Markbound

Duskwyn Hollow

The night was damp, heavy with the scent of moss, fallen leaves, and forgotten things. I was standing there, unmoving, as if the forest had carved me from its own shadows. Shadows clung to my skin, curling around my feet and dancing through my hair, lifted by a wind no human could feel. The moon didn’t bother with my face. It offered only hints — the outline of limbs, the wild fall of hair, the hum of something ancient just beneath the surface. I didn’t blink. I didn’t breathe. And still, the forest leaned closer, as if it remembered.

"Do you still remember me?"

My voice barely rose above a breath.

A bird stirred high above. A distant howl. The groan of an old branch under its own weight.

"Of course you do," I whispered. "You never forget your monsters."

This forest, it was the only thing that hadn’t turned away. Not when my claws first tore flesh. Not when my eyes turned the shade of fresh blood. Not even when the blood dried on my skin, and my name was no longer spoken with affection, but with fear. And then—

The scent slammed into me — sharp, sudden.

Blood.

Warm. Human. Reckless. It rushed into my nose like a forgotten melody — too fresh to ignore. I closed my eyes, let it sink in, let it coat every sense, let it curl around the raw edge of my hunger. It wasn’t just a scent. It was a feeling, like fingers brushing under my jaw, coaxing me toward the hunt.

My lips parted.

“Curious,” I murmured, already moving. “Let’s see which poor soul wandered into my lullaby.”

I didn’t walk. I flowed in silent, moving with that unnatural grace I’d learned long ago from those who walk between heartbeats. My steps left no sound, no trace. Just wind and the whisper of teeth beneath skin.

I found him near the base of an old tree. A man leaning against its bark like the forest was the only thing keeping him upright. He reeked of cheap liquor and loneliness. His shirt was half untucked, and his gaze wandered somewhere between the stars. I watched him for a moment. Just… watched. The rise and fall of his chest. The soft flutter of his pulse at his neck. How completely unaware he was that death stood just a few feet away.

Then I stepped into the clearing — slow, deliberate.

He blinked. “Shit,” he muttered. “Where did you come from?”

I tilted my head. “Would you believe me if I said the woods coughed me up?”

He laughed, rubbing his eyes. “Man... either I’m drunk as hell, or I just met the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Both can be true.” I smiled.

He stepped forward, a little too confident, eyes wandering without shame. “You lost, sweetheart?”

I moved in a slow circle around him — like a storm learning the shape of its prey.

“I could ask you the same,” I murmured. “It’s not smart to wander into places where the trees don’t whisper your name.”

He chuckled. A low, stupid sound. “You some kind of forest witch?”

I leaned in, just enough for him to catch the scent of wild things clinging to my skin.

“Something like that.”

I stood before him, letting moonlight drip down my cheekbones like silver tears. He didn’t know it yet, but he was already mine.

The man blinked, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “You’re weird… but hot.”

I stepped closer. One foot between his legs. My hand rested gently on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“So are you, sweetheart,” I whispered, “but you’re bleeding something you can’t see.”

“Huh?”

My fingers traced his jawline. “Pain.”

Then lower. “Loneliness.”

And then, soft against his neck: “Fear.”

He let out a shaky laugh, but I felt his throat move in one deep, nervous swallow. I smiled again — wider this time. My pupils stretched into black voids, irises igniting red. And with a slow, sickening click, my fangs emerged — long, sharp, glistening.

His smile died in his throat. But before he could even gasp, my hand was at the back of his neck — gentle, but firm. Like a lover’s grip. I tilted his head to the side.

“Shh,” I cooed, in a low voice dripping with desire. “It won’t hurt. Not for long.”

Then I sank my fangs into his throat. No warning. No hesitation.

His body jerked, a sharp cry breaking free — but it came out muffled, broken. Warm blood rushed into my mouth like molten silk, thick and electric. The taste was chaos — laced with alcohol, pulsing with adrenaline, soaked in heartbreak. He thrashed, tried to push me away. His hands slapped at my shoulders, weak and frantic.

“No! Stop! STOP!”

His voice cracked, turned ragged. He choked on his own breath.

But I didn’t stop. My nails sank into his shoulders — not out of anger, but from the sheer ache of satisfaction. I drank deeper. I felt his pulse flutter. Then slow.

His knees gave out, but I held him up. I didn’t stop. Not until the rush faded… and silence returned.

When I finally pulled back, his body hung limp in my arms. His neck was torn and wet, his head tilted like a puppet whose strings had been cut. I lowered him gently to the forest floor and crouched beside him, my lips stained crimson. My fangs receded slowly. My eyes dimmed — no longer fire, just glowing embers.

I tilted my head.

“Too sweet,” I whispered. “You really should’ve smoked.”

Then I raised my hand. My claws slid out like blades. With one clean swipe, I dragged them across his chest — tearing skin and muscle with the precision of a signature.

A message.

"Let them think a wolf did this."

I stood over the corpse, silent, watching the blood pool around his throat like a final offering to the night.

My expression didn’t waver — no regret, no guilt. Only cold calculation.

My eyes narrowed on the claw marks I’d carved into his chest — jagged, deliberate, unmistakably wolf-like.

“They’ll think a rogue did this,” I murmured, more to myself than to the trees.

“A poor drunk, slaughtered in neutral territory. They’ll panic.”

I knelt again, dipping a fingertip into his blood.

“A body on the border. That’s all it takes.”

And then came the real smile, carved with cruelty.

“This is how wars begin.”

I rose, brushing my hands off on my coat like it was just another night’s work. My gaze lifted toward the darkness beyond the trees — where two ancient clans slept, unaware that the first blow had already been struck.

“Let them tear each other apart,” I whispered. “While I watch from the shadows.”

And just like that,

I vanished into the dark — leaving only blood, silence, and shadow behind.

Only the wind whispered my name. The name they feared. The name they forgot.

Monster.