Chapter 3

“The second trial begins tomorrow,” Lucian continued. “Each candidate will join a hunting party and demonstrate how they handle themselves outside the safety of our walls. Our territory faces threats—from rogues, from rival packs, from creatures that see us as prey rather than predators. A Luna must be able to protect, to think clearly under pressure, to make hard choices when lives are at stake.”

A hunting trial. My stomach twisted. I’d never been on a hunt. Omegas weren’t typically included, and after my parents died, no one had thought to train me. I could shift into my wolf form, but it was small and weak compared to others in the pack. The idea of going beyond our protected borders, of facing actual danger...

“You will each be assigned to a different hunting party,” Lucian said. “Senior wolves will observe and report. The pups will remain here in the nursery, cared for by our most trusted attendants. We need to see how you function not as mothers, but as potential leaders who must sometimes leave safety behind to ensure the pack’s survival.”

He looked at each of us in turn. “Return to your chambers. Rest. Tomorrow will test you in ways the first trial did not.”

The crowd began to disperse, their voices rising in excited speculation. I stood frozen until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“Come,” said a soft voice. “Let’s get the little ones settled.”

I turned to find Cassia Birch, the healer who’d checked on us during the first trial. Her round face was kind, her brown eyes warm with understanding.

“I’ll be caring for Storm and Ember during the hunt,” she said. “They’ll be safe with me, I promise. I raised four pups of my own, and I’ve helped with countless others.”

The thought of leaving them made my chest ache, but I nodded. “They like chamomile tea before bed. Just a little, mixed with warm milk. And Storm needs his belly rubbed or he can’t settle. And Ember prefers to sleep on the left side, near the wall, where she feels protected.”

Cassia smiled. “I’ll remember. They’re lucky to have someone who notices such things.”

I knelt down, gathering both pups into my arms one more time. They licked my face enthusiastically, tails wagging, completely unaware that tomorrow I’d be facing something I was wholly unprepared for.

“Be good,” I whispered to them. “I’ll come back. I promise I’ll come back.”

Storm cocked his head, those intelligent eyes searching my face. Ember pressed closer, a small whine escaping her throat.

Cassia gently took them from me, cradling one in each arm with practiced ease. “Go rest, Ētāne. They’ll be fine. And you need to be sharp tomorrow.”

I watched them being carried away, Storm looking back over Cassia’s shoulder until they disappeared through a doorway. The sense of loss was disproportionate to the few days I’d known them, but the bond we’d formed felt as real as anything I’d ever experienced.

The walk back to my chamber felt lonely without their weight against my chest.

Sleep didn’t come easily that night. I lay in the too-large bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing through everything I didn’t know about hunting. How to track prey. How to work within a pack formation. How to fight if we encountered threats.

I’d spent my life making myself small, invisible, unthreatening. Tomorrow, I’d have to be the opposite.

Sometime past midnight, I gave up on sleep and moved to the desk, lighting a candle. There were books about pack tactics, about the territories surrounding ours, about the kinds of rogues we might encounter. I read until my eyes burned, trying to absorb information that others had learned over years of training.

One passage caught my attention:

“A wolf alone is vulnerable. A wolf with pack is unbreakable. The strength of a Luna is not in her teeth or claws, but in her ability to hold the pack together when instinct screams to scatter.”

I read it three times, committing it to memory like a prayer.

When dawn broke, I was already dressed and ready. Someone had provided leather hunting clothes—fitted pants, a sturdy tunic, boots that were worn but serviceable. My hair was braided tight against my skull to keep it out of my face.

I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the girl staring back. She looked capable. Determined. Like someone who might survive what was coming.

The hunting parties assembled in the courtyard as the sun painted the sky in shades of rose and gold. Three groups of five wolves each. All of them experienced hunters. All of them watching the three candidates with varying degrees of skepticism or interest.

Sienna was assigned to a group led by Commander Drake Ironwood, a massive wolf known for leading raids against rogues. She looked completely at ease, checking her weapons and joking with the warriors like she belonged among them.

