The Wild Wolf Who Shouldn’t Exist: Kill Her or Claim Her

The Hunt

The Moonfire Circle blazed in the center of the canyon, flames leaping high and pale-blue, licking the desert wind like they were alive. The heat shimmered in waves, mixing with the pulse of drums and the low thrum of voices rising in prayer, laughter, and something more primal.

Tonight was more than just ritual—it was celebration. An alliance had been struck with the Blood Vale Pack to the north, and their wolves mingled with ours, their accents rougher, eyes darker, energy sharper. The air crackled with potential—new bonds, new rivalries, new fated ties waiting to ignite under the full moon.

I stood just outside the circle in a dress the color of bone dust and moonlight. It was sheer, clinging to every curve like it had a mind of its own. The hem brushed the tops of my thighs, the neckline dipped scandalously low, and I could feel the eyes on me. But I didn’t shrink. Not tonight.

“Nice dress,” a deep voice murmured beside me. “Though I think I’d like it better off.”

I turned, pulse jumping.

He was tall, lean but coiled with strength, with obsidian hair and eyes like onyx dipped in firelight. Tattoos wrapped his forearms and crawled up his throat like wild vines. He looked nothing like the golden boys of Ashfang.

“Koda,” he said, offering a crooked smile. “Blood Vale. And you must be the one the whispers are about.”

“Millie,” I said carefully, keeping my chin up.

He studied me like I was already a secret he knew the answer to. “Pretty name. Doesn’t quite match the fire in your eyes, though.”

I smirked. “And here I thought the Blood Vale pack was supposed to be dangerous, not charming.”

“Oh, I’m both,” he said easily. “You planning to run tonight?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Shame.” He took a slow step forward, and the space between us shrank until I could smell cedar and smoke clinging to his skin. “I was hoping to chase.”

Before I could think of a response that didn’t involve either slapping him or pulling him closer, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Millie.”

Boris.

He was shirtless, muscles taut and golden under the moonlight, his eyes stormy with something that looked a lot like possession. His gaze flicked briefly to Koda, then back to me.

“You good?” he asked, jaw tight.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just talking.”

Koda lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to overstep. Just being neighborly.”

Boris didn’t answer. He just looked at me like he could already sense something shifting beneath my skin.

“You should run,” he said softly.

I swallowed. “I thought I couldn’t—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Run anyway.”

And just like that, I did.

⸻

I sprinted into the desert, bare feet kissing the earth, my breath catching with adrenaline and something wilder. The stars spun overhead, the moon hung swollen and silver, and my dress tangled around my thighs as I moved through shadow and cactus and dust.

I wasn’t scared—but I wasn’t calm, either.

I was alive.

Behind me, the howls started—deep and low, then rising higher with laughter and hunger and heat. I could hear the others, too. The gasps and moans and wild cries echoing through the canyon like a chorus of instinct. The hunt had begun.

Somewhere nearby, a girl screamed in pleasure.

My heart pounded.

I pushed deeper into the rocks, breath ragged, nerves vibrating with anticipation. Who would find me? Would I let them?

Footsteps thundered behind me.

Boris.

He tackled me gently from behind, spinning me so my back hit the cool stone and he hovered over me, panting.

“You ran,” he said, eyes dark with heat. “God, Millie, you ran.”

I didn’t speak. Just curled my fingers into his shoulders and arched against him, hungry.

His mouth crashed into mine—wet, hungry, all tongue and teeth. He kissed like he needed it to breathe. His hands yanked at my dress, the thin fabric tearing beneath his fingers until my skin was bare to the desert night. The air was dry, scorching against my sweat-damp flesh, the sky above us cracked open and watching.

When he pushed inside me, I gasped—part pain, part pure, raw pleasure. He filled me, thick and deep, and groaned my name against my throat like it hurt to say it. His thrusts were fast, almost desperate, grinding me into the dirt with every pulse of his hips. I wrapped my legs around him and met him stroke for stroke, my nails digging into his back.

His body was hot against mine, heavy, grounding—but then—

I felt it.

A shift in the air. A prickle at the base of my spine.

I turned my head—and froze.

Koda was there, standing in the dark just beyond the firelight. Still. Watching.

His face was shadowed, but his eyes—his eyes burned. Sharp. Focused. Unblinking.

I didn’t look away.

Boris kept moving inside me, harder now, grunting into my neck. “So f*****g tight,” he breathed, “so good for me.” But I barely heard him. All I saw was Koda. That wild, quiet hunger carved into his face. Like he wanted to consume me whole. Like he already had.

My moans spilled out into the desert night, shameless, sharp. Boris’s rhythm grew frantic, frenzied, his release chasing mine—but my climax didn’t belong to him.

As I came, my whole body trembling around him, I never once closed my eyes.

I came watching Koda.

And he didn’t flinch.

He just stood there—waiting.

Like he knew this wasn’t the end.

Like the moon was keeping his secret just a little longer.