Silent Hunt

Nova

I stop at a small stream to drink water, trying to calm my racing heart, when a screech-howl echoes through the stillness.

My wolf ears twitch, trying to pinpoint the origin of the awful sound as I look around, searching the area.

I can feel my muscles coil, and I curl my lips back to reveal my teeth. A low, threatening growl rumbles in my throat.

When a second howl slices through the forest, I’m moving before I even think — sprinting toward the sound, my warrior instincts in full command.

The air around me thickens, heavy with the stench of blood and rotting meat. It clings to my throat like smoke. Suffocating.

Then I see it.

The Wendigo.

A werewolf turned monster after consuming the flesh of another werewolf. A disgusting, cannibalistic beast.

Gaunt and skeletal, its black skin is stretched too tight over its splintered, protruding bones. The beast's lips are torn, exposing its jagged black-stained teeth. Its yellow eyes that sink deep into its skull seem like they are glowing, vacant yet burning with an unspeakable hunger.

The wendigo's gaze locks on mine, before it looks me up and down. It licks its broken lips like I'm a damn snack.

It stays frozen for a few moments. Not the slightest movement, it doesn't even breathe. Does not blink.

My heart pounds in my chest.

Then, it lunges.

Damn fast.

Long, blood-coated claws extended, another deafening screech coming from its throat.

I jump, sidestepping just in time, but it grabs my tail, pulling me back like a damn preschooler with a puppy.

I twist, and my claws catch its left leg mid-air. Thank the goddess, it releases my tail and I use the opportunity. With a sharp yank on its leg, I slam it into the ground. I hear bones crack beneath the impact and my teeth digs into flesh, but the taste—goddess, that damn taste—

Putrid.

I gag and spit it out. But the Wendigo recovers fast. Too fast. Its long claws slice across my lower back and it hurts like hell, but I don't flinch. I hear Leon's voice in my head, Pain is part of the rhythm, Nova. Pain sharpens focus.

A snarl rips from my throat as I drive forward, and I snap my jaws around its arm. Tearing as hard as I possibly can, the bone cracks like splintering wood as I rip the arm off. Black ichor gushes from the stump, and the Wendigo screeches in fury.

Still, it fights.

It doesn’t feel pain the way we do. It doesn’t hesitate.

I dive again, this time tearing into its side. Muscle. Bone. Another chunk gone.

The damn monster still doesn't stop fighting.

Finally, I knock it to the ground, jumping on it, and I drive my claws deep, right into the creature’s lower chest.

The wendigo digs its remaining claws into my ribs, a final attempt to stop me.

It's painful, but it’s too late.

I fight through the pain, snapping my jaw forward. I crunch my teeth through the wendigo's brittle sternum and with a final, savage rip —

The heart comes free.

It pulses once, twice, then turns to ash in my jaws. I try to spit it out, but the disgusting ash is stuck to my tongue. The Wendigo convulses, screeches—and then silence.

I pant as I step back. My body is trembling, the adrenaline giving way to exhaustion. Its black blood coats my claws, my teeth, my jaws — sticky and thick.

My wounds burn like fire, but they'll heal.

Still… that smell. That sound.

Goddess, I hate Wendigos.

*Note to self: thank Leon for the brutal training.

Then kick his ass for not coming to fight with me.*

I smirk through the exhaustion.

Leon and I haven’t sparred in a while. Maybe it’s time we change that. He’s an amazing head trainer. He is always pushing me to my limits, sometimes I hate him for it. Other times, like today, I love him for it. Sparring matches between us are never fair.

But damn, they’re fun.

I stay still, listening intently for a few moments.

No rustling leaves. No retreating paws. No movement whatsoever.

That’s what unsettles me most. Wendigos hunt in packs. Always. So why the hell was this one alone?

A chill runs down my spine as I wait. I scan the trees again, then the ground. No scent trails. No fresh tracks. Just me and the rotting corpse of what used to be a wolf.

It's damn weird.

I look around a final time before slowly turning back toward the Arcane Pack. As the guards open the gates, I begin to walk toward the packhouse, but the last thing I want is to go back there now. There is no way I’ll be able to sleep again.

My mind is way too wired. My body is still humming, and my heart still races.

So instead, I make my way to the training hall, the gravel crunching beneath my paws, and the night air is refreshingly cool against my burning skin, but it does little to calm me. My thoughts drift…

To Alex.

A shudder rolls through me. Heat curls low in my stomach, and I clench my jaw, trying to push it away.

I found my fated mate. Our bond ignited under the full moon. The day wolves dream of, but many never find.

I found mine.

I should feel… relieved. I should feel excited. I should be ecstatic.

But all I feel is hollow. Confused.

He’s the Alpha-Heir of another pack. Would he even want me?

We were always so close, and as we got older, everything between us became so intense. The teasing. The back-and-forth. The temptation.

But that was a long time ago. What happens now? What if he doesn't want me? What if he rejects me? What if one woman isn't enough for the Weston womanizer?

I growl softly, pushing the thoughts aside as I enter the training hall, walking straight down the corridor to the women's restrooms. I shift back into my human form and step into the shower. When the ice-cold water drips down my body, my mind stills for a few moments at the shock. But when the water slowly heats, my thoughts go running again. As I wash the blood away, I look down at my body. Scrutinizing. Judging.

I know I have a good ass, I've heard some of the other she-wolves whisper about it. And Leon has told me so himself. Playfully spanking me during our sparring sessions. I love my boobs. Perky. Not too big, not too small.

But I'm damn short. Alex is tall, and back when we lived at the Oracle pack, I always saw him with tall, runway types.

As I wash the blood from my dark hair, I huff. He also likes blondes.

What the hell was the moon goddess thinking?

Frustrated, I open a locker and pull on fresh gear. Wrapping my hands, I return to the exercise area.

The heavy bag waits beside the ring in the boxing room.

The first punch cracks through the quiet. Then another. And another.

The rhythm grounds me.

Pain radiates through my ribs, and my knuckles ache. But it helps. It keeps me from thinking too much.

My strikes become harder, faster.

Suddenly, my entire body becomes alert, and I sense it.

A presence.

My muscles tighten. Instinct flares.

I'm being hunted.

Not Wendigo. Not a threat. But not exactly a friend.

Alpha. Male. Power.

Alex.

His footsteps echo across the empty hall as I hear him approaching—steady, purposeful.

The scent of him makes my blood hum — familiar, intoxicating, dangerous.

I don’t turn. Not yet.

Instead, I roll my shoulders and exhale slowly.

Seems our meeting will be sooner than I expected.

Here we go.