Chapter Forty Seven — The Trial by Moonlight

Chapter Forty Seven — The Trial by Moonlight
The moon hung heavy over us, pregnant and radiant, its light of silver spilling over the sacred playing ground like molten lava. Every wolf of the pack was there, filling the stone circle that surrounded the ritual grounds. Their breaths, their voices, their very hearts all thudded in one beat—swift, fiery, and in expectation. The weight of their eyes bore down on me until my lungs seared.

This was not an informal gathering. This was judgment.

There were those who looked at me hopefully, as if they expected me to rise and prove myself worthy of sitting in the Luna's chair. There were others who looked at me with barely suppressed hatred, hoping I would stumble, fall, prove once and for all that a woman of half-human blood had no place among them.

And between those two factions, wolves lay restlessly, not knowing where to place their loyalty.

I clenched my hand at my side, but kept myself rigid, shoulders back, chin up. Lucien was several steps away from me, his presence a storm restrained. His jaw clenched so hard it could crack bone, and the muscle in his cheek twitched when one of the elders raised a hand for silence.

"Tonight," the older one spoke, his voice deep and rich, echoing out over the massed pack, "we witness the Trial by Moonlight."

A shiver ran through the crowd. I caught the low thrum of a growl—deep and ravenous—from some point in the ranks. The elder continued.

"Elara, mate to our Alpha, wearer of the mantle of Luna, stands before us not as a woman, not as a mate, but as one who must prove herself. The trial will challenge her wolf, her soul, and her place amongst us. She will enter the forest alone, under the eye of the Moon Mother. She will hunt and kill the sacred prey."

The word passed around, wolves inclining their heads, others smirking as if they already knew it was settled. My own heart thundered hard, every pulse vibrating within me like a drum.

The sacred quarry. The stag of the northern woods. A creature fast, cunning, almost uncatchable unless the hunt was perfect. Trials were judiciously tempered for most—youths were given lesser quarry, and older initiates were sometimes given aid in the killing stroke. Not this night.

From across the arena, Roran stepped forward, his sneer cutting like a blade through the silence. His voice glided, smooth and taunting.

"Tradition demands the prey be perfect. But tradition demands that the hunt be true. No help. No mercy. She must bear it as we all have. Alone."

Alone. He made certain. I saw the glint of satisfaction in his eyes as his words found purchase among the crowd. He wanted me alone, with nothing but my own strength.

Lucien growled low, his voice rumbling from his chest like a coming tempest. But the elder lifted a hand. "Alpha, you are aware of the law. No one may intervene."

The words cut into him like chains. His fists curled, his wolf under his skin. But he said nothing. He could not.

I felt the sear of his eyes on me, a rope in the storm, but one which lagged behind. For once, it was only me.

I gulped and braced my jaw. "I accept."

The pack growled again, voices against each other—some in amazement at my courage, some in laughter. My heart pounded, but I would not let them witness fear. Not now.

The elder nodded toward the great trees that ringed the arena. "When the horn is blown, you will enter. Bring back the stag before the midpoint of the moon, or you will fail."

The horn lifted, a curved line of bone white and smooth. Its sound was low and funereal, a call that set the hairs on the back of my neck tingling.

And I was running.

I was in the woods.

The darkness beneath the canopy stretched out long and silver, shot through with the beams of moon. Every noise was crisp—the crackle of twigs on the ground beneath my feet, the scritch of leaves as little things scurried from me. My wolf lay hidden beneath my skin, fidgeting, urging me to drop the human shape and pursue the hunt in her manner. But I hesitated, not yet. I needed my eyes, my brain, my human cunning to be paired with hers.

The air was filled with the smell of damp earth and wild things. Somewhere down the distance, far but clear, was the stag's musk. Strong, proud, walking with purpose.

I pushed on, breathing rhythmically, ears probing every flicker in the woods. Behind me, but at a distance, I knew the pack lingered. Through ritual, through presence, their eyes followed after me, ready to weigh whether I stood or faltered.

My chest hurt with the weight of it. Their doubt was a second wind, incessant and suffocating.

Memories cut through me—of Lucien's embrace in training, saying to me, "You are stronger than you know." Of women in the circle, their laughter and acceptance, sharing their secrets with me. Of children looking at me with wide, questioning eyes, believing I could somehow be where no one ever expected me to be.

I would not disappoint them.

The stag's smell was acrid. My wolf snarled within me, insisting I let her out. I shed her blood through, skin burning, bones grumbling as my senses grew sharp. My eyes caught the glint of antlers in front of me, silvered and moon-whitened. The beast passed silently, like a shadow, strong, lovely.

I crouched low, each muscle locked tight. My wolf and I breathed in sync, heartbeats synchronized, anticipating the right moment—

Snap.

The sound came behind me. Too weighty, too calculated to be chance.

I was paralyzed, blood growing cold in my veins. The stag bounded, running further into the trees. I swore, turning around.

Out of the blackness, another wolf emerged. Not quarry. Not chance.

His eyes sparkled with cruelty, his smile thin. He came around me at a slow pace, claws scraping on the bark of an overhanging tree.

"Well, well," he said slowly. "The Luna in the woods, alone."

My guts clenched to stone. He wasn't at the trial. He was here for something else.

Roran's hand.

I kept my breath steady, struggling to remain calm even as my wolf stood up on its hind legs, teeth bared. This was no longer a hunt. It was an ambush.

The trial by moonlight had just become something far deadlier.