8

Douglas raised his hand, intending to use his power, but nothing happened—proof that he still hadn't recovered. Frustrated, he tried to stand, but found himself unable to move. Seeing a werewolf approaching, Peter immediately shifted into his true form and stepped in front of Noemi to shield her. He was caught off guard when he felt something cold rest briefly against his shoulder, followed by a deafening shotgun blast. The wolf was sent flying forward; a large, faintly smoking hole now gaped in its chest. Her shotgun was handmade—anything it struck would be blown to pieces.

The two walked toward the wolf. Despite the wound in its chest and the struggle to stand, the creature glared at Noemi and Peter with intense fury. Peter shifted back into his human form and studied the wolf.

"This isn't normal anymore. They look ravenous and enraged. This isn't how a wolf should look or behave. Something is clearly wrong with them."

Noemi didn't answer immediately. She lifted the jaw of the wolf—which had stopped breathing—to examine something near the side of its neck.

"You're right. I think someone has been experimenting on it. It’s been subjected to numerous injections."

Peter looked at what Noemi had pointed out, his jaw tightening.

"You need to be careful. I’m certain more will wander into this area. Their numbers are growing."

Noemi shifted the shotgun back onto her shoulder, then turned toward Douglas, who was watching them from where he sat on the bed, his neck slightly extended.

Had she not heard him shout earlier, who knows what might have happened.

She smiled, noticing the look of relief that washed over his face. She quickly shifted her gaze back to Peter, feeling a sudden flush of heat rise to her own face.

'Darling...' she echoed in her mind, recalling how he had addressed her earlier. She couldn't explain it—it was as if the young man possessed some sort of power. Ever since she first laid eyes on Douglas, she had frequently felt a strange warmth spreading across her cheeks and body. She shook her head and looked at Peter.

"No one would dare come near here."

"You just killed one right inside your own yard; I’m certain more will follow. What happens if they all show up at once?"

"I have someone with me," Noemi replied.

They both glanced toward Douglas, who was still watching them. His expression had shifted, returning to that cold, detached look—a perfect match for his long, flowing hair.

"He’s... disabled. How could he possibly help you?"

"He’s a wolf, just like you. I’m sure his hearing and sense of smell are sharp—just like earlier."

Peter simply rolled his eyes at his friend. He had intended to help her deal with the body of the wolf she’d killed, but Noemi declined. Instead, she grabbed the creature by the leg and tossed it effortlessly over the shoulder-high, galvanized hog-wire fence.

"It’s better to just leave them lying there—let them be—so others can see where they met their end. Seeing a corpse right outside will surely make anyone think that they, too, might die if they dare to enter. The more there are, the better."

"Noemi... Just be careful. I know you’re brave and accustomed to this kind of life, but you never know what might happen. You can’t keep your weapons in your hands every single second, and besides..."

Peter glanced at Douglas.

"Even if he is your husband, I know you still don’t really know him. You don’t even know where he came from."

"I know, because I was the one who brought him down from the mountain."

Peter simply shook his head at Noemi’s response. He couldn't fathom why she had married a man she had only just met.

"Ahh, f*ck!"

Their gazes snapped toward the source of the loud shout—Douglas. Without wasting a second, Noemi dashed into the house, not even sparing a glance toward the window where Douglas had been.

"What’s happening?!" she cried out, her eyes widening in shock as she saw him fallen beside the bed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern—especially when he clutched his chest, and blood began to seep through the white fabric wrapped around his body.

"My chest... My chest just... twitched. My muscles... they’re burning..."

Noemi immediately rushed to help Douglas. Perhaps fueled by an adrenaline rush, she found it surprisingly easy to lift him back onto the bed, quickly stripping away the fabric wrapped around his chest. Her jaw dropped as she took in the state of his wound. The muscles beneath the skin shifted—as if tiny, tentacle-like appendages were gripping one another—pulling the wound shut while expelling small, rounded clots of congealed blood.

"Y-your wound... it’s healed," she uttered in sheer amazement, then glanced toward Peter, who had followed her inside.

"What happened?" Peter asked, his gaze shifting between her and the large white comforter on the bed—a sight that made him arch his brows in confusion.

"Where is he?" He couldn't answer Peter's question, and was taken aback when he heard a faint whimper from a puppy tucked in the blanket. The same pup he had nursed on the first night.