Chapter 9 – Blood in the Shadows
The moonlight poured like molten silver over the training grounds, casting jagged shadows against the hardened earth. The night air carried the faint tang of blood and sweat—a scent Louve was becoming all too familiar with. It had been three weeks since she agreed to Kael’s—no, Dolph’s—terms. Three weeks of breaking herself down and piecing herself back together under the sharp edge of his will.
The first lesson she learned in the Bloodmoon Pack? Survival was not for the faint-hearted. Every move, every breath was an act of defiance against weakness. Dolph didn’t go easy on her; he didn’t even offer the courtesy of pretending to. If anything, his relentless drills were harsher than the wolves who had once chased her like prey.
Louve gritted her teeth as she struggled to hold her stance against Seraphine—the Beta who still wore her disdain like a second skin. The older wolf circled Louve, movements slow and calculated, eyes glinting with open hostility.
“Your balance is trash,” Seraphine hissed, her blade flashing under the moonlight. “A strong gust could blow you over. How do you expect to survive a fight against Shadowfang?”
Louve’s muscles burned as she adjusted her footing, claws digging into the dirt. “I’m trying.”
Seraphine’s lip curled into a cold smile. “Try harder.”
The attack came swift, a slash aimed at Louve’s ribs. She barely dodged, feeling the steel whisper past her skin. Pain bloomed as the edge grazed her arm, hot blood spilling down to stain the earth. Louve bit back a growl, refusing to give Seraphine the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
“Focus,” came Dolph’s voice, deep and commanding, cutting through the ringing in her ears. He stood at the edge of the circle, arms folded across his chest, his expression carved from stone. Those storm-gray eyes missed nothing—not her missteps, not her hesitation, not the way her wolf clawed beneath her skin in restless agitation.
Louve caught the next strike, twisting her body to use Seraphine’s momentum against her. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. The Beta staggered back a step, and for a fleeting second, Louve felt the wild thrill of victory.
Then Seraphine smiled like a predator and swept her legs out from under her. Louve hit the ground hard, breath whooshing from her lungs. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as Seraphine pressed the blade to her throat.
“Dead,” she said simply.
Louve glared up at her, chest heaving. Humiliation burned hotter than the cut on her arm, but beneath it simmered something else—determination, sharp and unyielding.
“Again,” Dolph ordered before Seraphine could gloat. His voice carried the weight of command, making even the shadows still. “Get up.”
Louve pushed to her feet, ignoring the tremor in her limbs. The world narrowed to the circle of dirt, the scent of blood, and Dolph’s watchful gaze. She couldn’t afford to break—not here, not now.
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The night dragged on, each strike and counterstrike a test of will as much as skill. By the time Dolph dismissed them, Louve’s body was a map of bruises and shallow cuts, her lungs burning like fire. Yet beneath the exhaustion was a strange, fierce satisfaction. She was still standing.
As the others dispersed, murmurs of disapproval trailing in their wake, Louve lingered. Her gaze drifted to the treeline where darkness pooled like ink. Something about the silence felt wrong—too deep, too absolute. Her wolf stirred uneasily, ears pricking at a sound she couldn’t quite place.
“You’re bleeding,” Dolph’s voice snapped her back. He was closer now, the moon catching in the silver threads of his hair. His scent—earth and steel and something darker—wrapped around her, steady and grounding.
“It’s nothing,” Louve muttered, though her arm throbbed where Seraphine’s blade kissed skin.
Dolph’s eyes flicked to the gash, then back to her face. “Go to the healer.”
“I said it’s fine.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and for a heartbeat, something raw flickered behind his stoic mask—concern, sharp and unwilling. Then it was gone, shuttered behind the steel walls he wore so well.
“Stubborn little wolf,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Before Louve could bite back a retort, a howl split the night. It wasn’t a hunting call. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a warning.
Every nerve in Louve’s body went taut. Dolph’s head snapped toward the sound, his posture shifting from controlled calm to lethal readiness. Around them, warriors froze, ears swiveling toward the distant cry.
“Shadowfang,” Dolph said, voice like a blade drawn in the dark.
The word rolled through the clearing like a thunderclap.
Louve’s heart slammed against her ribs. She thought of Lucien—Alpha of Shadowfang, the wolf who haunted her dreams with whispers of power and ruin. If he was moving this soon, it could only mean one thing: the stakes had shifted.
As Dolph began barking orders, warriors snapping to attention, Louve stood rooted in place, blood pounding in her ears. She wasn’t ready for this. She could barely hold her own against Seraphine, and now they were facing an enemy pack that lived for blood and chaos.
But when Dolph’s gaze locked on hers—hard, unyielding, yet burning with something she couldn’t name—Louve straightened her spine. Ready or not, the game had begun.
And she was done running.