As the Winchesters delved deeper into the heart of the forest, the atmosphere grew more oppressive. The dense foliage blocked out most of the moonlight, leaving them to rely on their heightened senses. The scent of damp earth mingled with the metallic tang of blood, guiding their path.
Dean wiped the sweat from his brow, his grip tightening on his machete. "Damn, it's getting hotter than hell in here. And it's not just because of these damn werewolves."
Sam nodded in agreement, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "They're definitely close. We need to stay focused. One wrong move, and we could end up as their next victims."
Just then, a rustling sound echoed through the trees, followed by a low growl. The brothers instinctively crouched, their weapons at the ready.
A massive werewol
