Chapter 5 THE MAN WHO HUNTS IMMORTALS

The hunter did not smell like fear.

That was the first thing Adrian noticed as he stepped onto the rain-slicked pavement of the East End, the shards of the townhouse's shattered windows crunching beneath his boots like bone. Normally, the air around a supernatural confrontation was thick with the acidic, copper scent of human panic. Humans always reeked of it when they realized they were standing in the presence of something that considered them nothing more than a food source or an obstacle.

But this man? He was a void.

Calm. Controlled. Cold.

Rain slid down the stranger's face, dripping from a jawline that looked like it had been carved from granite. He stood beneath a flickering, broken streetlamp, his long, charcoal coat hanging open just enough to reveal a bandolier of weapons. These weren't standard firearms or blades. They were etched with glowing blue sigils-ancient, purpose-built geometry designed to disrupt the molecular structure of things that refused to stay dead.

The man smiled, and it was a look of pure, clinical satisfaction.

"Adrian Blackthorne," he said, his voice steady even as the storm intensified. "Seven hundred and twelve years old. Founder of the Blackthorne Blood Pact. Responsible for the Night of Ashes in Prague. You've been a very busy monster, Adrian."

Adrian's fangs descended slowly, his upper lip curling to reveal teeth that could snap steel. "You're very well-informed for a man about to die in a gutter."

"I make it my business," the man replied pleasantly, "to know exactly what I'm killing. It's a matter of respect."

Behind Adrian, the townhouse door creaked open. The wards were flickering, the air humming with the scent of burnt sage and ozone.

"Lena, stay inside," Adrian snapped, his voice vibrating with a warning growl.

She didn't listen. She never did. Not in the 1400s, and not now. She stepped out into the rain, her hospital scrubs soaked and clinging to her skin. The silver mark on her chest was glowing so fiercely now that it was visible through the fabric, a beacon of celestial light in the grime of the London night.

The hunter's gaze flicked to her-and for a second, his clinical mask slipped. Something dark, ancient, and terrifyingly reverent passed through his eyes.

"And there she is," he murmured, his voice hushed. "The Moon's greatest mistake. The Sovereign in the flesh."

"Who are you?" Lena demanded. She didn't sound like a victim. The "angry" power she had felt in the hospital was back, making the rain around her sizzle and turn to steam.

The man bowed slightly, a mockery of chivalry. "Lucien Hale. Last son of the Order of the Eclipse. I'm the balance, Miss Ashcroft. I'm the man who ensures that gods don't walk the earth for too long."

Morgana appeared in the doorway, her hands clutching a gnarled wooden staff. "That order was wiped out centuries ago, Lucien. Adrian saw to that personally."

Lucien's smile sharpened into a blade. "He ended the temple. He ended my brothers. But the Eclipse is a cycle, witch. It always returns." He looked back at Adrian. "Your people tried to enslave her back in the Old World. They wanted her power to turn the world into a permanent night. Adrian was a hero back then-he killed them to set her free."

"And I'll do it again," Adrian said.

"Will you?" Lucien asked. "Because every time you 'save' her, she dies within the decade. You're not her savior, Blackthorne. You're the anchor that keeps her from ascending. You're the reason she's trapped in this pathetic human meat-suit instead of being a star."

Lucien raised his hand. He didn't pull a trigger. He snapped his fingers.

The street exploded.

It wasn't gunpowder; it was a geometric trap. Runes ignited beneath Adrian's feet, glowing with a sickly, violet light. Chains of blinding energy-each link etched with a 'Binding of the Earth' sigil-snapped around Adrian's limbs. They didn't just hold him; they burned. Adrian roared as the magic began to tear his immortal flesh apart at the molecular level, forcing his cells to vibrate until they disintegrated.

"Adrian!" Lena screamed. She lunged forward, but Lucien moved with a speed that shouldn't have been human. He was in front of her in a heartbeat, his hand catching her by the throat-not to choke her, but to hold her steady.

"Don't watch, Sovereign," Lucien whispered. "This is the mercy. If he dies, you can finally go home."

Adrian was on his knees, his skin smoking, his eyes turning into pits of molten gold. The pain was unlike anything he had felt in seven centuries. It was the pain of being unmade.

"Lucien!" Adrian roared, his voice shifting into a double-tonal howl. "Let. Her. Go!"

"I've waited lifetimes for this," Lucien said, ignoring him and looking at Lena. "Every time he found you, he slaughtered my ancestors. He made us ghosts. But this time... he stayed in one place too long. He built a tower. He bought a life. And that made him so very easy to find."

Something inside Lena snapped.

It wasn't a choice; it was an eruption. The silver light from her chest surged upward, pouring out of her eyes and mouth. She didn't throw a punch-she threw a shockwave.

The blast of silver fire was so powerful that it shattered Lucien's runes instantly. The chains around Adrian vanished in a spray of sparks. Lucien was hurled across the street, his body slamming into a brick wall with enough force to leave a crater.

