19 - Cracks & Chaos

Despite our best efforts, the lycanthrope seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Night after night, we search the woodland in groups, hoping to catch any hint of it. It's strange, stalking through the woods with a bunch of wolves searching for a nightmare made manifest, but my paranoia melts towards frustration as, each dawn, we return unsuccessful.

Days slip away and we develop a sort of sombre routine in Lakeside. We spend our mornings training, our afternoons planning assaults on the lycanthrope, and our evenings attempting to find any trace of it. Unsuccessfully.

The only peace I can find from the hunt is when Kay offers to cook and the kitchen becomes a bubble of organised chaos as they attempt to corral Ro, Lach, Teo and me into some form of order, or when Rowan and I retreat to the spare room and distract ourselves until we fall asleep.

I hate not knowing what I'm heading for. It adds an unnerving edge to every moment spent searching or training. I'm used to planning attacks on werewolves, knowing where they are and what their routines are and how I can exploit them. Or, more recently, I've focused on the approach of other hunters; their plans, their hideouts, their methods. They're predictable. This lycanthrope is a nuisance. It's no wonder I've never heard of a creature like it before, if it's so good at remaining undetected from even the keenest of senses.

It has been allowed to push forwards into this land unhindered, and I know if we stand any chance against this thing, we cannot let it wander into the heart of the pack's territory. We have to seek it out instead.

That's easier said than done, though.

"...wonder how Beau and Morgan are getting on," Kay muses as they wander at my side down a shadowed woodland trail. They tuck their hands into their hoodie pockets and glance up at the stars as a cool wind tousles their hair. "I mean, they haven't called to say the pack house has burnt down, so I guess that's a positive."

Up ahead, Rowan, Lachlan, Matteo and Milo are all shifted, noses to the ground, sniffing for any trace of the lycanthrope. The gamma has decided to join us for all our searches; werewolves can communicate with their own packs, and he says he can translate for Ro, Lach and Teo with yips and barks and other, more confusing wolf signals in order to keep in touch with Lakeside. We've been walking since dusk and now the sky is a blanket of coal with eager stars twinkling between the rustling tree canopy. An icy breeze stirs around us, sending a shiver down my spine. For easier retrieval of my weapons, I'm wearing a short-sleeved top and my belt of silver knives is on display— as are the markings snaking their way up my arms. Absently, I study the streaks of lightning weaving beneath my skin.

Cracks.

"I'm sure they're fine," I say, grabbing hold of the distraction like it's a life jacket. "They've got to be doing better than us, in any case."

Kay snorts a little laugh. "Yeah, at least they've not got a lycanthrope situation."

Matteo's wolf glances our way and grumbles, his golden eyes sparking, and I figure he's saying something along the lines of 'don't jinx it'. At his side, Milo's wolf shakes, his light fur glistening in the dark.

Tonight, Kay is keeping me company by staying in their human form. They wander carefree at my side, as though we're on a hike and not stalking towards a potential confrontation.

I'm glad of their company— they're giving me something else to focus on instead of the endless training techniques that were drilled into me since I was a child. With Imogen's talk of my legacy, I cannot help but think all that training has geared me up for a fight like nothing I've ever faced before.

Do the Ferreus hunters know about lycanthropes? Surely not— otherwise, I would've heard of them. I would've been raised to kill them, not werewolves. But if they don't know, how far back does this delusion go? Which of my ancestors decided to turn on the wolves?

"What are you thinking about?" Kay asks, startling me out of those dark musings. Their brows are pinched and they say, "You've got that brooding look again."

"I brood?" I question instead, raising a sardonic brow.

They stifle a laugh and nod earnestly. "Oh, yeah. Almost all the time. So, what's on your mind?"

"The obvious," I retort. "What we're heading towards. How I'm linked to this mess."

They study me for a moment, the whistling breeze messing up their dark hair. "It's strange, isn't it?" they ask softly. "Finding out you're part of something bigger than you first thought."

I hold their gaze, silently debating, and I see a raw understanding tugging at their features and blazing in their eyes. It looks like an invitation. "What was it like?" I ask at last. "When you first turned."

"I'd imagine it felt like the first time you had your Haze," they admit, dropping my gaze and absently kicking at a small stone as we walk. "It was agony, and it was something I couldn't stop, and I had no clue what was happening to me. I had my life all figured out, you know. I'd just finished a culinary course — top of the class — and I wanted to open my own restaurant. I felt like my life had direction. And then I was bitten, and that life was ripped away from me— at least while I learnt to control the shift and live with this entirely new presence in the back of my head. I thought I'd gone mad."

