Greatest Hunter Indeed
1326 Words
Sage’s POV
“A lycan?” I asked, surprised.
“What?!” Grandfather stepped forward, voice booming with authority. “That’s the rarest of them all. Lycans aren’t seen in this area. Never seen.”
The WatchRing on my wrist buzzed again. The voice came through, urgent. “Yes, sir. Indeed it's the first sighting we are getting. Watching the video multiple times, I’ve confirmed it. Tracks, claw marks, everything matches. It’s a lycan.”
Ivy gasped. “No way. They’re just stories, Sage. Half the hunters in Silverpeak don’t even believe they exist.”
“Stories don’t leave claw marks this deep,” Grandfather snapped. His eyes flicked to me. “If it’s real, then this is no ordinary hunt. The last lycan was caught in 1852. And now, you are about to make the next history.”
My heart pounded.
No, not from fear.
I'm never scared of anything. My heart pounded from the exhilaration that started to run through my veins. “Lycans are rare. f*****g rare. Seeing one is like—like a blessing from God itself.”
“A blessing?” Ivy shot me a look like I’d lost my mind. “Sage, do you hear yourself? A lycan would tear you in half before you blink.”
“Not if I kill it first.” My lips curled into a grin. “If I bring one down, I’ll become the greatest hunter in history. My name carved in stone, my statue right next to Grandfather’s. Everyone will remember me.”
Ivy groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Always statues with you. Do you ever think of anything besides glory?”
“Glory’s the only thing worth bleeding for.” I turned back to my WatchRing. “Send coordinates. I’m on my way.”
“Transmitting now,” the voice replied, shaky but efficient.
Ivy scoffed. “I can't believe you are doing this.”
“Doing what Ivy? Making history?”
Ivry rolled her eyes. “Be careful.”
“She is always careful.” Grandfather’s expression didn’t waver, but there was pride flickering in his eyes. “Make us proud, girl. The Whitmore bloodline deserves no less.”
I blew out a breath, cheeks puffing, and let out a quick raspberry just to cut through the heaviness.
Ivy blinked, then burst into laughter. “Seriously? You’re about to fight the deadliest creature we know of and you make that noise? You’re so cheeky, Sage.”
I shrugged innocently. “What? Better cheeky than scared.”
She is my twin, she knew I did that to calm my nerves. It was an habit I learned when we were children.
“This is it,” I said, my grin widening. “The moment I’ve trained for. The reward. The glory. Everything.”
I stepped forward and bowed low to Grandfather. “I’ll bring its head back myself. It's a promise.”
His gaze burned through me, “You better.”
Straightening, I turned to Ivy and kissed her cheek quickly. “Wish me good luck, sister.”
Her hands caught mine, her face too serious. “Please don’t die trying to impress him. I don’t care about statues. I just want you alive.”
I smirked, brushing her worry aside. “Don’t worry. If I die, it’ll be spectacular enough to make the Council cry.”
She shook her head, exasperated. “Cheeky. Always cheeky.”
I strapped the WatchRing tighter, the faint red glow pulsing against my skin like it was alive. My body still ached with fatigue, my muscles weak from weeks of endless hunts, but none of that mattered now.
This was my chance.
Behind me, Grandfather’s voice silenced the corridor.
“Luck,” he said. “You don’t need luck.”
And that was the end of it.
.
.
.
I tightened my glove around my hands and scanned the treeline. My team waited behind me, tense, weapons ready.
I could see the fear in some eyes, while others had excitement.
Ready to make this their best night of their lives.
“Form up,” I ordered, voice steady. “Eyes sharp. I need everyone focused. There is no room for mistakes tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” came the murmured replies.
I drew my sword first, silver-edged, its polished surface catching the faint moonlight. Then I slipped the smaller dagger from my belt, its hilt familiar against my palm. “Double coating. More silver. And dust.”
One of my hunters hurried forward with a pouch. “Moonshade dust, ma’am. Fresh.”
I nodded. Moonshade dust—the only substance known to slow a lycan’s healing. “Good. Coat everything. I don’t want excuses when this thing comes through us.”
The hiss of blades dragging through the dust filled the clearing. Every clink of metal, every breath, felt louder than it should.
I pulled my mask up, covering the lower half of my face.
Only my eyes remained visible, sharp and unblinking. “On my mark… move.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath with us. My fingers flexed over the sword’s hilt. “Now.”
We advanced in formation, silent and precise. I took the lead, each step heavy, scanning every shadow.
The moment we stepped into the clearing, the smell hit our nostrils. Metallic.
If we thought the smell was worse, it was because we hadn't seen the sight.
Blood soaked the ground in thick pools. Limbs lay twisted in ways no human body should bend.
Heads ripped from necks. Guts spread like someone had painted the earth with them.
Behind me, one of my hunters gagged.
“Quiet,” I snapped. My own stomach churned, but I wouldn’t let it show.
This had been a patrol camp. Simple perimeter duty, nothing special.
They should have been safe, torches, barriers, the standard charms etched into the stones.
But the charms lay shattered, their symbols clawed apart like parchment.
“They never stood a chance,” one of my men muttered.
“Some were eaten,” another whispered, voice cracking.
I crouched, touching the dirt where a half-chewed boot lay. My jaw locked. “This wasn’t an accident…” I turned to my men, with my signal, three went left. Two right. Three to the front.
I remained alone in the middle. Eyes scanning everywhere. The little huts. The dark bushes.
Still nothing.
“Where…are you?” I murmured to myself.
I took a step forward when I heard the sounds.
Footsteps cracking woods and pressing grasses.
Unhurried, slow like that of a predator watching a prey.
My heart pounded, but I forced myself to stay calm, blade raised, eyes searching.
The crunch of leaves grew louder until he stepped into view.
And the air seem to have stilled in his presence.
He was taller than me—taller than anyone I had ever seen. Broad chest bare, muscles slick with sweat that glistened under the crescent moonlight.
His trousers hung low on his hips, like fabric had been an afterthought.
His face… gods.
Chiseled, infuriatingly perfect. A jaw carved like stone, cheekbones that could’ve been sculpted by the divine.
His long hair was dark, tangled from the hunt, falling and stopping on his shoulder.
I froze, not because he was beautiful, but because I knew what he was.
With his face and his body. He could have fooled anyone.
But not me.
Lycans weren’t like werewolves. They didn’t need a full moon. They could shift whenever they pleased. They could look perfectly human, speak like us, walk among us.
But this was no man.
He raised one hand casually, a bone dangling between his fingers. He licked it once, slow and savoring.
Then dropped it with a careless flick.
And when his golden eyes locked with mine, glowing faintly in the shadows, my chest tightened.
He grinned, teeth flashing like the predator he was.
“Looking for me?”
- Writer
