Bloodhound Tracks Novels & Stories

" Whiskers, you're with me! Track boy! Track!" Bernard ordered as he waved for me to follow him and pointed at the ground. I immediately smell the scent on my claws, white snakeroot a very rare smell. It shouldn't be hard to track. I nodded to myself and started sniffing him out. He headed West! Towards the barracks! I dashed towards it with Bernard closely behind me. I followed it all the way to the well where I lost the scent due to the water. " Damn it! He knows what he's doing!"

the guardian spoke painfully, blood drowning his mouth. As the old man died, Tristan looked around the alehouse, then he eyed Bast. “Track it.” The hound got his nose on the floor, then on to the air. Its purple eyes wandered around the alehouse, sniffing, until it stopped in the direction of the bottles of wine that looked aged. A collection of the finest wines, Tristan observed. Bast jumped unto the table and leaned its nose towards the old bottles on the wall. One by one, the hound tracked the shard by its scent, until it stopped into a dark-blue bottle. Then Bast barked.

The bond — the fractured, supposedly dying bond — had tightened in his chest the moment the word formed. Damon nodded. 'Her scent.' 'Was there—' He stopped. Could not finish it. 'No body,' Damon said quickly. 'No trail continuing north. She went somewhere. She was taken somewhere.' He reached into the map case and withdrew a photograph — a clear image of a tread impression in frozen mud. 'Petra tracked the vehicle marks. Heavy-gauge military tread, northern bearing.' He held up the photograph. 'She traced the insignia from the tread pattern.'

The memory of yellow eyes in the forest, the way he’d stepped aside. “I don’t know.” Ronan studied me. “Rogues don’t spare unknown wolves. Especially not untrained ones.” “He said… they would kill me for breathing.” Ronan went still. “That’s a Council phrase,” he said quietly. My stomach dropped. “So they already knew about me.” “Yes.” “How?” His gaze flicked away for the first time. “There are records. Bloodlines. Scents that don’t disappear.” “Like mine.” “Like yours.”

Sara echoed, enthusiastic as ever. “A lycan?” “Possibly. But that’s all we heard.” “What is his name?” “Bloodhound. That is what he goes by. No one knows his real name. But we have seen what he leaves in his wake — a wreckage. He burns every village…” “Enough,” Courtney cut her off, raising a finger. “Your input is well noted and appreciated. Perhaps you’d be an asset to the Shadow Pack in the future. Perhaps.” Then she stole a glance at me before walking away. “See me in my office, Zoe.”

The air was heavy, thick with the scent of ash and wet soil. Every step sank slightly into the scorched ground, and the silence pressed in around us — no birds, no rustle of small creatures—just the whisper of boots and the faint weapons jingle. We followed the trail in silence, the ground scarred with deep paw prints — too large, too steady to belong to any ordinary wolf. Sebastian had shifted. Damien knelt beside a fallen tree, his gloved fingers tracing the tracks with practiced precision. “He’s pushing himself,” he said, voice low. “Hard.”

“He’s quite stubborn. I don't think He will return home without answers, no matter how long it takes.” I bit my lip voicing what had been in my mind since the sighting earlier. “ If the wolf we saw outside earlier was her will they still be able to track her?” Shawn cuts me off, sharp. “Yes every wolf has a signature scent they will use their best trackers... Pausing he rubs my back...” But for now let's Forget her..” Desmond sighs reaching for my left arm drawing soothing circles on me. “Let Brandon and his team deal with her.”

Now, I simply observed. Behind us stood three of my most trusted men, beta Corvin, Sentinel Rurik, and Sentinel Hadeon. Loyal. Proven. The kind of wolves who would throw themselves in front of a blade if it meant preserving the Alpha. “Tracks were found near the western ridge,” Corvin reported quietly. “Large. Not from our pack.” “Rogue?” Leonard asked, already rolling his shoulders as though hoping for it. “Likely,” I said. But my instincts told me something else.

The scout knelt and brushed snow aside with his hand. He drew a rough shape in the frost. Large claw marks. But longer than a wolf’s. Sharper. Rowan stared at the shape. “That’s not normal.” Mira crouched beside it. “No,” she said softly. “It isn’t.” Darian shifted uneasily. “How big were the tracks?” The scout held his hands apart. “Bigger than this.” Rowan straightened slowly. “That’s impossible.” Kael’s eyes moved toward the forest again. “Not impossible.”

Bestia studied the district literally by centimeters, afraid to miss the point we needed, because of which I had to stop and help the she-wolf with the search. I even felt great in heels in any situation. Werewolf indeed! Grace and natural balance are in my blood, as is inhuman endurance. Even after a sleepless night, I felt relatively cheerful! But my companions were noticeably exhausted, wandering after me through the forest. - How much longer? Akulina asked me for the thousandth time, forcing me to reflexively roll my eyes. - Here, - sensing the approval of the Beast, I squatted down, peering into the yellowed grass in front of me with bestial eyesight, - right here!