"I'm sorry," I tell them honestly, a frown pinching at my features. I don't remember my first Haze all that well — only flickers and panic — but I do remember emerging into the carnage. My knife against Rowan's neck, traces of my fury tainting his skin in crimson lines. It felt like my freedom had been stolen from me. Orion, Liliana and my mother hadn't simply taken my control, that night. They tried to take my peace; they tried to take away the one person who makes me feel safe. As though catching the scent of my discomfort on the air, Rowan's wolf glances back at me, golden eyes searching mine.

Kay smiles softly. "It wasn't all bad. Teo found me, and he helped me through it. I mean, really, he's been helping me ever since. It's a wild ride, you know, to find out werewolves are real and — surprise — you're one, as well."

"I think you're doing well, all things considered," I tell them honestly. I thought I knew what was out there in the world; I grew up under the guise that werewolves are my enemies and hunters my allies. The lycanthrope revelation has come as a shock, and so has the idea of my own ancestors being destined to kill them. What else is out there? Are they dangerous, like the lycan, or are they simply living and caught up in the riptides, like the werewolves?

Kay laughs, drawing my wandering focus, and says, "Thanks, Riv. I think you're doing well, too. I know it's easy to say, but try not to worry about this whole born-to-kill-lycans thing. Just do what you do best, and fight it. It's just another threat." They shrug with an aloof air that has recognition sparking within me.

I stare at them for a moment, my pace faltering. All this talk of memories and legacies has my thoughts drifting to the not-so-distant past, and a sombre fog settles over me. Watch your footing. Sprained. You'll live. My brows pinch.

"What is it?" Kay asks, checking behind them just in case I've spotted something amiss. Up ahead, the wolves falter in their own nose-driven search of the woods, staring at us with flicking ears and heads tilted with confusion.

I shake my head and catch up to them. Reassured, the wolves continue their search. "Nothing, it's just... you reminded me of Esme for a second, there."

"Was she your sister?" they ask. When I nod, they say softly, "You miss her, huh?"

"All the time."

"You think she would've liked us?"

Despite the fog, a little laugh escapes me. "Definitely not. She would've tried to kill you. But I think... if she had more time, she would've come to understand that the life we had wasn't so black-and-white. You werewolves aren't all that bad, I suppose."

"As long as you're certain," they drawl sarcastically, offering me a wry grin that I return.

I'm about to retort when a howl rises on the wind, echoing through the trees like a death bell. Up ahead, the wolves snap their heads up, alert, and glance back at us with rallying yips.

One of the other groups out in the woods has found a trail. The hunt is on.

"Fuck," Kay hisses, already shrugging off their hoodie and dumping it as their eyes shimmer golden. "Go, I'll catch up."

I falter regardless, not at all keen on leaving a member of my family behind in unfamiliar woods with a lycanthrope lurking, but Matteo's wolf gives a yip and trots over. His intention to stay with them is clear, so I race after Rowan, Lachlan, and Milo's wolves through the underbrush.

Snatching twin throwing blades from my belt with a gratifying hiss, I fall back onto the natural instinct of fighting. Breaths come hot and sharp as I bolt after the wolves and I feel my Haze stirring at the mere thought of facing the lycanthrope.

I don't want to take any chances, and I let myself fall. At once, my Haze rushes up to catch me; cracks and symbols alike surge with a blinding light, the woods become electric as my senses heighten to nearly painful levels, raw power thunders through my soul.

All that matters is killing this thing before it can kill me.

Howls and snarls light the cool air; yelps and growls and whines rise in a symphony as we race for chaos.

With my family, I explode out onto a clearing and skid to a stop, rapidly examining the bedlam I've emerged onto. Milo darts off to help his pack.

The sight of the lycanthrope is just as jarring as the first time I saw it— proportions reminiscent of a caricature, sinewy form rippling with strength, matted fur stretched taut over grey skin, crimson eyes glittering with fury, claw-tipped hands swiping and slashing at any wolf that gets close enough, fangs dripping with blood and gristle as it snarls at us all. A creature caught in the liminal space between man and wolf. The beast is surrounded by wolves all darting and weaving, but what they have in speed, the monster makes up for in brute strength. It swipes at the wolves, sending them sprawling, and every sharp movement is feral and uncontrolled. There's no plan to its attack; it only descends into a frenzy and wolves are caught in the crossfire.

In the midst of the fight, its gaze snaps upwards to regard us, and a rumbling growl rushes from its gaping jaws. My markings blaze; a white fire of recognition that draws every shred of my focus towards the lycan.

Right as Kay and Teo's wolves dart out of the brush behind us, we race for the monster.

