Feral Bonds

Chapter 20: Hunters and their Prey

Akecheta's pulse pounded in his ears, the rhythm of his heart racing in time with the frantic beat of his feet against the forest floor. His breath came out in ragged gasps, burning his lungs. The thick woods offered cover, but not much. He could hear them—his pack—far off in the distance. Their howls echoed, tinged not just with anger but with something more primal. Fear.

He could sense it. The scent of it clung to the air, sharp and acrid. They were hunting him, yes, but there was hesitation in their pursuit. They feared him now. Even Brannoc—his father, the alpha, the man who had once towered over him with all the strength and certainty of a mountain—feared what his son had become. But it was Brannoc's ambition that drove the pack forward, the rigid authority that made them obey despite the terror that clawed at their instincts. Even so, they faltered.

Akecheta's legs gave out beneath him, sending him crashing into the underbrush. He grunted as his knees hit the ground, his hands clawing at the dirt. The runes that had been burned into his skin flared with agony, their jagged, unnatural patterns pulsing a sickly red light. The magic was still foreign to him, still wild. It coursed through his veins like poison, twisting his lycan blood, making his bones ache with the pressure of transformation.

Not yet, he thought desperately. I can't lose control. Not yet.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the wolf inside that threatened to tear free, to devour everything in its path. But this wasn't just the wolf anymore. It was something darker, more dangerous—a twisted amalgamation of lycan strength and dark magic. A Frankenwolf, some sick abomination wrought from forbidden forces that even the pack couldn't understand.

That's why they feared him. Even Brannoc had seen it in his eyes after the ritual had gone wrong. The power that had erupted from the runes, the way Akecheta had convulsed as they scorched his skin, had marked him as something other. Something unnatural.

Yet Brannoc, ever the driven alpha, was determined to either control him or destroy him. There was no middle ground. To Brannoc, Akecheta was either a weapon for the pack's future or a threat to be erased. But even his father wasn't prepared for what he had unleashed.

A low growl rumbled from deep within Akecheta's throat, and his claws extended involuntarily, scraping the dirt beneath him. His vision blurred for a moment, the wolf's instincts flooding his senses. He could smell the damp earth, the decay of leaves, and the faintest scent of the fae magic that was closing in around him. And through it all, he could hear them—the pack, his former family, drawing closer.

But they weren't moving quickly. He could sense their hesitation. Their fear was palpable, and for a moment, it almost made him laugh. Wolves—born and bred to be predators—afraid of their own kin. But that kin was no longer what they knew. He had become something... worse.

They're not just hunting you, the voice in his mind whispered, the same voice that had been growing louder since the runes had burned into him. They're afraid you'll hunt them.

Akecheta shook his head, trying to banish the voice, but it clung to him, as persistent as the dark magic that now lived inside him. The runes flared again, sending a jolt of pain through his body. He could feel his muscles seizing, his form teetering on the brink of a forced shift. His human side was slipping, and with it, his control over the beast inside.

The pack was closer now. He could hear the whispers between them, muffled by the wind but clear enough for his enhanced senses.

"Do you see him?"

"I can smell him... but gods, what is that scent?"

"It's wrong. He's wrong."

Even the boldest of his former packmates spoke with unease. The wolves hesitated to push forward, their steps faltering as they drew near. But Brannoc's voice, deep and commanding, urged them on.

"We move together! He's still my son, still pack. We bring him back—alive if possible."

But even Akecheta could hear the tremor in his father's voice. The legendary Brannoc, who had always been a beacon of authority and strength, was faltering. He was trying to convince himself that his son was still the same boy who had once run with him under the moonlight. But Akecheta knew better. He wasn't the same. And deep down, Brannoc knew it too.

The pack might try to catch him, but they would never touch him. Not if they valued their lives.

Akecheta staggered to his feet, using a nearby tree for support as the pain from the runes intensified. He had to keep moving. But where? His vision swam as exhaustion set in, the magic inside him draining his energy with each passing second. He could feel the eyes of the forest watching him now, a deeper presence stirring as if drawn by the dark magic festering in his body. He was being hunted by more than just wolves.

And then they appeared.

The fae stepped out of the mist of the forest, their presence like a ripple in reality itself. Ethereal and otherworldly, their forms seemed to blend with the shadows of the trees. They were not like the creatures of his world—these beings were ancient, their magic steeped in the primal forces of nature itself. Their eyes glowed with an eerie light, and Akecheta could feel their power brushing against his skin, probing, testing.

"Lycan," one of them said, her voice smooth like silk yet cold as ice. She stepped forward, her silver hair flowing like water down her back, her skin pale and flawless. But there was nothing comforting about her presence. "You carry something dangerous. A dark magic that does not belong here."

Akecheta bared his teeth, but it was more out of instinct than real defiance. He was too weak to fight, too tired to run. He stumbled again, his legs barely holding him upright. The fae studied him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, their eyes never leaving the glowing runes that still burned on his skin.

One of the fae, a tall figure with sharp, angular features, approached cautiously, his gaze fixed on the runes. "These marks... they are not natural. Someone has tampered with your essence."

Akecheta growled, but it was a weak sound, barely a fraction of what his wolf was capable of. "They forced it on me," he muttered, his voice thick with pain. "I didn't ask for this."

The silver-haired fae narrowed her eyes, her lips curling into a thin smile. "That does not change the fact that you are a threat to our realm. You reek of corruption."

Akecheta's head spun, the weight of their magic pressing down on him, suffocating him. He tried to hold onto the last vestiges of his humanity, but it was slipping through his fingers like sand. The runes flared again, reacting violently to the fae's presence, and Akecheta screamed, his body writhing as the pain overtook him.

"He's too dangerous to let live," one of the fae said, their voice tinged with fear.

"No," the silver-haired fae responded sharply. "He may be useful yet. The wolves fear him. Let them come. We'll use him as bait, and once they arrive... we'll see how much of a threat this lycan truly is."

Akecheta barely heard the words as darkness closed in around him. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the faint glow of the runes, burning their way deeper into his soul, and the cold, emotionless gaze of the fae as they bound him with their magic, imprisoning him in a cage made not of steel, but of pure, unbreakable magic.

And somewhere in the distance, the pack hesitated again, their fear growing stronger with each passing moment. They had become hunters who were now terrified of their prey.