Oath of the Hunter

19 - Cracks & Chaos

Despite our best efforts, the lycanthrope seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Night after night, we search the woodland in groups, hoping to catch any hint of it. It's strange, stalking through the woods with a bunch of wolves searching for a nightmare made manifest, but my paranoia melts towards frustration as, each dawn, we return unsuccessful.

Days slip away and we develop a sort of sombre routine in Lakeside. We spend our mornings training, our afternoons planning assaults on the lycanthrope, and our evenings attempting to find any trace of it. Unsuccessfully.

The only peace I can find from the hunt is when Kay offers to cook and the kitchen becomes a bubble of organised chaos as they attempt to corral Ro, Lach, Teo and me into some form of order, or when Rowan and I retreat to the spare room and distract ourselves until we fall asleep.

I hate not knowing what I'm heading for. It adds an unnerving edge to every moment spent searching or training. I'm used to planning attacks on werewolves, knowing where they are and what their routines are and how I can exploit them. Or, more recently, I've focused on the approach of other hunters; their plans, their hideouts, their methods. They're predictable. This lycanthrope is a nuisance. It's no wonder I've never heard of a creature like it before, if it's so good at remaining undetected from even the keenest of senses.

It has been allowed to push forwards into this land unhindered, and I know if we stand any chance against this thing, we cannot let it wander into the heart of the pack's territory. We have to seek it out instead.

That's easier said than done, though.

"...wonder how Beau and Morgan are getting on," Kay muses as they wander at my side down a shadowed woodland trail. They tuck their hands into their hoodie pockets and glance up at the stars as a cool wind tousles their hair. "I mean, they haven't called to say the pack house has burnt down, so I guess that's a positive."

Up ahead, Rowan, Lachlan, Matteo and Milo are all shifted, noses to the ground, sniffing for any trace of the lycanthrope. The gamma has decided to join us for all our searches; werewolves can communicate with their own packs, and he says he can translate for Ro, Lach and Teo with yips and barks and other, more confusing wolf signals in order to keep in touch with Lakeside. We've been walking since dusk and now the sky is a blanket of coal with eager stars twinkling between the rustling tree canopy. An icy breeze stirs around us, sending a shiver down my spine. For easier retrieval of my weapons, I'm wearing a short-sleeved top and my belt of silver knives is on display— as are the markings snaking their way up my arms. Absently, I study the streaks of lightning weaving beneath my skin.

Cracks.

"I'm sure they're fine," I say, grabbing hold of the distraction like it's a life jacket. "They've got to be doing better than us, in any case."

Kay snorts a little laugh. "Yeah, at least they've not got a lycanthrope situation."

Matteo's wolf glances our way and grumbles, his golden eyes sparking, and I figure he's saying something along the lines of 'don't jinx it'. At his side, Milo's wolf shakes, his light fur glistening in the dark.

Tonight, Kay is keeping me company by staying in their human form. They wander carefree at my side, as though we're on a hike and not stalking towards a potential confrontation.

I'm glad of their company— they're giving me something else to focus on instead of the endless training techniques that were drilled into me since I was a child. With Imogen's talk of my legacy, I cannot help but think all that training has geared me up for a fight like nothing I've ever faced before.

Do the Ferreus hunters know about lycanthropes? Surely not— otherwise, I would've heard of them. I would've been raised to kill them, not werewolves. But if they don't know, how far back does this delusion go? Which of my ancestors decided to turn on the wolves?