I can't get close enough to the creature with the swarm of wolves surrounding it, so I send my knifes hissing through the air. They burrow into the lycan's exposed shoulder and neck, but it brushes them off as though they're splinters.

I blow out a frustrated breath as my family join the chaos, scratching and biting wherever they can reach. Their combined efforts have little effect on the lycanthrope; it attacks with fervour, a cornered wild animal. It tosses wolves aside like dolls and they land with yelps and whines, limping back up or staying down with shuddering breaths.

As it throws its head back and howls with rage, I back up and rip a shuriken from my belt. The wolves are getting in each other's way. I can only take this beast down by making it bleed.

Just as I aim the shuriken at the creature's neck, the bushes to my left shudder and a dark mass darts out of their cover.

I just about catch Rowan's bark of a warning — a melody rising above the chaos a heartbeat too late — before the beast collides with me, sending us both sprawling.

I land hard, the wind knocked out of me, and the monster is upon me within a moment. As it drives a huge paw against my sternum to hold me down, I stare into its crimson eyes, horrific recognition stirring, and see death staring back.

A bone-shuddering snarl rips through the creature's gaping jaws; the warm stench of its putrid breath hits my face. Agony makes its home in me as its claws tear into the meat of my shoulder, as my collarbone takes the brunt of the force it's pressing down on me. I brace one hand against its chest, trying to keep it off me as I reach for a knife.

As horror sparks in my mind, my gaze darts across the clearing, to where the other lycanthrope is engaged in a bloody fight with the Lakeside pack.

Not one. Two. There's fucking two of them.

Fuck.

I kick and slash my knife and struggle hard beneath its fury, but it's a blur of a wolf colliding with the lycanthrope that tears it off me. I scramble up, my electric gaze snapping towards Rowan's wolf as he paces before me with bristled fur and raised hackles. Golden eyes on fire with fury, he glances my way as the lycan picks itself up and howls in frustration. He's not alone, either. Three more wolves break away from the fight and come rushing over. Lach, Kay and Teo.

As one, we race for the beast.

Slashing, swiping, darting, weaving, I settle into the fight like it's an archaic ritual. My family move around me, their dynamic approach converging around my every move, as though we all share a mental link. I know it must be Rowan directing them. He's watched me train over the past month and he knows my patterns, my rhythm, my strengths and my weaknesses. He builds their offence around my own; an unyielding storm.

But the lycanthrope has no pattern. It attacks mercilessly and every line of crimson I see on its skin courtesy of my blades or my family's claws is hard won, heals almost immediately, and is avenged with a wave of fury.

Eager to finish the fight — since the lycan is showing no signs of slowing yet the wolves are panting hard from blow after blow — I dart in close as they distract the beast. It sees me coming at the last second and swipes for me, but I skid on my knees between its legs, slash my blades against the soft flesh of its thighs, and dart up to clamour onto its back as it howls and struggles and tries to grab at me.

The wolves attack mercilessly, desperate to keep its focus off me. Just as I bury a knife almost to the hilt in its back, it reaches over, snatches me up, and throws me. I land hard and roll, winded, but mercifully the wolves are right there to distract it, letting me get up unhindered.

When I'm up, they break away and race over to me, yipping and shaking and pawing at the ground. Ready when I am.

A silent agreement passes between us, unspoken but there all the same. We rush for the beast and I tear another knife from my belt. I'm running low, now, and I need to make every blow count.

It's ready for us. Shaking off the distraction, it charges right for us, its dark gaze locked on mine.

I aim my knife and prepare to throw, but then the creature — fast as a viper — whirls on the wolves. Three feign to the left, hoping to distract it, whilst Rowan's charge does not falter.

They collide like a shock of thunder. The air rushes out of my lungs as I race for them, keeping a firm grip on the hilt. If I throw it now, it could hit Rowan. I just need to reach him before—

All at once, the lycan's claws rip through his fur— an agonised yelp wrenches out of him— the lycanthrope tosses him aside as though he weighs nothing. Crimson splatters across the mossy floor.

His body slams against a tree trunk and drops to the ground like a stone.

"Rowan!"

His name escapes me in a scream— raw, shuddering, utterly terrified. The wolves yelp and whine and growl— a morbid melody rising from the symphony of the fight lighting the woods.

The beast charges at me with a snarl — a furious, feral sound — and it's upon me faster than I can react. It swipes at me, and all I can do is brace myself.

A bruising connection— a moment of confusion when I find myself airborne— an explosion of agony as I hit a trunk hard.

