Chapter 1

Chapter 1 — The Mark of the Alpha

In the Shadowfang Forest, the howling wind brought the scent of blood and burning wood. Ivan’s world whirled as the carriage careened, rolling over and over before, finally, it settled in a crunch of splintered wood and mangled metal. So get ready to enter into the Passel woods, and join Grann with this next part.

A groan.

Despite the gash on his forehead, Duke Henry IV pushed himself up. His vision became blurry, but he willed himself to keep going. His son. He had to get to his son.

“Oh, God…” he rasped, shaking the boy’s shoulders.

Ivan woke, his once-immaculate suit torn and drenched in blood—his mother’s blood. He looked up, eyes full of fear. “Papa… you're hurt.” His voice trembled. “And Mama… she ain’t waking up.”

The Duke felt his heart drop at the sight of his mate's dead body and his jaw tightened There was no time to grieve. He tore the silver medallion from his neck — the crest of House Etrama, the legacy of their bloodline — and shoved it into Ivan’s palm.

“Listen to me,” he ordered urgently. “You have to run. Now.”

“But—”

“No arguments!” The Duke drew a dagger from his belt and slashed at the wreckage, forcing open a passage. “Here, take this,” shoving a small, rune-inscribed phone into Ivan’s hands. “Call your grandfather. Run and do not stop until you find him.’”

Squealing tires echoed in the distance. Then came a low, menacing growl.

A dark vehicle appeared, headlights slicing through the trees. Iron and wolfsbane hung in the air—hunters.

Ivan felt fear gripping his heart and struggled to stay with his dad."

“Go!” The Duke roared, the very last ounce of his strength enabling him to push his son toward the trees. “Run, Ivan!”

The child recoiled before his instincts took over. Then he turned and ran into the dark, his father’s last stand ringing in his ears.

The Hunt Begins

Ivan ran through the bush, breath already starting to come in ragged gasps. The gnarled roots and thorns clawed at his flesh, but he pressed on. All that mattered was to survive.

A gunshot.

His shoulder exploded with pain. He bit back a sob as his legs wobbled, before he pushed himself through. His blood stained the leaves—just the route that would take them right to him.

“Hey,” a deep voice called out behind him.

“Lord Ivan … you don’t need to run.”

The boy’s heart pounded. That voice — it was eerily calm, almost too familiar. He pressed his back against a tree, putting his hand over his mouth to stifle his quickening breaths.

They won’t take me. I won’t let them.

A shadow moved.

Then — a hand clamped over his mouth.

Ivan struggled, thrashing; then a quiet voice came up to his ear.

“It’s me.”

Suddenly it hit me like a bolt of lightning. He stopped struggling. This was someone he could trust.

The man hoisted him up and, without pause, ran just as another shot rang out, piercing the stillness. Ivan had a thousand thoughts in his mind and controlling them was becoming exhausting as the darkness swallowed the chaos of the night.

The last sound that reached his ears was the desperate howls of his pack demanding justice.

The Blood Moon’s Curse

Ivan found himself in an unknown room. Restraints. He was strapped to a bed by a thick leather belt, an IV line sending something into his veins. His head throbbed, memories rushing back in stark flashes — his mother’s corpse, his father’s final words, the flaming wreckage.

"Papa…? Mama…?" His voice cracked.

A figure loomed over him. His grandfather. The Alpha of House Etrama.

“You’re awake,” the old man said in a grave tone.

The boy named Ivan started fighting against the restraints, his young mind not able to understand what was going on. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

A heavy pause. Then, his grandfather put something into his hand.

The silver medallion. His father’s crest.

“You’re the last heir,” said the Alpha gravely. “And now, they’re coming for you.”

Tears burned Ivan’s eyes. "No… No, they can’t be—"

““They are gone, Ivan.”

The voice of his grandfather, usually steady and unrelenting, cracked just for the briefest moment. Long enough for Ivan to have a sense of what he had lost.

And then, as a knife snaps back in, it turned sharp again.

“Which is why we need to send you away.”

The words landed like a gut punch. Air left his lungs. His body went cold.

“No,” Ivan gasped, shaking his head violently. “I don’t wanna leave,” he gasped, his voice hoarse from grief, from desperation. “This is my home.”

“You must.” His grandfather tightened his grip on his shoulder, fingers digging in like iron. “You are heir to the throne of Etrama. And then when the time comes…” His golden eyes glowed with a strange fire. “You are going to come back and claim it.”

His heart hammered as Ivan tightened his fists. “I don’t care about the throne! I care about—”

His head was splitting with pain. His knees buckled.

His vision swam as the world violently threatened to spiral into darkness. Heat coursed through his veins, something old, something powerful rising inside him.

He had barely heard the whisper of his grandfather’s last words before the darkn

ess devoured him whole.

“Keep your head down, my boy… until the Blood Moon comes to call you home.”