Claimed by the Hunt

Lunara - The night of the Heiress’ Fall

The night I was supposed to be crowned queen of the Underworld of Cindralis, smelled like blood, moonlight, and expensive champagne.

The Varelli estate glittered like a palace, arched windows spilling golden light over acres of manicured gardens, the air heavy with jasmine and the hum of expensive engines purring in the driveway. Inside, the ballroom gleamed. Marble floors shone under the crystal glow of chandeliers, every inch polished to mirror perfection. The air vibrated with low laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, and the soft, predatory rustle of silk gowns.

Every major power in Lunara was here, mafia bosses, wolf pack alphas, witch elders, and even a few human politicians who thought they could play in our world without getting burned. My world.

I moved through the crowd like I owned it. My heels clicked a steady rhythm against the marble, blood red stilettos that matched my lips and the gown hugging every curve of my body. The dress was designed to kill: crimson silk draped over toned muscle, slit high enough to flash thigh, cut low enough to make every man in the room think about sin. Pale skin dusted with freckles caught the light as I turned, my long blonde hair spilling in loose waves over my bare shoulders. My bright green eyes, sharp and unflinching, took in every face.

I might have been wolfless, but I’d never been powerless.

A manicured hand brushed mine, and I looked up into my mother’s emerald gaze, older, colder, but the same color as mine. “Smile, cara mia,” she murmured in that velvet Italian accent, slipping a flute of champagne into my hand. “Tonight is history. Let them see our strength.”

My father approached next, a broad shadow cutting through the crowd in his tailored black suit. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, his golden-brown eyes scanning the room with the casual lethality of a man who’d ruled the Varelli Syndicate for three decades. “You’ve earned this, figlia,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “By midnight, they’ll know you’re my heir. The first woman to take the throne. The wolves will bow to you.”

I smirked, raising my glass. “Let’s hope they don’t choke on it.”

The night was a blur of power plays and whispered deals. I mingled, laughed when I needed to, and made promises I had no intention of keeping. My father’s lieutenants offered sly toasts to my future. A witch matriarch brushed my palm and murmured about fates aligning. Somewhere near the piano, a pair of alpha brothers sized me up like they were already calculating my worth in their bed or their war chest.

I kept moving, my senses sharp, my smile sharper.

And then, between one breath and the next, the air changed.

It was subtle at first, a ripple of unease threading through the laughter, a hitch in the music as the pianist faltered. My wolfless body didn’t feel it the way a shifter might, but years in the mafia had trained me to read the room.

Something was wrong.

The first scream came from near the bar. Then the crash of glass shattering on marble. My head whipped toward the sound, heart kicking hard in my chest. The double doors at the far end of the ballroom burst open, and shadows spilled in, figures in black tactical gear moving like smoke, fast and coordinated.

Gunfire roared. The stench of wolfsbane grenades filled the air, burning my lungs. Guests scattered, some shifting mid-run, others drawing weapons from hidden holsters.

I reached for the blade strapped to my thigh.

Too slow.

A hard arm clamped around my neck from behind, yanking me off balance. My champagne flute shattered at my feet as a voice growled something low and unintelligible in my ear. My feet left the floor, the breath punched from my lungs, and my vision narrowed to black.

When I woke, hourss had passed.

I was lying on cold, damp earth. Pine needles crunched under my palms as I pushed myself upright. The air was sharp with the scent of sap and smoke. My head pounded. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know how I’d gotten here.

I didn’t even know my own name.

A cold band of steel circled my ankle, an electronic tracker, its red light blinking in time with my frantic heartbeat. A worn leather backpack rested by my feet.

Inside, I found a sealed bottle of water, two protein bars, a combat knife… and an envelope.

The paper was thick, the handwriting elegant but sharp enough to cut.

Welcome to The Hunt.

The rules are simple: survive until the Blood Moon.

Four alphas are already tracking you, each from a rival pack. If one catches you, you are theirs until the Hunt ends. When it ends, the one who holds you rules all clans for the next hundred years.

If all four alphas fail to claim you by the final night, you will be set free.

If you are killed by another hunter or rogue, you will be forgotten.

The forest is your cage. There are no safe zones. You have been given enough supplies to last you three days. After that, you’ll need to fight, steal, or starve.

Run fast, little queen. The Hunt has begun.

Queen. The word clawed at me.

Somewhere in the distance, a howl rose, it was deep, savage, and far too close for my comfort.

And something in my bones whispered that it was coming for me.