The moment Luna stepped into what Ravhiel had referred to as the inner ring of the den, something shifted.
Her senses—already sharpened by anxiety and the weight of recent events—suddenly surged to a whole new level. Her ears rang faintly, her skin tingled, and her stomach twisted into a knot. The air was heavier here. Thicker. Almost suffocating.
She hadn't thought anything else could unsettle her after seeing the horrors of the so-called "omegas" and the hollow-eyed human women being used as breeding stock. That had been its own kind of nightmare.
But this—this was different.
The people back there had reeked of desperation.
But here?
Here, the air stank of bloodlust.
It clung to her skin like smoke, soaked into her lungs with every breath she took. Her whole body tensed, reacting on instinct before her mind could even catch up. Her heart thudded like a war drum, slow and deliberate, as if preparing her for a fight.
She didn't even know what bloodlust felt like—not truly. But now, her body was screaming at her.
This place was dangerous.
'Why?' she wondered, her hand subconsciously brushing her side, as if to shield herself from an unseen predator.
"You can feel it too, right?" Ravhiel's voice came from beside her, softer now, his usual warmth edged with something darker. Luna turned to look at him and noticed the way his shoulders had stiffened. His jaw was tight.
"This area…" he began, voice low and cautious, "as I said, it's where the strongest of the pack reside. The warriors. The hunters. All trained to take and to kill."
Luna's eyes slowly swept across the expanse before her.
The inner ring was massive, like the heart of a fortress. Tents made of thick hide and reinforced wood surrounded training pits, weapon racks, and makeshift arenas. The scent of sweat, iron, and fur lingered heavily in the air.
Dozens—maybe hundreds—of werewolves moved through the space, some in human form, some in their towering wolf shapes. Their presence was imposing. Violent.
From somewhere nearby, the sound of fighting rang out—blows landing, snarls ripping through the air, fists and claws meeting flesh.
There was laughter, but it was twisted, taunting. It didn't speak of camaraderie. It spoke of dominance.
A warning.
"And because there are five ruling males," Ravhiel continued, "there's a...rift between them."
Luna blinked, pulling her eyes from a group of men sparring with brutal, bloody precision. "A...rift?" she echoed.
Ravhiel nodded. "Between their supporters. The betas. The deltas. The gammas. Normally, there's only one chief. One supreme alpha that leads them all. But now?" He sighed. "With five candidates, loyalties are divided. That's dangerous for a pack like this. It breeds suspicion, betrayal… and competition."
He hesitated—then gave her a pointed look.
"And I should warn you…"
Before he could finish, Luna's instincts flared again—like a match to dry kindling. Her skin crawled.
The entire training field... had gone quiet.
She looked up, and immediately wished she hadn't.
Dozens of eyes. Predatory. Curious. Calculating. Every single person had turned to look at her. Conversations halted. Weapons stilled mid-motion. Even those in wolf form seemed to tense, their gazes burning into her like brands.
Some whispered.
Others didn't even bother to speak. They just stared.
Luna's pulse pounded in her ears.
"I'm sure it's no secret to this pack that whoever gets you pregnant will become the next chief," Ravhiel said, keeping his voice gentle despite the tension around them. "So… everyone's eyes are going to be on you now. Some may even try to approach you. But they won't dare do anything—at least, not openly."
It was meant to reassure her.
It didn't work.
'So besides the five assholes, I've got their entire fans chasing after me too?' Luna clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to glare at the nearest onlookers. She wanted to scream—to bare her teeth and demand they stop staring at her like that.
But she swallowed the fury.
She had to.
This wasn't like her. Luna was used to being silent, to observe. But this place… it was pushing her past her limits.
Still, Ravhiel pointed ahead, trying to move things along. "Don't worry too much, okay? We're almost to Rhyxen's tent. It's that one."
He motioned toward a large, grey structure near the far edge of the grounds. The canvas looked thick, reinforced with bone and leather. A strange symbol was stitched across the front—one she didn't recognize and didn't particularly care to ask about.
Luna didn't speak. She just nodded and followed, her body taut with silent rage and dread. Every stare, every sniff sent her stomach churning. She was close to breaking.
'Keep it together. Just a little longer.'
It wasn't long before they arrived. And when they stepped inside the tent, Luna's eyes immediately landed on him.
Rhyxen.
He stood leaning over a massive wooden war table covered in maps, red markings, pins, and notes. His back was to them, posture rigid, arms crossed as he listened to the three men standing nearby.
But the moment they entered, he spoke—without looking.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was smooth, colder than Rhaevos', but far calmer. Collected. "And why have you brought her?"
The three men turned their heads. Their reactions were instant.
Eyes widened.
"Oh, damn. Master, it really is a female werewolf."
"I honestly had my doubts. I mean—come on. How'd she just show up out of nowhere?"
"Yeah," one of them added, inhaling deeply. "And god, she smells so good."
