Bloodhound Tracks Novels & Stories

Patience isn’t a common werewolf trait, but one that’s imperative in a good tracker. Percy crouches, sniffing the air, his expression tightening. I follow his gaze to a half erased footprint in the damp earth. "Two of them passed through here recently and they’re dragging something that obliterates their prints. They missed part of that one though." I nod, scanning the area. "They can sweep the prints away, but now we know to look for anything that seems unnaturally smooth. They don’t realize they’re leaving a pattern for us to follow."

It was tracking the silver ring in Maya's eyes. Xander understood that in the first five seconds, watching the Hound's orientation — it wasn't responding to movement or sound or heat, the way trained trackers responded. Its head was fixed on a point, and the point was Maya, and when Maya moved two steps to the left it adjusted its bearing with the immediate certainty of a compass needle finding north. "It's locked on her," he said. "On both of us," Silas said. He was watching the second Hound enter the ravine from the upper lip, tracking along the limestone wall with the same unhurried precision. "They have separate locks. Independent targeting."

It did the job as long as it shielded her. My side erupted in pain as I straightened, but I ignored it. I walked towards the frosted window, looking out into the woods. I could smell them — the Bloodhound scouts. They smelled like iron and ash. They were hunting us. Again. They never gave up. And then my eyes saw something — a gentle blink of light. A Silver Veil tracker. It was hidden in a pine with runes glowing softly. A beacon. A trap. It would take them straight to us.

"Is that...?" "The Hounds," Sofia snapped, her posture shifting into a combat stance. She checked the chamber of her submachine gun. "The Judge’s private collection. He let them off the leash ten minutes ago. They don't track by scent, Bianca. They track by heartbeat. And yours is slamming against your ribs like a drum." "We need to go," Bianca said, the wolf inside her pacing her internal cage. The heat was returning to her limbs, a frantic, electric pulse that made her fingers twitch.

I soon made my way to the common room, where they’d said he’d be. “You look like hell,” I said before I could stop myself. He glanced over his shoulder, one side of his mouth lifting, “You always free with compliments?” “Only when I mean them.” He huffed a laugh, “You shouldn’t be walking around alone.” “So you keep saying.” “I’m serious, Betsy.” “Of course you are.” I folded my arms. “What did you find?” Something in his jaw flexed. He turned back to the window. “Tracks near the river. Human, wolf and something inbetween. Magic and wolfsbane remains.”

I follow it towards the hidden exit to find the guards that were stationed there are dead, their throats ripped out. I jump over the fence and continue tracking the scent through the forest, it's stronger here. I continue tracking, putting my snout to the ground and that's when I finally see footprints, two sets. But the second set, it looks like the person is being dragged, that must be Stephanie and then there's also blood dripping on the ground. I scent it and it's still fresh. I move faster and run faster than I ever have until I get to the end of the forest where it meets the road and the scent is gone. But I see skid marks from a tyre, they left in a car. They're gone, I was too late a

“Yes. I…I almost called out, but I held back. My wolf remembered her scent. It… made me restless.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Focus on these tracks. We will find whoever left them.” Liam nodded, jaw set. “I will.” He signaled to his warriors. “Search the ravine.” I left him and walked along the fence’s length, every sense alert. The ground beneath my boots changed from frozen dirt to damp loam as the tracks led into the trees. I crouched, studying the imprint. It was large, a soft booted foot, an unnatural shape, likely a spy sent by Sebastian. I traced the lines of the track: they were human footprints, damp clay clinging to each sole. My chest tightened; this spy might even know about Leila

I never did scream— or shift, and he had kissed me after. I turn and start to run. I don't know why I'm running but every blood cell in my body demands that I get as far away from him as possible. I know I don't get far enough when I slam into someone but before I can jerk away, the person is grabbing my waist, keeping me stable while his scent breaks me out of the muddled state my brain was trying to drown itself in. Cedarwood and spices. I slowly look up, realizing that Damien Bloodhound is staring down at me— and he looks very angry.

The digital destination boards were dark. Not empty, though. In the shadows, another scent moved. Sharp. Predatory. Not wolf. Hound. A lean shape padded out from behind a pillar—sleek, black‑furred, eyes gleaming red under the emergency lights. A Tribunal tracking hound—bio‑engineered, nose keyed to Lunaris and other “anomalous” signatures. It snarled softly, hackles rising as it scented them. Its handler, somewhere in the dark, hissed, “Steady—” but the leash was loose enough to let it lunge if it chose.