Chapter 10

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Light as a feather, as nimble as a cat. Light as a feather, as nimble as a cat.

The words thunder through Slade's mind, thumping rhythmically with his heart as he weaves through the forest. He senses the lykans hot on his heels, though Slade isn't quite sure how he knows. It's a feeling deep in his gut, crying out to his mind that two are close. The young assassin nears a tree with a thick trunk and massive roots rippling in and out of the earth, gifting Slade a small hole to hide in and catch his bearings. Without hesitation, the boy slips into the opening and waits. He works tirelessly to slow his heart by controlling his breathing. Again, his gut tugs at his brain. They're here, they're here! A pungent odor of oily wet hair glides close to Slade. Instinctively, he stops himself from gasping with a clasp of his left hand over his mouth. He presses his back against the earth as the smell thickens.

Sticks snap loudly as the underbrush crinkles beneath the werewolf's massive feet. The hulking beast lurks around several brushes, scouring for Slade. It smells the young assassin, yet something is off as if someone or something is masking his pheromones. Slade musters the courage to peer over one of the tree's slithering roots. His eyes dart back and forth. There's no sign of the beast but Slade feels it is out there, knowing it's doing the very same thing. The young assassin's gut rumbles as his eyes near a thicket just off to his left. It's there, his stomach screams to his mind.

"But where's the other one?" Slade whispers to himself. The question goes unanswered as a pair of ferocious eyes protrude from the thicket with a growling snout leading the way. Slade's heart skips a beat at the realization that he's been spotted. "So much for the element of surprise." Slade unsheathes a silver dagger.

The lykan pours out of the bushes, slinking toward Slade on all fours. Its growl intensifies as Slade scans the perimeter in hopes of finding an advantage to use against the beast. The lykan's gaze is fixed on the young assassin's. The werewolf leaps into a full charge once it realizes Slade is devising his plan. It takes two full strides before leaping into the air at the boy. Slade exits the cover in hopes of finding a better vantage point but trips over branches hidden by fallen leaves. The werewolf slams into Slade's hiding spot. Dirt and rotten foliage explode into the air. Slade scrambles to his feet then takes off. He looks back to see the lykan still struggling through the daze when a strong force knocks the young assassin to the ground.

Slade looks up in horror as the other bloodthirsty werewolf crawls over him. A river of drool pours from the animal's mouth as it snarls. "Grrr, I've never tasted such a delicacy. The juvenile aroma excites the taste buds." The lykan runs its cold snout up the boy's neck, and over his dirt-covered cheek, inhaling as much of Slade's sweat as possible. Its thick dark hair seems to almost stand erect as the beast rears back with its mouth wide open. The scent is too intoxicating to bear. The lykan must partake in the spoils of victory, for it is their way. "Spoils to the victor," the lykan says before diving for the boy's neck but grunts in pain as it misses. It grips Slade tighter before checking its surroundings.

"Grrr, who threw that? You're going to regret that action... boy? Ah yes, another juvenile close to manhood. The flesh is still supple and sweet. I'll... ack!"

The lykan yelps in freight as Slade places his seared hand on the beast. Bright flashes of a ceremony plunge deep into Slade's psyche. Young boys, no more than thirteen, are standing single file in a cave. They're naked and shivering. The memory racing through Slade's mind exudes the feeling of terror, and to his surprise, excitement. The fear, Slade assumes, is for the pain. Pain from what? Slade wonders as the vision plays out. A hidden voice speaks out from behind the vision. It's the gruff voice of an elder lykan, and Slade feels the pride and respect from the lykan's memory.

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