Lena stood in the middle of the street, her hands glowing like mini-supernovas. She looked at the destruction-the flipped cars, the shattered glass, the smoking crater where Lucien had been-and her eyes filled with horror.

"I-I didn't mean to-I don't know how I did that!"

Lucien rose from the rubble, blood trailing from his mouth, his charcoal coat shredded. But he was laughing. It was a wheezing, ecstatic sound.

"There it is," he croaked. "The Sovereign wakes. Do you feel it, Blackthorne? The end of your world?"

Thunder split the sky, and for a moment, the clouds tore open. The blood-red moon was fully visible, and its light hit Adrian like a physical weight.

The transformation was no longer a choice.

Adrian's control, honed over seven hundred years, shattered like glass. Bones snapped and elongated with the sound of breaking timber. His black suit tore into ribbons as muscles swelled and distorted. Black-and-gold fur rippled across his skin, and his face elongated into a terrifying, lupine mask.

The wolf that emerged was towering-eight feet of shadow and rage. This wasn't a dog; this was a primordial nightmare. He threw his head back and let out a howl that shattered every window within a three-block radius.

"Lena! Run!" Morgana shouted from the porch. "He's lost the man! He's all beast now!"

The Great Wolf didn't look at Lucien. He turned those wild, golden eyes on Lena. To the beast, she wasn't his mate. She was the source of the power that was burning the world.

He lunged.

Lena didn't run. She didn't hide. She remembered the dream. She remembered the battlefield.

"Adrian!" she cried out, her voice cutting through the rain.

She stepped into his path. As the massive wolf-beast closed the distance, she reached out her glowing hands. She pressed them against the wet, matted fur of his chest, right over his thundering heart.

Silver light poured from her palms, sinking into the black fur.

"Adrian," she whispered, her forehead leaning against his snout. "It's me. It's Lena. Come back to me."

The wolf froze. The snarling stopped. The massive claws, inches from her face, trembled.

The golden eyes-wild, broken, and ancient-locked onto hers. For a moment, the beast and the goddess looked at one another through the fog of their shared curse.

"I'm here," she said softly, her voice steady. "And I'm not leaving you again. Not for the hunters. Not for the moon. Not for anyone."

The beast bowed its head. It let out a low, whimpering sound-a sound of profound relief-and leaned its massive weight against her.

Lucien, standing across the street, watched the scene with a faltering smile. "No," he muttered, gripping a silver dagger. "That shouldn't be possible. The Alpha Rage... It's a one-way street."

"She doesn't just anchor him, you fool," Morgana said, stepping into the street with her staff glowing. "She commands him. They aren't two souls anymore. They are one entity."

Lena felt it then-the bond. It wasn't just love; it was a bridge of light that spanned seven hundred years. She felt his pain, his loyalty, and his terror of losing her.

"I killed you once to save the world," she whispered to the wolf. "But this time... I think I'd rather let the world burn."

She turned to Lucien, her eyes glowing like a silver sun. The rain stopped falling around her, suspended in mid-air by the sheer force of her will.

"You want the Sovereign?" she asked. "Here I am."

The ground beneath Lucien's feet split open. Not by magic, but by the earth itself rejecting him. A chasm of darkness yawned, and with a scream of frustrated rage, Lucien Hale vanished into the depths of the London ley line.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Adrian's body began to shift back, the agonizing process of bone-setting and skin-shrinking leaving him gasping on the pavement. He was human again, naked and shivering in the rain. Lena immediately pulled off her cardigan and draped it over him, holding him as his teeth chattered.

"It's begun," Morgana said quietly, looking up at the red moon. "The final cycle. The Sovereign is awake, and the Hunter is gone... for now."

SELENE – POV

Selene watched the entire scene from the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse across the street. Her nails bit into her palms until she drew blood.

So the legends were true. The Lunar Sovereign wasn't just a title; it was a force of nature.

She watched Adrian-her Adrian-shivering in the arms of that girl. She saw the way he looked at her, with a devotion that Selene had spent seven lifetimes trying to earn.

Seven lifetimes of being the one who stayed. Seven lifetimes of being the one who understood his darkness. Seven lifetimes of being the "friend" while he chased a phantom.

Her jealousy didn't just burn; it curdled into a cold, hard resolve.

"Enjoy your reunion, Lena," Selene whispered into the wind, her green eyes shimmering with a poisonous light. "But a goddess who loves a monster always ends up destroying him. I'm just going to help the process along."

She pulled a small crystal vial from the folds of her emerald dress. Inside, a thick, silver liquid swirled-moon-poison, distilled from the tears of a dying fae and forbidden alchemy. It was designed to do one thing: turn a werewolf's own blood against him.

"One drop, Adrian," she murmured. "And you'll finally be free of her. Even if it means you have to die to do it."

She vanished into a flurry of ravens, leaving only the scent of rotting lilies behind.