Luna stiffened and immediately stepped behind Ravhiel's wheelchair, gripping its back like a lifeline. Her skin crawled with revulsion.
'Why does everyone keep sniffing me?!' she thought bitterly, suppressing the violent urge to snap.
Ravhiel noticed her discomfort instantly and straightened in his seat. "We're here because I'm giving Luna a tour," he said firmly. "I'm showing her everything, so she can understand the den better."
Rhyxen didn't reply immediately.
But unlike his twin, he didn't bark or snarl or lash out. He simply remained silent—processing.
'So they really are different, despite being twins…' Luna thought, still clutching the wheelchair for support. 'Maybe this one won't be so bad.'
Maybe.
Luna thought too soon.
"Then we should get going now—" Ravhiel began, his tone as pleasant as ever.
But then Rhyxen spoke again, cutting through the air like a blade.
"Wait."
The single word brought an unnatural stillness to the space. Rhyxen slowly turned to face them, and for the first time, Luna saw his full expression—or rather, the lack of one. His face was unreadable, carved from stone. But his eyes…
Those golden eyes were pinned to her, unblinking, sharp, and heavy with something she couldn't name.
Luna instinctively flinched as he started walking toward her. Her breath hitched.
'What is he doing? Is he going to grab me?' Her muscles locked tight. Every nerve screamed at her to move, to defend, to run.
But Rhyxen stopped just short of invading her space, standing beside Ravhiel instead. Close enough to assert dominance, far enough not to cross the line.
"I want to clear something up," he said coolly, his voice low and deliberate, directed at Luna.
She blinked, momentarily thrown.
'Huh?'
"I know I can become chief without even touching you," he said. His words were blunt, cutting through any illusion of civility. "So don't expect me to be like the others who might fawn over you. Woman or not, you're just another werewolf to me. Getting you pregnant shouldn't be the fucking basis for leadership."
There was no inflection in his voice, no warmth or contempt—just a cold declaration.
As much as Luna should've felt relieved by his disinterest, it rubbed her the wrong way.
'Seriously? Am I supposed to thank him for not being a creep?' Her eyes narrowed. 'He's talking like I'm the one who came here begging to be fought over.'
She hadn't even wanted to be here. She didn't ask for this twisted contest. Yet he made it sound like she was the problem.
And then it got worse.
Without warning, Rhyxen turned to Ravhiel, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"And you…" he said darkly, his voice suddenly dropping several octaves. There was venom in it now—pure and personal.
Ravhiel didn't even flinch, but Luna saw it. The way Rhyxen's fingers tightened.
A sickening crack echoed through the tent.
Luna's stomach lurched. "R-Ravhiel…" she stepped forward instinctively, ready to intervene, but Ravhiel subtly raised a hand to stop her, never breaking eye contact with Rhyxen.
His expression remained calm, even as his body trembled ever so slightly under Rhyxen's crushing grip.
Rhyxen leaned in, voice barely above a whisper now, though the fury in it thundered through the air.
"Next time, don't fucking barge into this tent like you own the place," he snarled. "Or I'll break your head. You're already fucking useless as it is. Don't make it worse by being stupid."
His fingers dug in harder. Luna felt her hands curling into fists.
Ravhiel bowed his head. "Of course. I apologize," he said softly.
The quiet sincerity of his voice only made Luna angrier.
Rhyxen narrowed his eyes, as if searching for something more in his twin's reaction—then shoved him roughly back, hard enough that Ravhiel's wheelchair rolled slightly.
"Now get out of my sight. Fucking Silverweight."
That word again.
The same insult Rhaevos had used. The word rolled off their tongues like a curse, soaked in disdain.
Luna's jaw clenched. Ravhiel's shoulder was visibly off—dislocated. His breaths were shallow, and he struggled to turn the wheels of his chair. It was painful to watch.
So she moved.
Without a word, Luna stepped forward, gripping the handles of the wheelchair and pulling him out of the tent. Her movements were sharp. Controlled. Anger boiled under her skin like lava.
Ravhiel blinked in surprise. "Luna, you don't have to," he said gently, his voice still calm, still patient despite everything.
That only made her more furious.
'How can he be so naively nice? Who the hell is THIS nice?' she thought, swallowing a growl. 'He's still acting considerate when his shoulder is dislocated. What the hell is wrong with him?'
She didn't look at him when she responded, but her voice was tight. "I thought you said they were different."
"Huh?" Ravhiel blinked up at her. "They... are?"
Luna shook her head, biting down the heat that climbed her throat. "They're both terrible," she muttered, her hands tightening on the handles of his wheelchair as she rolled him away with quiet fury.
Ravhiel gave her a small smile—strained, but still there. "Let's continue the tour, shall we?"
Luna frowned deeper.
'I swear… what's his deal…'
And yet, despite her irritation—despite everything she'd just witnessed—she didn't let go of the wheelchair.