuts through the bedroom window like a blade, and my skin catches fire.
I gasp, fingers clutching at the sheets as silver veins light up beneath my flesh, pulsing in time with the child's restless kicks. It's beautiful. It's excruciating. The pain radiates from my belly outward, spiderwebbing through every limb until I'm shaking with it, sweating through my nightgown.
Reid finds me like that—curled on the bathroom floor, cheek pressed to cold tile, watching my own hands glow.
"Christ." He drops to his knees, but doesn't touch me. Smart man. "It's starting early."
I bare my teeth. "What is?"
"The change." His throat works as he stares at my luminous veins. "Except... you're not turning. You're..."
"Say it."
"Something else."
The words hang between us, too big for this cramped space. Outside, the pack's howls rise in eerie harmony—preparations for the Hunter's Moon already underway. The sacred night. The thinning veil. My stomach clenches around another wave of pain.
Reid helps me stand, his grip careful. "Arthur needs to know."
"Arthur," I spit, "can rot."
But of course, he's already there. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with those predator's eyes. Moonlight gilds the sharp planes of his face, catching on the scar that bisects his left eyebrow.
"You look like hell," he says mildly.
I want to claw that calm from his bones. "What did you do to me?"
Arthur pushes off the frame, stalking forward until Reid steps back instinctively. "Nothing you didn't beg for." His thumb swipes my lower lip, comes away bloody. "The elders want you at the circle."
I know what that means. The Blood Oath. The test. My knees threaten to buckle.
"They'll kill me."
Arthur's smile is all teeth. "Then don't die."
The clearing thrums with tension. Pack members form a ring around the stone altar, their eyes reflecting firelight in shades of gold and amber. The elders stand apart—ancient faces carved with suspicion.
Remmah smirks when I stumble. "The human thinks she can be Luna."
Arthur's growl shakes the leaves overhead. "Enough."
The head elder, a withered man with milky eyes, raises a gnarled hand. "The ritual requires proof. The Blood Oath will decide if the child accepts her."
My pulse hammers. "And if it doesn't?"
No one answers. They don't need to.
Arthur grips my wrist, dragging me toward the altar. His touch burns hotter than the moon's curse. "You want to be Luna?" His breath ghosts over my ear. "Then stop fighting me and start ruling."
I jerk away. "I never wanted this!"
Something dark flashes in his eyes. He yanks me against him, one hand fisting in my hair, the other clamping around my throat—not choking, just holding. Just showing everyone who I belong to.
"Liar," he murmurs. Then his mouth crashes into mine.
It's not a kiss. It's a claiming.
His teeth slice my lip, the metallic tang of blood flooding between us. The pack's collective inhale is almost as loud as my gasp. Arthur licks into my mouth, stealing the sound, the breath, the protest. His free hand slides down to cradle my belly, possessive even as he devours me.
When he pulls back, my blood smears his perfect lips. "Mine," he snarls for all to hear.
The elders exchange glances. The head elder nods. "Begin."
Cold stone bites into my back as they strap me down. The ceremonial dagger glints in the firelight—obsidian, curved, hungry-looking. Arthur takes it without hesitation.
"This will hurt," he says, almost gently.
The first cut is a white-hot brand across my palm. My scream scatters birds from the trees. The second slice—Arthur's own palm—barely makes him flinch. Our blood drips onto the altar, mingling in the carved grooves.
The moment the drops touch, the world tilts.
My vision fractures—
Arthur on his knees, a knife at his throat, blood pouring from a wound that won't heal. A shadowy figure leans close, whispering words that make his golden eyes widen in horror.
Then—shift—my child, older, eyes glowing like twin moons, standing over a battlefield littered with bodies. Their small hand outstretched, the very air trembling.
Shift again—Elara's voice, rasping: "The old ones are coming."