Chapter 11: What Hunts in the Hollow

~Aeron

I did what I always did whenever I wasn’t sure of the power of a threat. I shifted into my strongest form—my full wolf.

The shift came with fire.

My bones snapped, reshaped, screamed. My muscles stretched, thickened. My skin tore and mended again in a blink. Fur, dark as midnight rain, burst through my pores. The world blinked into a different kind of clarity—sharper, deeper. I could smell the wet iron buried in the soil. Hear the tremble of a beetle beneath a leaf.

The forest was colder in this form, but my blood ran hotter.

I hit the ground on four paws.

And I ran.

The scent was still faint in the air—my men. Reynold’s earthy musk, Lena’s lavender-oil, the gunmetal and blood that clung to Jareth like a second skin. I followed it, darting through the trees, dodging low branches, my claws cutting trenches into the damp forest floor.

The woods of Ravenspire were not kind.

The trees here grew thick and ancient, roots rising like the backs of sleeping giants, gnarled and tangled. The moon above barely filtered through the canopies, casting everything in silvers and grays. Fog clung to the ground like a second skin. It should’ve been beautiful.

But it reeked of death.

I slowed, paws skidding against loose gravel.

The scent was gone.

I stopped in a small clearing—heart pounding, nose twitching frantically. Nothing. I circled. Doubled back. Nothing.

“Where the hell—?”

Snap.

A rustle. Then five shapes glided out from the trees. Pale. Predatory.

Vampires.

Tall, wiry, dressed in tattered leathers soaked in old blood. Their eyes glowed red like embers buried in ash, and their fangs caught the moonlight. They moved in complete silence, circling me like sharks that’d scented blood.

The one in front grinned. His teeth were long, uneven. “Lost something, wolf?”

I growled, low and deep, shifting back into human form mid-sprint. My claws shortened. Fur retreated. I stood naked in the moonlight, but not vulnerable. Not now.

“Where are my men?” I asked, voice low but charged.

The female on the left tilted her head. “Your men? Sorry, mutt. We only saw you. But since you’re here…” Her lips curled. “We’ll take you.”

The first one lunged.

I met him mid-air.

My fist collided with his ribs. Something crunched. I grabbed his cloak and flung him into the nearest tree. Bark shattered.

Then the rest of them came.

The fight blurred. I ducked a clawed hand, drove my knee into one’s stomach, slammed an elbow into another’s face. Blood sprayed. I felt it in my hair, my mouth. The taste of rust and rot.

They healed fast.

Too fast.

Every wound I inflicted closed before the blood could hit the ground.

Mine didn’t.

I was tiring.

I staggered back, chest heaving, knees beginning to tremble.

Then it came.

A sound.

Not a growl. Not a howl.

Something else.

It rolled through the forest like thunder dragged across broken glass.

Everything stopped.

The vampires froze, fangs still dripping.

“What was that?” one hissed.

“That wasn’t a wolf,” another said.

“And it damn sure wasn’t one of ours,” the third added.

We backed into a circle, shoulder to shoulder. None of us trusted the others, but instinct said it didn’t matter now. Whatever made that sound… didn’t care who was on which side.

Then—snap.

A shape fell from the trees.

A vampire was carried from our circle and into the trees. Screaming. Gone.

The others looked up. Too late.

Another shape rose from the ground, dragging one of them down into the soil like it was water.

Panic erupted.

They ran.

So did I.

I sprinted through the trees, heart roaring. In no time, I had overtaken them, thanks to my superior speed and a burst of adrenaline. I heard them behind me—screams, chokes before silence.

But I didn’t look back.

The forest blurred past me. Every tree looked like it might reach out and grab me. I didn’t care. I ran until my legs ached, until the wind sliced my cheeks raw.

When I burst into the village clearing again, I almost collapsed.

Ravenspire was silent.

Not empty. But shuttered.

Doors slammed. Curtains drawn. Not even the goats bleated now.

I was alone.

Alone and panting in the center of the square, covered in dirt, sweat and blood that wasn’t mine.

And then—tap.

A hand touched my shoulder.

Cold. Firm.

Not clawed.

I turned—slowly, breath frozen in my chest.