Chapter 12 : The Old Names
314 Words
Rain returned to Silver Hollow two days later.
It fell soft and steady, washing blood from bark and rinsing claw-marks from wooden doors. The townsfolk buried their dead with quiet hands. No one asked questions. Not yet.
But in the clinic's back room, Clara turned pages.
The book was ancient—its spine stitched with horsehair, the ink uneven and sun-faded. She’d found it in Old Nan’s cedar chest, wrapped in velvet, sealed with salt.
Liam stood behind her, still bandaged, still restless. “That’s not veterinary reading.”
“No,” she murmured. “This is the town’s original ledger.”
His brow furrowed. “Like a census?”
“Like a warning.”
---
She tapped a page near the middle. A drawing of a moon split by a jagged line. Beneath it, a name:
Varrick.
“The rogue alpha,” Liam said.
Clara nodded. “Not his real name. But close enough.”
Below the name was a list—not of wolves, but of victims. Settlers, trappers, even a priest. All dated from 1832. Each entry marked with the same crude symbol: a broken circle.
“He’s done this before,” Clara whispered. “In different towns. He tests the edges. Finds the cracks. Feeds off fear and silence.”
“And when people fight back?”
She looked up at him. “He waits. Then returns with worse.”
---
That night, Liam dreamed of fire.
Not the kind from Clara’s candlestick—but white-hot, ancient, and full of teeth. He stood before a stone door in the woods. Behind it, a voice called his name in a language his wolf understood but his man did not.
When he woke, Clara was gone.
Only her pendant remained on the pillow beside him—still warm.
And outside, the dogs had stopped howling.
They were staring at the woods again.
- Writer
