Eight hours. My paws pound the forest floor like drums of war, but the bastard is nowhere. Every trail I follow twists, bends, and scatters like smoke in the wind. My wolf’s breath fogs the air, rage simmering beneath my skin..
I halt, nostrils flaring. Corrupted energy burns faintly in the air, black and sour. My uncle’s stench. But it slips away mockingly, splitting into three separate paths as if the land itself is laughing at me.
“Fan out,” I snarl, my command ripping into the bones of the trackers and warriors around me. They lower their heads and scatter, paws shredding the undergrowth as they obey. Even the trees seem to bow beneath my power, yet the trail remains elusive.
I bare my teeth. You crippled bastard. There’s no way you outran me.
Leaping over a fallen trunk, my wolf’s massive frame soars, towering over the warriors who look like pups beside me. But the deeper we press into the woods, the more wrong it feels. Dead animals lie twisted on the forest floor–birds with hollow eyes and a fox with blackened veins across its throat. A growl rips from me, lips peeled back in fury.
Dark magic. Not the cheap, pathetic witchcraft that leaves behind sloppy residue. No–this is stronger, older. Ancient. My uncle has help.
The sound in my chest deepens, a lethal rumble. Of course he planned this. Old and crippled, yes, but never stupid.
I drive forward again, forcing the trackers to keep up, but every step, every scent, leads to nothing but illusions–false trails, Hures meant to pull me deeper into his trap.
This is pointless. He’s not running… he’s playing me.
I skid to a halt in the mud, chest heaving, claws digging trenches into the earth. The others stumble to a stop around me, panting, their wolves‘ eyes glassy with exhaustion. Eight hours without rest–my command has pushed them to the edge.
I shift back, bones snapping into place, skin replacing fur. My breath clouds the air as I straighten to my full height. My warriors lower their heads, their wolves circling nervously before shifting back too, their bodies trembling from the strain.
I let my aura roll over them. “Enough,” I command. “He’s not running. He’s hiding, weaving shadows to waste our time.” I sweep my gaze over them, my jaw tight. “If he thinks I’ll burn my warriors out chasing ghosts, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.”
The men exchange weary looks, relief flashing in their eyes, though no one dares to speak.
“We return. Rest. Regroup. Stay alert. The man we’re hunting isn’t an ordinary wolf–you can see it for yourselves. He’s tapping into the darkest kind of magic, power that takes more than a simple witch’s charm to wield. I don’t know what price he paid to obtain it, but we will find out.” My teeth bare, fury burning in my chest. “And when we do, I’ll rip it from him myself.”
The command is final. No one questions it.
They bow low, then shift back, their wolves streaking into the underbrush. I shift too, my wolf exploding forward–massive, relentless–and together we race toward the palace.
This isn’t over, uncle. You’ve bought yourself time, nothing more.
I push harder, the forest blurring around me as my thoughts sharpen on Fury. He’s the only one who came close to my uncle, the only one who nearly died at his hands. If he’s awake now, he may hold the answers no one else can give–answers about the power my uncle has drawn upon to strengthen himself.
My uncle may hide in shadows, but I’ll drag him into the light.
One way or another.
By the time the palace walls rise in the distance, another piece of the puzzle forces itself into my mind: Khaos—Jasmine’s ex-
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mate. He swore he knew nothing, yet it was clear my uncle had used him to get to me and to Kali. During our last interrogation, he let one word slip–master. He claimed the man was faceless, someone he had never truly seen. But I can’t shake the suspicion that the shadow behind that word… is my uncle.
A dark smile twists across my lips. Perhaps I should return to the Blood Fang dungeons, drag Khaos from his cell, chain him upside down, and strip away what’s left of his dignity–tongue, eyes, limbs. Pain has a way of unlocking memory, forcing the mind to recall what it tried to forget, even things buried deep in sleep or unconsciousness. One way or another twillt.
talk.
