Feral Hearts

The forest pulsed with heat.

It wasn’t just the moon—huge, full, bleeding silver through the trees like it was watching. No, it was the hunger building inside Latoriia Kiingston, twisting in her blood, crackling just beneath her skin.

She was burning from the inside out.

Her spine arched as another jolt of heat flared through her body. She gripped the nearest tree for balance, bark biting into her palm. Her breath was ragged. Her legs, trembling. Her shift was coming.

And she was alone.

She could’ve done it the pack’s way in the ritual circle, surrounded by snarling wolves and judgmental eyes. But she wanted control. Her own space. Her own pain.

Then… he appeared.

A low growl rumbled behind her, deep and masculine. She turned, heart stuttering.

Lucan.

Leaning against a tree like he’d been there the whole time, arms crossed over his chest carved from sin, tattoos trailing over scarred skin like dark whispers. His black hair was tousled, jaw shadowed, eyes shining amber.

She hated how he made her feel—like her body belonged to the moon, but her fire belonged to him.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Not alone. Not tonight.”

“I can handle it.” But her voice shook. Damn it.

Lucan pushed off the tree, moving toward her with the smooth, lazy confidence of a predator. “That’s the thing, Latoriia. You don’t handle the shift. It handles you.”

He stopped inches away. She could smell him—cedar, smoke, something darker. Her breath caught.

“Why are you here?” she asked, but her voice was softer now.

“Because you’re changing. And whether you want to admit it or not…” His gaze dropped to her lips. “You want someone who understands what that feels like.”

A sharp spasm shot through her, and she fell to her knees with a gasp. Her bones cracked, skin burning. The change was coming fast, violent.

Lucan knelt beside her. “Breathe through it. Let it happen.”

Her back arched again as the heat overwhelmed her—spine snapping, teeth lengthening, claw's ripping from her fingers. She screamed, but it sounded feral, wild. Not human at all.

Pain blurred into ecstasy. And then—release.

She stood, naked and trembling in her wolf form, fur slick with sweat, senses on fire. Everything smelled like life and death. Like power.

Lucan shifted beside her, his own wolf massive and scarred, eyes glowing like fire.

Their gazes locked.

One breath.

One heartbeat.

And then—they ran.

Into the forest. Into the wind. Into the night.

The Bluemoon watched them disappear into the dark, knowing something had been awakened.

And it would never sleep again.

They ran like predators unleashed.

The forest blurred around them tree's but the streaks of shadow's and silver. The wind tore through Latoriia’s fur, wild and cold, but the heat inside her had only grown. Every step pounded through the earth like thunder, every breath sharp with scent—soil, blood, tree's, him.

Lucan ran ahead, his dark wolf massive and muscular, cutting through the trees like he owned the night. His presence burned through her senses like fire—feral, magnetic, forbidden.

She hated how good it felt to follow him.

But she didn’t just follow—she chased.

When he slowed, she lunged, tackling him to the forest floor. They rolled through the leaves, snarling and snapping playfully—until it wasn’t playful anymore.

Lucan shifted mid-roll, pinning her in his human form, strong arms braced on either side of her. His bare chest heaved with effort, damp with sweat, tattoos gleaming in the moonlight. He looked down at her, and the heat between them thickened like smoke.

“Fast,” he murmured, voice low and full of challenge. “Didn’t expect that.”

Latoriia shifted beneath him, the transformation smoother now, easier. Her body ached with the aftershock of the run, the shift—but the ache wasn't just from the change.

She stared up at him, eyes blazing with challenge. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Lucan’s gaze dropped to her lips, then lower. His voice was gravel and hunger. “I want to.”

She knew she should push him away. He was a rogue. A threat. Everything her pack warned her to fear.

But when his hand brushed her hip, slow and deliberate, she didn’t stop him.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

Lucan leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “But you should.”

And gods help her—she had done it

Before anything more could be said, a howl cut through the night. Not theirs.

A warning.

Lucan’s expression shifted instantly, dangerous and alert. “They’re looking for you.”

Latoriia’s blood turned cold.

The pack. Her father. The Alpha.

If they found her like this—with him—they’d tear her apart.

Lucan stood, eyes scanning the treeline, voice firm. “You need to choose, Latoriia. Go back and play their obedient little prophecy…” He offered her his hand. “Or run with me—and burn the rules down.”

Her heart thundered.

Everything was about to change.

The tree trembled behind her, bark digging into her spine, but Latoriia didn’t feel pain. All she felt was Lucan.

His hands roamed her body like he was learning her by instinct—fingers gripping her thighs, teasing her waist, stroking the line of her ribs as if he already owned every inch. His mouth broke from hers, trailing heat down her neck, sucking at the skin where pulse met collarbone.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he growled, voice so low it vibrated through her bones. “You taste like sin and moonlight.”

She gasped when he bit—soft, then harder—claiming her without apology. Her nails scraped down his back, and he hissed, muscles tensing beneath her hands.

