Lupercalia ;; A Werewolf's Valentine

The Hunt

She made sure to run through the water. That would drop her scent, at least for a while. Ben was a tracker, it would only muddle him for a minute or so. That would still give her another minute lead on them, however. It may be enough. A window, of sorts. Not a big one, but enough.

Chad would be distracted for longer, though.

Pausing to catch her breath, the young werewolf had only a small respite. It will be long enough to explain a few things.

The werewolf in question was named Omri. As the reader might have guessed, she was being hunted. Hunted by two others of her own kind, her own pack in fact. As stated before, Ben was their tracker and Chad was one of the betas. Omri, however, was the alpha's daughter. She was not being hunted for sport or some unnamed crime. This hunt was ancient law.

Did we mention she was naked? Naked as the day she was born, the sweat was clearly visible on Omri's skin.

A twig snapped in the distance and Omri darted away like a scared deer. The moon was high in the sky, not a full moon by their calendar, but an equinox moon which held their inner beasts at bay. Still, Omri kept to the trees. It helped to shield her. The forest of Geváudan was the perfect place for such a ritual; lush green foliage, babbling Brooks, running streams and, more beneficially, it was strictly private property. Not that the villagers ever dared venture in its green depths. The stories of the hauntings kept them away.

Omri's feet ached. She'd been running since sunset. She weaved around the trees, careful not to rub against them. Her bare feet left more than enough of her scent as it was.

Ben could not tell which way Chad had gone, but it mattered little. Chad was not his quarry. He'd lost her scene back at the river, but tracking abilities were not limited to his sense of smell. He had picked up her scent again though--it was so familiar now, as it should be. This was not his first hunt as a werewolf, but it was his first Lupercalia.

That was the official name for this particular hunt. Similar rituals were held in ancient Rome. Except, that werewolves used no whips and the prey was only a single female, the basic concept was the same. At sunset, Ben and Chad had been brought to the edge of the forest, approximately thirty minutes after Omri had been sent out. They had only had a single smell of something belonging to her, though Ben didn't know what as he was blindfolded before they were allowed to begin pursuit.

There had been moments where Ben was close enough to hear her heartbeat, thudding away in her chest like the drums of war. It was quite late, past midnight. This amount of time was by no means exceptional. Sometimes the hunt lasted for days. The last time they'd performed the ritual, it had lasted for sixteen hours. Ben had no idea what the actual time was, as technology was strictly forbidden, even clothing.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and focused on her scent. Each werewolf's scent was unique, so there was no confusing it with Chad's. Omri had been here, resting for a moment. The tree was thick with her scene. Breaking into a run, Ben followed her, eyes peeled for his prey. It'd be a shame to end it so quickly. After all, the point was to ratchet up their instincts.

He heard a splash. She was attempting to divert him again.

Omri wasn't stupid. She'd try to throw him off for as long as she could. Rushing up the embankment, Omri didn't take a second to look back; she didn't want to, didn't have to. She could feel the ground beneath her shifting downward as she leapt over a log. She was quickly running again, pure instinct now driving her on. Sweat dribbled into her hair, though she was careful to wipe it away from her eyes.

She almost cursed aloud when she felt the telltale gush from the sole of her foot. She was bleeding. Omri pressed on, however. A few cuts were nothing to cry over, and she rushed by a pair of owls who hooted in surprise at her haste.