I land on the ground with a strangled gasp as pain pulses through my side and rages in my head. As I press my hands to the ground to push myself up, dizziness, like a cresting wave, comes slamming down all around me. The ground is swimming beneath my fingers and I raise my eyes with an effort to see the hulking creature stalk for me. Behind it, Rowan's wolf is a slump pool of fur. He's not moving. He's not fucking moving.

Get up, get up, get up.

Though my Haze is threading together my fractured clarity into some semblance of a whole, the lycan will be upon me faster.

The side of my head is on fire, and when I reach up to assess the damage, my fingers come away crimson. In a blur, a wolf is at my side, pacing and shaking out his blood-soaked fur and whining— Lachlan. Up ahead, Teo and Kay's wolves dance out of the lycan's reach and dart in close in its distraction, keeping it occupied. Another wolf breaks out of the fight with the other lycan and charges over to help them.

Through the pain tearing clarity to shreds, I recognise him— Milo's wolf is a strong, lean creature with recognisable light fur I could catch from a mile away even in the chaos of a fight. His hackles are raised and his eyes blaze golden fury as he snarls at the beast, putting himself between it and Teo and Kay.

With a horrific growl, the lycan charges at them and— though they try and dart free of its destructive path — the lycanthrope is unyielding. It collides with them in a savage blur of yelps and snapping jaws and splatters of crimson.

I put my hands to the ground and push, testing my ability to sit up— even a little.

No. My arms tremble. Clarity fractures. Pain surges through the cracks.

There's a warm stream of crimson sliding down my arm— courtesy of those claw punctures, no doubt — and a matching stream weaving down my temple. An agonised noise rushes out of me and Lachlan's wolf whines; a broken, sorrowful plea. He nudges me and crawls under my arm, gently but urgently trying to force me up.

I will not leave Rowan defenceless. I will not leave Teo, Kay and Milo on their own. So, even as agony makes its home in my chest, even as fire blazes through my head, I force myself up with Lachlan's help.

Ripping the last knife from my belt, I stalk unsteadily forwards, Lachlan's wolf sombre and dutiful at my side. Vaguely, my focus drifts towards the other lycanthrope as it tears its way through a wall of wolves, as yelps and whines rise in the air. I can't help them. I have my own battle to survive. My attention and my fury lands on the monster locked in close combat with my family.

I watch through a blurred yet searing vision as the creature swipes and slashes, landing bruising blow after blow. It strikes Kay's wolf hard and they go flying. Matteo's wolf yelps and races after them, leaving a gaping hole in his defence. The lycanthrope releases a shuddering howl of victory and charges— a shock of pain has me staggering before I can aim my knife—

In a blur, Milo's wolf darts in the lycan's path to protect Matteo. He meets the lycanthrope's fury with a thunderous growl and they connect hard. Yelps, snapping jaws, ripping claws, splatters of blood. Matteo and Kay's wolves race in to help, snarling ferociously.

I aim my knife but can't get a clear shot— not when my vision swims and pain makes its home in me, tearing my concentration to shreds.

For a moment, I think Milo has managed to grapple the upper hand, and then the lycan pounces. It locks its jaws around Milo's neck and bites down hard.

A strangled yelp. A sickening crunch. A chorus of broken whines.

The creature lets go and Milo's wolf slumps to the ground, utterly still, his light fur streaked with blood.

The lycanthrope snarls when it notices me, and it rips itself free of the fight to pace before me. Teo and Kay's wolves limp unsteadily free of its range and collapse in heaps, exhausted or badly injured— I can't tell. Lachlan limps to stand before me, a stoic sentry. With a growl of rage, the monster charges forwards. Facing my challenge.

It's going to collide with me and it's going to tear me apart.

This is my last stand.

I cut the air in two with my knife and it buries into the creature's broad chest. It falters with a yelp, but it doesn't stop.

Neither does the wave of wolves charging from the far side of the clearing.

They explode onto the lycanthrope, throwing themselves at the creature, claws tearing, fangs ripping.

For a moment, I'm not sure where they've come from— I only catch the tail end of a pack of wolves racing off into the night, their furious snarls lighting the cool air.

It's not long before the lycan realises it's vastly outnumbered, and with a feral growl it lopes off into the dark after the first, followed closely by the rest of the snarling, furious wolves. Hounds of hell.

The moment it disappears, and the shuddering bushes left in its wake fall still, every shred of my attention fixes on the slump wolf at the base of the tree. Rowan.

Fear, cold as a shard of ice, slices through my chest. It tears apart the strings tying me to sanity.

Unsteadily, I start forwards, hoping with every shred of my soul that I'm not too late.

— ➶ —

So sorry that this announcement is coming at the worst possible moment, but chapters will now be posted every fortnight as opposed to every week for the foreseeable future.