Hour of the Moon

Chapter 32: Fragments

"Kelsey Hayes reporting from downtown Cherokee in the wake of the aftermath of last night's events. Beast-like wolf creatures invaded the town, causing blood and carnage. I'm here with Mr. John Nickels, the hardware store owner and a long-term resident."

John Nickels, an elderly man well into his 70s, stands with a weary slump to his shoulders. His pale, almost translucent eyes reflect a deep, unsettling fear. His hands tremble slightly as he begins to recount the horrors of the previous night.

"These creatures are nothin' like I've ever seen before," he says, his voice trembling with the weight of the memories. "I've lived through a lot in my time, seen all kinds of wild animals, but this... this was different. They were like wolves, but bigger, fiercer, and with eyes that seemed to burn right through you."

Mr. Nickels takes a shuddering breath, the terror still fresh in his mind. "It was just after sundown when I heard the first screams. At first, I thought it was some kids playing tricks, but then I saw them. They moved so fast, ripping through anything and anyone in their path. I saw them tear into poor Mrs. Hansen right outside her bakery. The blood... it was everywhere."

His pale eyes grow distant as he continues, "I tried to hide in my store, but the walls felt like paper with those beasts out there. The sounds... the snarling, the growls mixed with the screams of my friends and neighbors. It was pure chaos. I've never felt so helpless. I've got a shotgun behind the counter, but what good is that against monsters like these?"

John Nickels' voice cracks, his fear and sorrow palpable. "When the noises finally stopped, and the silence came, it was almost worse. Stepping outside, seeing the destruction, the bodies... It's like our little town turned into a war zone overnight. I don't know what those creatures were or where they came from, but I fear they'll be back. And if they do... I don't think Cherokee can survive another night like that."

As Mr. Nickels finishes his harrowing account, the weight of the night's events hangs heavily in the air, a somber reminder of the terror that descended upon Cherokee.

I shut the TV off, unable to even fathom what Cherokee looked like now. Akita had conjured a television set with his magic, and as I slowly regained my energy, my thoughts wandered back to the vivid dream with Waya. My heart pounded as I recalled his piercing, darker-than-black eyes and the tender softness of his lips against mine. The heat of his skin still lingered on mine, a burning imprint of our encounter.

His scent enveloped me, a heady blend of wolf and man, intoxicating and primal. There was an earthy richness, reminiscent of a forest after rain, mingled with the sharp, seductive spices of cedar and clove. The wolf within him exuded a raw, untamed wildness, a scent of pure, unbridled nature. Yet, the man brought a deeper, muskier fragrance, warm and enveloping, like a sensual embrace that lingered long after he was gone. The combination was irresistible, a perfect harmony of primal desire and human intimacy.

A dream that felt real, a sharp soreness throbbed against my neck. As I placed my hand against it, I felt the unmistakable evidence of his presence. The wolf marks on my skin were raw and vivid, the puncture wounds small but deep, forming a perfect crescent of teeth marks. The skin around them was tender, slightly bruised, and tinged with a faint crimson. Each mark pulsed with a dull ache, a tangible reminder of his primal claim.

Drawn from my thoughts of Waya, Akita comes into the cabin, drenched in sweat from his occasional morning workout. The forest was his domain, and sometimes he practiced martial arts in the back.

Nothing about him being sightless held him back from being powerful, and his perception to his surrounding made him keen in picking up energies.

He was drenched in sweat, as he wiped his face with his linen shirt, and I was exposed a flash of a lean and toned stomach.