The Silverblood Luna

Blood on the Stones

Kaela’s POV

I didn’t sleep.

The mattress was too thin, the room too quiet without the sound of Thornfire’s guards pacing outside my window. My wolf prowled under my skin until dawn bled over the mountains, turning the sky pale silver.

By the time the academy bell rang, I was already dressed, boots laced tight, dagger tucked under my pillow where my hand had rested all night.

The courtyard was chaos when I stepped outside. Dozens of boys lined up in rough rows, shoving and snapping at each other like restless wolves. The air buzzed with tension and the sharp tang of dominance, so strong it stung the back of my throat.

I kept my hood up and joined the last row, careful to keep my chin down.

A man stepped onto the dais at the far end of the yard. He was older, with dark hair streaked silver, but power rolled off him like heat. My knees wanted to buckle just from standing in his presence.

“Welcome to Shadowfang Academy,” he said, voice ringing like a command. “You are here because your packs believe you have the potential to lead—or to die trying.”

No one spoke. Even the boys who had been laughing moments ago fell silent, as if some primal part of them understood exactly how serious this was.

“Today,” his gaze swept over us like a blade, “we find out which of you is strong enough to stay.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

He raised his hand, and the far gates creaked open.

“First trial,” he said. “The Pit. Survive until the bell rings.”

The boys around me lit up with excitement or cursed under their breath. A few grinned like they’d been waiting for this moment their whole lives.

I clenched my fists and followed as the line moved.

The Pit was worse than I imagined.

A sunken arena carved from black stone, its walls jagged with claw marks and dried blood. The sand smelled of sweat, iron, and fear. Rust-colored stains marked places where fights had gone too far.

I dropped into the sand with the others, the gritty floor shifting under my boots.

A shadow fell across me.

A boy with shoulders like a bull, wide and solid, sneered down at me. His jaw was square, his hair cropped short, and he smelled like arrogance and anger.

“You,” he said, lips curling. “New blood. You won’t last five minutes.”

I stayed quiet.

“Cat got your tongue, runt?” he taunted.

My wolf pressed against me, her growl rattling in my chest.

Not yet, I told her, forcing air into my lungs. Not here.

The bell clanged.

The Pit exploded into chaos.

Boys lunged at each other with claws and teeth, snarling and laughing. Sand flew up in clouds as bodies slammed into each other, bone and muscle colliding with brutal force.

I ducked as someone was thrown past me, barely missing a kick to the head.

Stay low. Stay alive.

I wove between fighters, keeping my back to the wall, trying to stay out of the worst of it—until bull-shoulders saw me again.

His grin widened, teeth flashing.

He charged.

I dodged left, but he was faster than I expected. His fist connected with my ribs, a sharp c***k of pain stealing my breath. My wolf howled inside me, furious, silver power pushing hard against my skin.

“Fight back!” he roared, swinging again.

I caught his wrist, twisted hard, and used his weight to throw him over my shoulder. He hit the sand with a satisfying thud.

For a split second, the Pit went quiet.

Then someone whistled.

Bull-shoulders snarled and lunged at me again.

This time, I didn’t wait. I ducked under his swing, planted my foot, and drove my heel into his gut. He stumbled back, coughing, but didn’t fall.

My hood slipped, my braid spilling forward.

My heart stopped.

I yanked it back up before anyone could get a good look—but a few boys had already seen too much. Their nostrils flared, sniffing, trying to place the faint difference in my scent.

The bell rang, sharp and final.

The fighting stopped at once. The boys stood panting, bloody and grinning, dominance still crackling in the air like lightning.

Bull-shoulders glared at me, wiping blood from his lip. “This isn’t over.”

I believed him.

“Not bad, new blood.”

The voice came from behind me.

I turned and found Riven leaning against the wall, arms crossed, not a mark on him. His gray eyes raked over me, unreadable but sharp.

He hadn’t fought. Not once. And somehow that made him even more dangerous.

“Try to stay alive,” he said casually, as though he hadn’t just been watching me fight for my life. “Would be a shame if you didn’t make it to the real tests.”

And then he was gone, leaving a silence heavier than before.

My wolf paced under my skin, restless, furious that I’d let him walk away without saying anything.

I pressed a hand to my ribs, wincing at the bruise forming there, and forced my breathing to slow.

Day one, and I’d already made a rival.

And a target.

And maybe something worse:

Riven Hale’s attention.

The rest of the boys filed out of the Pit, muttering and laughing, their blood still hot from the fight. I stayed behind just long enough to make sure my hood was secure before stepping back into the courtyard.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint metallic scent of my own blood, and for one heart-pounding moment I thought I heard another howl — low, distant, but powerful enough to make the hairs on my arms rise.

I glanced back at the Pit.

And for just a moment, I thought I saw someone still standing on the edge. Watching me.

When I blinked, the figure was gone.