Vivian was placed with Scoutmaster Theron Swift’s group—wolves who specialized in reconnaissance and strategy. She listened intently as Theron briefed them on their route, her sharp mind clearly already working through scenarios.

I was assigned to Tracker Felix Moonwhisper’s group. When I approached, the four wolves with him exchanged glances that made my stomach sink.

Felix himself was older, probably in his fifties, with gray streaking his dark hair and scars crisscrossing his arms. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were assessing.

“You’ve hunted before?” he asked without preamble.

“No, sir.” Better to be honest than to pretend and fail spectacularly.

“Can you shift fully?”

“Yes. But my wolf is small. Not very strong.”

Another exchange of glances among the group. One of them, a younger male with copper-colored hair, muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “This will be interesting.”

Felix held up a hand, silencing them. “Doesn’t matter what size you are if you’re smart and you listen. Our job today is to patrol the northern border where we’ve had reports of rogue activity. We track. We assess. We report. We only engage if absolutely necessary.”

He looked directly at me. “Your job is to stay alive and stay with the group. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s move.”

The shift happened simultaneously for all of us. I felt my bones begin to crack and reform, felt fur ripple across my skin, felt my senses explode outward as my wolf took over. It hurt—it always hurt for me, more than it should—but I gritted my teeth through it and let the transformation complete.

When I opened my eyes, the world had changed. Colors were muted, but movement was sharper. Scents flooded my nose—pine, earth, the distinct musk of my pack mates, the lingering smell of breakfast from the kitchens. My hearing picked up sounds from hundreds of yards away.

But I was also acutely aware of my size.

Felix’s wolf was huge, easily twice my mass, with powerful shoulders and jaws that could crush bone. The others weren’t much smaller.

And I ... I looked like an adolescent next to them. Pale-furred and delicate.

Felix’s wolf bumped against mine—a gesture that meant stay close.

And then we were running.

The border patrol took us through familiar woods that quickly became unfamiliar territory. We moved in formation—Felix in front, two wolves on the flanks, one guarding the rear, and me in the center, where I’d be most protected.

It was both humiliating and practical.

For the first hour, nothing happened. We covered ground quickly, Felix occasionally stopping to sniff the air or examine tracks in the soft earth. The rhythm of running felt good, natural, my muscles finding a cadence that didn’t tire too quickly.

Then Felix stopped abruptly, his body going rigid.

The rest of us froze.

I tasted the air, trying to understand what he sensed, and caught it—a scent that was wrong. Not pack. Not prey animal. Something that made my hackles rise instinctively.

Rogue wolves.

Felix gestured with his muzzle—a complex series of movements that the others understood immediately. They shifted positions, creating a defensive formation. One of them nudged me toward a fallen log, indicating I should get behind it.

Every instinct screamed at me to obey, to hide, to let the capable wolves handle this.

But I remembered that passage from last night: The strength of a Luna is not in her teeth or claws, but in her ability to hold the pack together when instinct screams to scatter.

I stayed in formation, pressing close to the wolf beside me—the copper-haired one who’d doubted me earlier. He glanced at me, surprised, but didn’t push me toward the log again.

The rogues emerged from the treeline slowly. Three of them—mangy and lean, their eyes showing the madness that came from living outside pack structure for too long. They were smaller than Felix’s group, but rogues fought with desperate ferocity that made them dangerous.

Felix growled a warning—a deep rumble that said leave or face consequences.

The rogues’ answer was to spread out, circling, looking for weakness.

They found it when they spotted me.

The largest rogue lunged, going straight for me as the easiest target.

Everything happened fast.

The copper-haired wolf beside me intercepted, meeting the rogue mid-leap with a clash that sent both of them tumbling. The other two rogues attacked simultaneously, and suddenly Felix’s orderly formation shattered into chaos.

I dodged the snapping jaws of a rogue that broke through our defense, my smaller size making me quicker if not stronger. Fear made my heart pound, but underneath it, something else rose—a fierce protectiveness for these wolves who’d kept me safe, who were now bleeding because the rogues had targeted me.