CHAPTER 001

INGRID

“Ingrid, look out!” My father, Silas Blackwood, yells, and I duck, barely avoiding my brother's fist. Logan’s knuckles slice through the air where my face had been a second ago, and he trips, almost hitting the ground.

"Come on, Dad, you could’ve let me punch her," Logan hisses, his smirk widening like he enjoys the idea of bruising me.

"Why do I have to train today?" I grumble, straightening up and dusting off my sleeves. "Why am I even going with you guys?"

My father’s expression darkens, and he stares at me with his sharp, calculating eyes.

"Ingrid, your time to sit back and watch is over. You’re joining the hunt tonight."

I stiffen. "But Dad, I haven’t opened my bakery in two days! My customers—".

"Don’t make me tear down that little place of yours." He interrupts before I can finish, his voice low and dangerous.

"We had a deal. Train. Hunt. And I’ll let you keep that little bakery. Do you want me to reconsider our arrangement?" He asks tilting his head, daring me to push him.

I swallow hard and shake my head. "No, Father. I’ll join the hunt."

Logan chuckles, his hand flying to his mouth. He always enjoyed it when our father scolded me like a little girl even though I am a twenty-eight-year-old woman.

"Good. Go get ready—we leave at six."

I drag my feet, retreat into the house, and up to my room. That’s right. I still live under my father’s roof. So does Logan. In this family, there was no moving out. My father never allowed us to. We are hunters. It’s our legacy. Our business.

And tonight, I’ll be part of it for the first time.

I kneel beside my bed and pull out a large black case. Inside, weapons gleam under the dim light—silver-tipped arrows, wolfsbane grenades, and daggers, all engraved with our family crest. My hands brush over them as I decide which ones to take.

 I knew everything about werewolves—their weaknesses, strengths, and the fastest ways to kill them. I had been trained to do so since I was five. But no matter how much I was taught, I still didn’t understand why we hated them so much.

They keep to their side of town, and we stay on ours.

I asked my father once why we hunt them and all he said was: Hunt or be hunted.

A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts and before I can answer, Logan strides in and throws himself onto my bed like he owns the place.

"You knew this moment would come eventually, right?" he asks, his eyes filled with amusement.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Logan, please. Go find someone else to bother."

He lets out a sharp, mocking laugh shaking his head.

"Oh my God, don’t tell me you actually thought Dad would let you live a normal life, baking pastries?" he asks sarcastically before continuing. "I always knew you were naive, Ingrid, but I didn’t think you were this stupid."

I clench my fists, ready to punch him, but before I react, he pats my shoulder condescendingly and strides out.

I sit on the edge of the bed and let out a huge sigh. He wasn’t wrong. I used to believe my father would let me be and honor my mother’s wishes. She never wanted this life for me. She always dreamed that I would meet a nice, normal man, get married,d and have a bunch of children. And we would live far away and forget about this small town.

Logan, on the other hand, is the opposite. He hates werewolves just as my dad does and he enjoys killing them. That’s why he’s my father’s favorite.

I walk to my dressing table and tie my long black hair into a tight bun. Then, I slide into a pair of leather pants and a matching jacket, strapping my quiver onto my back. I take my bow and a few grenades with werewolf’s bane and put them in my pocket.

I take one deep breath and head downstairs to join the other hunters. I find them moving in a synchronized rhythm, preparing for the night ahead. My father barks orders, his voice booming over the clanking of weapons. He turns to my direction and sees me.

"There’s my girl!" he echoes, a proud grin splitting his face. "You and Logan are riding with me."

I force a small smile and nod.

"It’s a full moon tonight people," he barks, excitement lacing his voice. "Let’s go kill some werewolves."

I feel a shiver on my spine, not from the cold but from the way he says it casually. Like they’re not people at all.

"I call shotgun!" Logan yells, jogging ahead of me.

"Man-child," I mutter under my breath, opening the back door of the jeep and climbing in. Logan settles in the passenger seat, and my father gets in the driver’s seat. He starts the engine, and within seconds, we speed off towards Shadow Ridge Forest.

The others follow in a tight formation behind us.

From a distance, I hear eerie howls echoing through the night, and a shiver runs down my spine. My hands start trembling, and my palms become clammy with sweat.

I try to steady my breathing, but the fear is real.

I glance up and see my father’s cold eyes studying me through the rearview mirror.

"Nervous, Ingrid?"  he asks, though he already seems to know the answer.

I shake my head, trying to look confident.

"You should be," he says flatly. "If you’re not, then you’re stupid."

Logan chuckles beside him, shaking his head. "She has no idea what she’s in for."

"Just stay behind us tonight," my father adds. "We’ve got your back."

I nod, feeling a sliver of relief.

The jeep turns onto a narrow dirt road, where a large wooden sign stands at the entrance, its message barely visible in the dim moonlight:

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

My father slows the jeep, the tires crunching softly against the dirt as we drive deeper into the woods.

After a few more minutes of driving, my father brings the jeep to a stop, and behind us, the other hunters do the same.

Logan jumps out immediately, weapons in hand, his energy almost vibrating with excitement. My father follows, his movements steady and practiced.

I take a deep breath and step out into the cold night air.

My father gathers the hunters, the flickering light from the vehicles casting shadows across his face, making him look even more menacing.

"Listen up," he begins, his voice carrying through the stillness. "Tonight is a full moon. That means they’re at their strongest. Do not hesitate. Kill on sight."

The hunters nod in agreement, their grips tightening on their weapons. As one, they raise them toward the sky and shout.

"HUNT OR BE HUNTED!"

The chant echoes through the forest, making my stomach twist.

Within moments, the groups disperse into the woods, slipping into the shadows like wraiths. My father, Logan, and a few other hunters remain behind.

"We take this route," he orders, motioning ahead.

I adjust my quiver, placing an arrow against my bowstring, and follow behind.

We move deeper into the forest with calculated steps, avoiding making unnecessary noise, except for the occasional crunch of leaves beneath our boots.

My father suddenly halts and raises a fist. We stop immediately.

His gaze scans the trees, his shoulders tense.

"Something is wrong," he mutters. "We should’ve heard something by now."

Immediately, he stops talking, I hear a rustling sound.

I turn around and see yellow eyes glowing from the shadows. Not just one pair but dozens.

We had just walked straight into their trap.