BLOOD MOON

Chapter 18

Haliya

The adrenaline from the practice rounds had faded, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache. I never expected to lose my cool in the ring. My body throbbed, but it was my mind that felt bruised.

As much as a primal part of me hungered for the attention, as much as I wanted to scream my strength into the sky, a terrifying voice in my head warned me to stop.

I was a lie wrapped in rags. In this pack, she-wolves were treated as domestic ornaments, precious but powerless. We were not the ones who bled in the training fields. The more eyes I drew, the higher the risk of someone peeling back the grime and finding the girl beneath the mask. If they saw my face, they wouldn’t see a warrior; they would see a ghost that should have stayed dead.

“Mira,” I asked later that evening, trying to keep my voice steady as we scrubbed the heavy iron pots. “Has the Alpha ever left the High Hall?”

“Never. Not for years,” Mira replied. Her hands moved with a practiced, weary grace. “Not since the Luna’s death. But word is, he’ll be the one to choose the Towa this Saturday.”

“Towa?” I echoed. The word felt heavy on my tongue, tasting of old blood and deep secrets.

“The Top Warrior,” she explained, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely cleared the steam of the water. “Someone meant to take on hidden missions. The Alpha’s shadow. His hand in the dark.”

Hidden missions.

The words snagged on a jagged memory of my parents. I remembered the night they disappeared, the hushed voices, the smell of ozone in the air, the way my father had looked at my mother like they were walking into a fire. Could one of those "shadow" missions have been the catalyst for my pack’s slaughter? Were my parents just another line item in a report to the Alpha?

I clenched my fists under the soapy water. If the Alpha himself chose the Towa, then that was my way in. It was a path directly into the belly of the beast, close enough to finally rip the truth from the source. But the Towa wasn't a rank for the weak. If I aimed for it, I’d be stepping into a spotlight that would burn me alive. If they discovered my identity, I wouldn’t just fail; I would be executed for the insult. My life was a thin thread, and I was about to tie it into a noose.

"Is this the first time the Alpha has chosen a Towa?" I asked.

Mira shook her head. "No. The last one he picked was five years ago. But he failed his mission."

"Who?" The question slipped out before I could check it. My curiosity was a leak in my armor.

Mira’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp and searching. For a moment, the air thickened with the weight of my status as an outsider. "I can't tell that to outsiders," she said plainly, returning to her work.

Outsider. The word was a slap. A reminder that no matter how hard I trained, I was a ghost in a land that hated my spirit. But playing it safe hadn't saved my family, and it wouldn't save me. I would stand out. I would fight. I would be the shadow they never saw coming.

Saturday arrived with a sky the color of a bruised lung. The training yard was a sea of tense silence, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the sour tang of nervous sweat.

Then, the High Hall gates groaned open.

The heirs arrived like a storm front. I recognized Cullen immediately. He moved with a terrifying, rhythmic precision. At his side was Amara, her elegance carrying the weight of tempered steel.

Then came the two I knew only by reputation and the whispers of the barracks: Samuel and Jackson. Samuel walked with a heavy, grounded strength, his shoulders broad enough to carry the weight of the pack. Jackson was different. He was leaner, moving with a predatory silence that made the hair on my arms stand up. His features bore the Alpha’s mark of strength, but his eyes were like frozen lakes... cold, deep, and impossible to read. Then, the Alpha.

I scanned the group, my breath hitching as I searched for the one face I expected to see.

Kieran wasn't there.

The Alpha’s son, the one I had memories of, the one I thought I understood best, was missing. Not named among the heirs for this trial. A ripple of unease passed through me.

Where is he?

The head warrior’s voice thundered, shattering my thoughts. “Today, you will prove your worth not just among yourselves, but against the Alpha’s blood!”

A murmur broke out, recruits exchanging nervous glances. My palms were damp, and I forced myself to stand still, though my chest felt like it was caving in.

“Damn,” one warrior muttered low behind me, “of all days for the heirs to show up…”

“Means this won’t be a simple test,” another replied grimly. “They’ll want to see blood.”

A few recruits shuffled, earning a sharp bark from the head warrior. “Still your feet, unless you want to be cut down before the fight even starts!”

The air tightened again. I dared a glance only to see Cullen surveying us. His gaze was razor-sharp, unflinching, like he was peeling away masks with nothing but a stare. My throat went dry. Will I get busted?

Beside him, Amara studied us like prey, weighing which throat would be most satisfying to tear open first. Her eyes swept dangerously close to mine. For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.

“Easy,” I murmured to myself, ducking my chin lower. Rugged clothes, dirt on my face, hair tucked under a hood. I prayed it was enough.

“Think they’ll pick from us first?” a recruit whispered nervously to his friend.

“Pray they don’t,” the friend shot back.

I kept my eyes down, my jaw tight, though my heart hammered so loud it drowned their voices. Out of all the dangers I had prepared for, facing them again was not the one I wanted. And yet here I was, daring fate to notice me.

“Step forward, heirs,” the head warrior barked. “The recruits await your judgment.”

Cullen moved first. He didn’t hesitate, his gaze slicing through the line like a blade. Amara followed, her lips curved in something between a smirk and a sneer. She walked like she owned the yard, and more than one recruit broke their stance, shrinking under the weight of her scrutiny.

“Scared?” a recruit near me whispered, barely moving his lips.

“Only an i***t wouldn’t be,” another muttered.

A whisper-like laugh followed from further down the line. “If you’re shaking already, wait until you’re called. That’s when you’ll piss yourself.”

A hush fell as Cullen’s voice cut through the noise. “You.” He pointed at a broad-shouldered warrior. “Step out.”

The chosen man exhaled shakily and moved forward. Amara’s turn. Her gaze swept the line again. For a heartbeat, her eyes brushed past me then slid away. My lungs burned from holding my breath.

“You,” she finally declared, pointing to a lean recruit three places down.

One by one, they chose. Every time Cullen’s cold eyes passed me, I thought my disguise would crack. And then, he paused directly in front of me. His stare was unblinking, sharp as a blade.

My heart stuttered painfully. Was this it? Recognition? Behind him, I could feel the cold, assessing weight of Jackson’s eyes. The silence stretched until I thought I would scream.