The hunters blood
1276 Words
The decision to let Elias live was not unanimous.
By dawn, Blackroot Hollow buzzed with tension. The cave that had felt ancient and quiet the night before now echoed with hushed arguments, boots scraping stone, claws clicking as wolves shifted restlessly between forms. Elias sat alone near the cavern wall, knees drawn to his chest, watching the pack from a distance.
He felt like an exposed nerve.
Every sound was sharper than it had ever been. He could hear heartbeats—dozens of them—some fast with fear, others slow and controlled. He could smell emotions too: anger like burned iron, curiosity like rain-soaked earth, distrust sharp as vinegar.
And guilt.
That was his.
Kael approached him as the sun crept toward the cave entrance, light spilling faintly across the stone floor. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t know wolves could argue this much,” Elias replied without looking up.
A corner of Kael’s mouth twitched. “We argue because we’re alive.”
Elias finally met his eyes. “Are they going to kill me?”
Kael didn’t answer immediately. That was answer enough.
“They’re afraid,” Kael said at last. “And fear makes wolves dangerous—to themselves and to others.”
“I don’t belong here,” Elias muttered. “I never asked for any of this.”
“No,” Kael agreed quietly. “But blood doesn’t ask permission.”
Before Elias could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the cave. Every head snapped toward the entrance.
Lira stood frozen, her eyes wide. “Someone crossed the outer boundary.”
A growl rolled through the pack like thunder.
Hunters.
Elias’s heart slammed violently against his ribs. Instinct screamed at him to run—to grab a bow, a blade, anything familiar. For years, this was what he knew. The smell of oil and steel. The thrill of pursuit. The certainty of sides.
But now the certainty was gone.
Kael grabbed Elias’s arm. “Do you recognize the scent?”
Elias inhaled despite himself.
Leather. Gunpowder. Cold iron.
And something else.
His blood ran cold.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I do.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Who?”
“My mentor,” Elias said. “Captain Rowan Black.”
The name struck the pack like a blade.
Lira cursed under her breath. “The Silver Hand.”
Elias nodded. “He taught me everything. Tracking. Killing. How to survive.”
Kael stared at him, realization dawning. “You were trained by one of the deadliest wolf hunters alive.”
“Yes.”
“And now he’s here,” Kael said grimly. “For you.”
The pack moved fast. Warriors shifted mid-stride, bones snapping and reforming as fur exploded across skin. Others grabbed weapons carved with runes or tipped with obsidian. The elders retreated deeper into the cave, chanting softly as the blue symbols on the walls glowed brighter.
Elias stood rooted to the ground.
“This is my fault,” he said. “Let me go to him.”
Kael spun on him. “Absolutely not.”
“He’ll s*******r you,” Elias insisted. “He knows how you fight. He knows how wolves think.”
“And you do too,” Kael snapped back. “Which is why you’re staying.”
Another explosion shook the cave entrance—smoke billowing in, followed by the unmistakable c***k of a rifle.
Screams echoed from outside.
Elias didn’t think.
He ran.
Kael shouted his name, but Elias was already sprinting toward the entrance, dodging wolves and flying debris. The world narrowed to sound and scent and memory.
Outside, the forest was chaos.
Trees burned where silver bombs had detonated. Wolves lay injured, some unconscious, others struggling to shift back to human form. Hunters moved in tight formation, armored in dark gear etched with silver runes.
And at the center of it all stood Rowan Black.
He hadn’t changed much. His hair was grayer now, his face harder, but his eyes were the same—sharp, calculating, merciless.
Rowan raised a hand, signaling his men to hold.
“Elias,” he called calmly. “I knew you were alive.”
Elias stepped into the clearing, hands raised. “Stop this. They didn’t do anything to you.”
Rowan smiled faintly. “They exist. That’s enough.”
A hunter behind him snarled, “Permission to fire, Captain.”
Rowan didn’t take his eyes off Elias. “Not yet.”
He walked closer, boots crunching on dead leaves. “Do you know how long I searched for you after that night?”
“I didn’t disappear,” Elias said bitterly. “You abandoned me.”
Rowan’s expression hardened. “I spared you.”
Elias laughed—a short, broken sound. “You raised me to be a weapon.”
“Yes,” Rowan said evenly. “And you were a good one. Until you became what you hunted.”
A low growl rumbled from Elias’s chest, unbidden. His nails lengthened slightly, teeth aching as if they wanted to become fangs.
Rowan noticed.
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “You’re not fully turned.”
“I never will be,” Elias said. “And that doesn’t make me your enemy.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked to the wolves surrounding the clearing. “It does.”
A hunter fired.
The shot wasn’t aimed at Elias.
Lira went down with a cry, silver tearing through her shoulder. Chaos erupted instantly.
Wolves charged.
Hunters unleashed hell.
Elias felt something snap inside him.
He moved faster than thought, crossing the clearing in a blur. He disarmed a hunter with a twist of the wrist, crushed another’s rifle, felt bones break beneath his hands. He didn’t plan. He reacted.
Half instinct. Half training.
Perfectly balanced.
Rowan watched with something like awe. “You see?” he shouted over the noise. “This is what you are!”
Elias spun toward him, eyes blazing gold. “This is what you made me!”
They clashed violently—steel against flesh, experience against raw power. Rowan was skilled, ruthless, his blade tipped with silver. Elias dodged narrowly, the blade slicing his side. Pain flared white-hot, but it didn’t slow him.
He grabbed Rowan’s wrist, twisted hard, and sent the blade flying.
Rowan staggered back, shocked. “Impossible.”
Elias loomed over him, chest heaving. “Leave. Now.”
For a moment, Rowan looked at him—not as a weapon, not as prey, but as something else.
Then his face hardened.
“This isn’t over,” Rowan said. “You’re too dangerous to exist.”
He triggered a flare and vanished into the smoke as reinforcements closed in around him, dragging wounded hunters away.
Silence fell slowly over the clearing.
The surviving wolves gathered, staring at Elias with new eyes.
Kael approached, blood streaking his face. “You fought like one of us.”
“No,” Elias said softly. “I fought like both.”
Lira was helped to her feet, grimacing but alive. She studied Elias for a long moment.
“The elders were right,” she said. “You are something new.”
Elias looked at the blood on his hands—human and wolf alike.
“I don’t want to be a weapon,” he said.
Kael placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then you’ll have to become a leader.”
The forest stirred as the smoke lifted. Somewhere far away, a horn sounded—hunters regrouping.
Elias lifted his gaze to the sky, where the moon still lingered faintly in the daylight.
The war had found him.
And this time, he would not run.
- Writer
