Hunting the Breach

Rhett:

Night tastes as heavy and cold as steel. The kind that bites the lungs and coats the tongue in metal.

I prowl the outer grounds of Ashwyck Academy, boots sinking into damp earth, every sense stretched thin. The wards hum faintly along the perimeter—usually a steady, comforting throb of magic—but tonight their rhythm skips. Weak. Erratic.

Something has touched them.

I inhale, letting the forest bleed into me. Wet pine. Old stone. And underneath it, a rank heat that doesn’t belong. Demon musk—smoke and sulfur, slick as rot.

A growl curls in my chest.

The moon is a dull orb behind storm clouds, the kind of sky that promises rain but withholds it like a threat. Perfect hunting weather. The thick, heavy air holds all the scents suspended within, leaving all the creatures lurking around nowhere to hide for me, the Alpha predator. I roll my shoulders, welcoming the restless energy snapping through muscle and bone. My wolf stirs, claws against the cage of my skin.

Easy, I warn it, though my pulse is already running hot.

Branches creak above me. I pause, head tilted. There: a whisper of movement too deliberate for wind. Something prowls just beyond the ward line.

I slip deeper into the trees, the Academy’s spires fading behind me until only the forest remains—a cathedral of black trunks and silver mist. The wards shimmer faintly, a translucent veil pulsing with light. Normally they burn anything corrupted. But tonight the glow is thin, frayed like old cloth long forgotten.

A low hiss threads the air.

I catch it: a silhouette crouched at the edge of the barrier. Humanoid, but wrong—limbs too long, spine arched like a spider preparing to strike. Its skin gleams like oil, and the smell… My Goddess, the smell is all smoke-pit and blood.

The wolf inside me lunges. I let it. Muscles lengthen, senses sharpen until every sound is a blade.

“Step back,” I snarl, voice a gravel rasp. “You’re trespassing.”

The creature lifts its head. Eyes like molten pitch fix on me. It doesn’t retreat. Instead it presses a clawed hand to the ward.

The barrier flickers.

My stomach knots. Wards this strong should scorch a demon to ash. Yet the thing’s claws slide through like fingers through water.

Rage spikes hot. Someone has tampered with the magic.

I spring forward, claws unsheathed. The demon jerks back with an inhuman screech, but I’m faster. My fist connects with its jaw, bone crunching under the blow. It retaliates with a swipe of talons, grazing my shoulder—fire streaks across my skin, but I don’t falter.

“Who weakened the wards?” I demand, driving it toward the tree line.

It only hisses, black saliva hissing where it hits the earth.

The barrier wavers again. A chill rips through me—not from the demon, but from the realization: this is no random intrusion. Someone on the inside is unraveling the protections.

And if they can do that, they can reach her.

Isadora.

The name hits like lightning, a jolt that burns through every vein.

I attack harder, a blur of teeth and fury. The demon shrieks as I slam it against a trunk, claws at its throat. “Who sent you?”

It gurgles a laugh, voice like rusted chains. “The veil… already thinning… we are called…”

Before I can rip more answers, the creature dissolves into a smear of black smoke. My claws cut nothing but air.

The forest falls silent, heavy and waiting.

I stand there, chest heaving, the stench of sulfur fading but the wrongness lingering like a bruise. The wards ripple once, faint as a dying heartbeat.

Someone is tearing them down.

I wipe the demon blood from my knuckles, its heat still pulsing against my skin. Rain finally begins—a cold drizzle that slicks my hair to my forehead. I tilt my face up, let it burn away the stink, but it doesn’t touch the fury coiling inside me.

Back at the Academy, the towers glow dimly, a citadel of secrets. Inside those walls she sleeps—or tries to. Isadora, with her midnight eyes and the strange power that draws every predator in a hundred miles. The thought of that demon anywhere near her makes my wolf snarl loud enough to shake my ribs.

I start the long prowl back.

The courtyard stones gleam wet under lantern light. My senses are a blade honed to a single purpose: find the breach, find the traitor. I catch faint echoes of the boys—Kai’s quicksilver magic, Silas’s shadowed silence, even Lucian’s cold hunger—but none of them would weaken the wards. Not like this.

Still, the heaviness clings. A pressure behind the eyes, as if the night itself leans closer to listen.

When I reach the main gates, I pause. The wards here flicker again, just enough to make my teeth ache. Someone inside these walls is peeling back our only defense, thread by patient thread.

And if they can reach the girl we circle, the one every high lord seems to whisper about—

I bare my teeth to the storm.

Not while I breathe.

I push through the doors, rainwater pooling at my feet, and stalk the silent corridors toward the west wing. I’ll find the source. I’ll rip it from the stone if I have to.

The wolf paces under my skin, restless, ready.

Whoever is breaking these wards thinks they can hide behind shadows and spells. They don’t understand what kind of hunter guards this place.

What kind of monster guards her.