The Bloodmoon Claim

Chapter Three

Ulric’s POV:

The Bloodmoon Packhouse looms silent beneath the moon. From the outside, it looks like nothing more than a massive stone lodge hidden deep in the forest. Inside, though, power breathes through these walls. Generations of Alphas have ruled from here. Wars have been planned. Alliances forged and broken.

I stand alone in my room, staring out the tall window at the dark forest. The moon hangs in the sky, glistening between tree branches.

Fenris stirs in my head. He is restless

My wolf sensed it before I let myself acknowledge it.

Tonight feels wrong.

Tonight is the auction.

A low rumble vibrates through my chest. Fenrir growls in my mind, claws scraping at my patience.

“I know,” I mutter under my breath.

The door creaks behind me.

“You should be ready by now.”

I don’t turn. I know the voice.

“Rudick.”

Beta Rudick steps inside, closing the door behind him. Tall. Broad. With faint scars crossing his brow and jaw. The quiet authority of a man who has stood beside the Alpha for decades presses from him.

“The car is ready,” Rudick says.

“I’m aware,” I mutter, still watching the trees.

He leans against the wall, eyes sharp and calculating.

“The Silver Water Pack arrived earlier tonight.”

I let a faint curl of my lip betray my irritation.

“Of course they did.”

Madam Sherry. Luna of the Silver Water Pack. Ruthless. Elegant. Dangerous. She runs her auctions with frightening precision. And where she goes, one man is never far behind:

Cole Sinclair.

Blonde hair. Ice-blue eyes. Cole seems cold, like he has no soul. I met him once. The memory alone makes Fenrir snarl.

“They’ll be expecting you,” Rudick adds.

I finally turn to face him.

“Expecting what exactly?”

“They expect you to make a purchase,” he says quietly.

Purchase.

The word twists my stomach. Fenrir bares his teeth.

“This whole thing is disgusting,” I mutter.

“You’re not wrong,” Rudick admits.

“But tradition rarely cares what we think is right.”

I drag my hand through my hair. My father’s words echo again in my head:

Find a Luna. Produce an heir. Or remain nothing more than the Alpha’s son.

Fenrir growls. He hates it as much as I do.

Then the door slams open.

Power rolls into the room like a storm.

“Still hesitating?”

I turn slowly. My father fills the doorway, Alpha aura pressing from him like gravity. Silver threads his beard, but age has only sharpened him further.

Bjorn Wolfhart. Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack.

Rudick stiffens immediately, shoulders straightening, stance rigid. His respect is unmistakable — every muscle taut, every movement deliberate. He is silent, waiting, ready to obey.

“You should already be on the road,” Bjorn says.

“I told you,” I say evenly, crossing my arms. “I will not partake in that circus.” I ball my fists but keep my hands by my side.

“It is not a circus.”

“It is a marketplace for human girls,” I snap.

“Tonight, you bring home a girl,” my father demands. He steps closer.

“I will not buy a woman like she is property.”

“You misunderstand the situation,” he says.

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“You are not attending for pleasure,” he says.

“Then what am I attending for?” I ask, jaw tight.

“To secure the future of this pack,” he raises his voice; the walls shake from the dominance and authority that radiates from my father.

I laugh bitterly.

“By breeding with some terrified girl dragged there against her will?”

The patience I have honed my entire life snaps. Power surges through me, thick and commanding.

“You will produce an heir.”

The words strike like hammers. Fenrir growls but resists the instinct to submit.

“You are my son,” Bjorn continues. “The future Alpha of Bloodmoon.”

I clench my fists.

“Then let me find my Luna my own way. Please, Father.”

"You have had years,” he says, stepping closer. “And yet you stand here alone.”

“You will attend the auction tonight,” he finishes, deadly calm.

“You will choose a girl,” he continues. “And you will bring her back to this packhouse.”

The order wraps around me like chains. Not a suggestion. Not negotiable.

Fenrir snarls, resisting, but the pull of the Alpha’s command presses against my bones.

Until that changes… I am bound to obey.

I exhale slowly.

“Fine.”

Bjorn studies me, satisfied.

“Good.”

I grab my jacket from the chair.

“But understand something,” I say coldly. “I’m not doing it for you.”

“You’re doing it for the pack,” he says, his expression unchanged.

I walk past him, Rudick following silently. Fenrir paces restlessly inside me.

Tonight feels different.

The auction is already underway. Madam Sherry will be watching. Cole Sinclair will be waiting. Everyone expects me to make a purchase.

And Fenrir lifts his head inside me and growls low.

I do not want to do this.