They Hunted Me as Prey, So I Became the Warden Who Hunts Alphas

The third bell was still echoing when Rhys started down the mountain.

"Hide your hand," he called without turning. "If the council sees that fire, they will cut you open to learn where it came from."

"You seem unusually concerned."

"I'm concerned about losing the only interesting thing that has happened here all year."

"There it is."

He glanced back. "Don't die before I get answers."

Then he disappeared between the trees.

I looked at the ancient altar one last time. The carved crescent had gone dark, but warmth still moved beneath my skin. I flexed my right hand. No pain. No stiffness. Every joint worked as if the silver whip had never touched me.

I should have been terrified.

Instead, a grin pulled at my mouth.

For the first time in my life, I had something the highborn did not understand.

Something they feared.

The bell rang again.

I ran.

By the time I reached the academy, mud covered my boots and blood had dried across the torn sleeves of my uniform. The main doors stood open. Students crowded into the grand hall in rigid lines, their earlier arrogance replaced by silence.

I slipped into the back row and shoved my right hand into my pocket.

A thin boy beside me was breathing too fast. He wore the plain gray collar of F-Class and kept rubbing the inside of his wrist as if expecting chains to appear there.

"What happened?" I whispered.

He looked at me. "You don't know?"

"I arrived this morning."

"Blood Moon."

The words barely left his mouth.

A broad man climbed the podium. A gray wolf pelt hung from his shoulders, its head resting over one side of his chest. A scar divided his lower lip, and heavy rings flashed on both hands.

Magnus Blackwood, Alpha of the West.

I recognized him from the council notices posted in Lowtown. The notices described him as a guardian of order. They never mentioned that his smile looked like a wound.

"Heads up," Magnus barked.

Every student lifted their chin.

"Tonight, the moon turns red."

A tremor moved through the F-Class rows.

The boy beside me whispered, "It's too early in the term."

"What is?"

"The Wild Hunt."

His voice cracked.

Magnus spread his hands over the podium.

"Lunaris was founded to produce leaders, not pampered pets. Yet each year, bloodlines soften. Instincts dull. Teeth grow decorative. The Blood Moon gives us one night to remember what we are."

The highborn students in front shifted with anticipation.

"The rules are simple," Magnus continued. "At midnight, every F-Class student will be released into the western grounds. You will receive a ten-minute head start. Then the ranked students hunt."

A cheer rose from the gold-trimmed rows.

Brantley Mercer howled. Seraphina clapped beside him.

The boy next to me went pale.

"They use us for target practice," he whispered. "Last year, seven didn't come back."

I stared at Magnus. "And the council allows this?"

The boy gave a broken laugh. "The council watches."

Magnus raised one hand, and the cheering stopped.

"Survive until sunrise, and you earn immunity for the semester. Get caught, and your fate belongs to your captor. The council will not interfere with instinct."

"Then it isn't a hunt," I called. "It's an execution."

The words cut across the hall.

Hundreds of faces turned.

The boy beside me flinched away.

Magnus found me at the back. His smile widened.

"A rabbit always calls the wolf unfair."

"A wolf that needs a ten-minute handicap should be embarrassed."

Laughter burst from one of the lower-ranked rows before dying under Magnus's stare.

He leaned over the podium. "Name?"

"Violet Hale."

Recognition flickered in his eyes.

Cassian stood near the side wall, arms folded. He had changed jackets, but the hand I had burned rested closed against his chest. His expression revealed nothing.

Rhys occupied the opposite wall. The scorched edge of his hair was hidden beneath a hood, though I could see the shine of the ruined lighter turning between his fingers.

Magnus pulled a rolled parchment from inside his coat.

"Every Hunt has a prime target," he said. "The student who brings that target to the council earns a permanent seat at the Alpha table and the right to name one favor."

The room changed.

The highborn stopped seeing classmates. They saw competitors.

A prefect moved through the F-Class rows, fastening black metal bracelets around our wrists. The boy beside me recoiled when his clicked shut.

"Tracking bands," he whispered. "They light up when the Hunt starts."

The prefect reached me.

I offered my left wrist, keeping my right hand hidden.

The bracelet locked with a cold snap.

Magnus broke the wax seal on the parchment.

"This year's prime target was selected for insolence, instability, and an unusual capacity to attract trouble."

A few students laughed.

I did not look away from him.

"Whoever takes her alive receives the council seat," Magnus said. "Whoever brings only proof of death will receive half the reward."

The thin boy beside me whispered, "I'm Eli Brooks. In case we don't make it past midnight."

"We will," I said.

Magnus unrolled the parchment completely.

"The prime target is Violet Hale."

Every tracking bracelet in the back rows flashed red.

Mine burned like a brand.