“You like pain?” she whispered, drunk on the power, on him, on everything.

Lucan's smirk was sinful. “Only when it comes with a woman who bites back.”

He pinned her harder, one hand at her throat—not to hurt, but to hold. The tension made her breath catch, and her wolf stirred beneath her skin, howling for more. Her body arched into him, needy and unafraid.

“Say it,” he whispered against her lips. “Say you want this.”

Latoriia met his gaze, her voice a growl. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

Lucan’s mouth was on hers again—hot, hungry, rough. His hands slid lower, pulling her tighter against his body, where there was no mistaking the hardness of his need. Her breath hitched as he ground into her, slow and deliberate, making her feel every inch through the thin barrier of heat and want between them.

He pulled back just enough to speak, breath ragged. “This isn’t going to be soft, Latoriia. Not now. Not with you.”

She bared her throat, daring him. “Then don’t be soft.”

He let out a dark, wicked laugh—then claimed her again, like she was his to break or worship, and he hadn’t decided which yet.

Name: Darian Kiingston

Role: Beta of the Bluemoon Pack, feared and respected.

Reputation: A strategist. Cold. Unshakeable. Some whisper that he once danced too close to darkness himself—and never truly came back.

---

Darian Kiingston didn’t speak as he stood in the clearing where his daughter’s scent hung thick in the air—lust, wolf, blood, and something else. Something old.

The rogue’s scent was all over her.

His jaw flexed. Not from anger. From calculation.

The younger wolves behind him growled low, their disgust sharp and immature.

“She bonded with him,” Nyra hissed, practically trembling with rage. “With Lucan. That rogue. That abomination.”

“She chose,” Darian said quietly.

“What?” Nyra blinked. “Beta—”

“She made a choice.” He turned, eyes cold and unreadable. “And now, we respond like a pack. Not like children throwing tantrums.”

Nyra looked stunned. “You’re not going to report her?”

“I didn’t say that.” He stepped toward her, his voice low and sharp. “I said we move as a pack. That means we move smart.”

He crouched beside the tree where the bark had been clawed deep. A bloodstain glistened faintly at the root. His fingers brushed it.

“The bond is sealed,” he muttered. “Too late to stop it. But not too late to control what it becomes.”

“Control?” Nyra spat. “She defied the Alpha, Darian!”

Darian finally turned fully to her, his eyes a deep storm-gray. “And who do you think taught her how to defy?”

That shut her up.

He stood slowly, brushing his palms clean. “I’ll speak to selvara myself. Alone.”

Nyra stiffened, clearly displeased. “You plan to cover for her.”

“No.” He smirked darkly. “I plan to use this. Because if Lucan thinks he’s claimed her…”

His voice dropped.

“…then he just claimed war without realizing it.”

Name: Alpha Selvara Draeven

Age: Appears mid-30s, but has ruled for decades

Appearance: Sharp cheekbones, raven-black hair braided with wolf bones, obsidian eyes that never blink when they should

Aura: Cold seduction and coiled rage—every smile a threat, every word a test

Reputation: Strategic, ruthless, revered, and feared. Some whisper she made a deal with the moon itself. Others say she killed her own mate for power—and didn’t blink doing it.

Belief: Loyalty is earned in blood. Weakness is a lie.

The Alpha’s chamber was carved into the bones of the mountain—lit by flickering torches and stained by decades of secrets. The scent of iron and jasmine clung to the walls like a memory that refused to fade.

Darian Kiingston approached slowly. No one rushed Selvara Draeven.

She was seated on a stone throne veined with silver, fingers lazily stroking the hilt of a ceremonial dagger across her lap. Her gaze flicked up as he entered—obsidian eyes sharp and unreadable.

“Beta,” she purred. “Have you brought me good news or blood?”

Darian didn’t flinch. “Latoriia’s first shift came early. She’s bonded.”

Selvara’s lips curled, slow and amused. “Ah. So the girl finally stopped pretending to be tame.”

“To him,” Darian added. “Lucan.”

That pulled a low, amused sound from her throat. “The rogue? Delicious.”

“She’s compromised the order of the pack. This changes everything.”

“No, Darian. This reveals everything.” Selvara stood slowly, all grace and veiled danger. “The prophecy marked her to rise under blood and defiance. And what did you expect? That she’d shift politely and wait for your permission to fall in line?”

Darian’s hands flexed at his sides. “This bond is a threat to structure. To your reign.”

Selvara was suddenly in front of him, moving like a shadow laced in silk and steel. “Let me be clear. Nothing is a threat to my reign.”

He held her stare. “Then what’s your plan?”

A wicked smile slid across her lips. “We test her. Pressure makes diamonds, Darian—or it shatters the weak.”

“And if she breaks?”

Selvara turned, walking back to her throne. “Then I bury her in the mountain she disgraced. But if she survives…”

She sat, crossing one leg over the other, every inch of the queen of wolves.

“…I make her my weapon.”