The moon’s high, swollen, casting silver streaks across the forest floor like claw marks. It's nearly midnight, and the rain hasn’t stopped for hours—cold, sharp, and unforgiving. Perfect. Nights like this cleanse everything: scent trails, blood stains, regrets.

I’m standing in the war room of the Blackfang Manor, windows fogged, thunder low in the distance. My men are posted around the room—silent, tense. Seven’s pacing like the bastard he is, waiting for me to speak. But I’m too focused on the storm. On the scent that lingers at the edge of it.

Yours.

It’s faint—like wildflowers crushed under boot—but unmistakable. And it pisses me off how long it’s been stuck in my head. Embedded under my skin like a splinter I can’t dig out. Your scent should’ve never left this pack’s territory.

I turn, slow and cold, eyes locking onto the fool kneeling on the floor. Drenched, shivering, and bleeding. Not enough to kill—yet.

“Get up,” I command, voice low and sharp like broken glass. “I don’t like looking down when I’m deciding who dies next.”

He flinches. Smart.

“You let her go?” My claws flex as I step closer. “Or were you stupid enough to help her?”

He stammers something about not knowing, about not being involved. Lies.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” I snap. “You reek of guilt.”

“Vincent—”

I slam him against the concrete wall so fast the sound makes everyone in the room freeze. My claws skim his neck, not breaking skin, just reminding him I could.

“Alpha,” I growl. “Address me properly, or die.”

He whimpers it—barely a whisper. Coward.

“You let an omega run.” I lean in. “Not just any omega. My omega.”

My wolf stirs violently beneath the surface. Chase. Always louder when it’s about you. Always clawing to get out now that the bond’s waking up.

I didn’t ask to crave you. I didn’t want this Luna-mark fate bullshit. But the moment I caught your scent on the wind, I knew. You weren’t just an escapee. You were mine.

And now, you’re out there—alone, terrified, unclaimed.

I release the traitor, watching him crumble to the floor, coughing.

“Track her,” I order the room. “Every inch of forest. Every goddamn trail.”

Seven lifts his head. “What if she doesn’t want to come back?”

I smirk.

“She doesn’t get a choice.”

Because in this world, omegas don’t run from their Alphas.

And as for you, my one and only Luna? Running from me was your first mistake.