Bloodhound Tracks Novels & Stories

At her side trotted hulking hounds—creatures bred not merely to hunt, but to smell the faintest trace of human blood across miles of wilderness. The trail was fresh. Four footsteps. Two belonging to Donato Morano, and two belonging to Enzo. The prints told a story in silence—brothers in arms, or traitors in disguise? Then the trail splintered. Dried blood stained the leaves, smeared into the soil. The hounds' growls deepened as they circled the spot, nostrils flaring with frenzy. Elowen's heart clenched. "The blood… it's Donato's."

It’s a good distraction from my own anxiety, I guess. I break into a sprint and shift, tearing toward the mountains. I pass the lake and hot springs in a blur of dark woods and moonlight with no direction in mind, only the knowledge that a hunting party came home this morning with a report of seeing a hellhound thirty miles north of Silverhide, and there is no way I am letting an opportunity like this pass me by. I descend into the valleys behind Silverhide, racing deeper into the forest, following the scent the hunters’ left behind on their return.

made my wolf bristle with alertness. When we reached the east ridge, one of the scouts called out, “Tracks here!” I knelt beside him, noticing the fresh prints...there were at least a dozen, maybe more. Unlike scattered footprints, these were neatly lined up. “They’re moving in formation,” Rowan murmured. “They’re trained,” I said. “These aren’t rogues. These are soldiers.” The scent of iron hit me next. Blood...fresh and human. “Ready yourselves,” I growled.

But for the first time in my career, I couldn't focus. Every time the wind howled, it sounded like a girl’s plea. Every time a branch snapped, I pictured raw, shackled wrists. ‘It’s a trap,’ I told myself for the hundredth time. ‘The girl was too convenient. Her story was too perfect.’ Around 2:00 AM, the silence of the woods was shattered. Not by a human scream, but by the mechanical baying of the Hounds, the human’s bio-mechanical trackers. They were massive, slab-sided beasts of muscle and chrome, designed to hunt down escapees with the relentless precision of a clockwork nightmare.

Cade mind linked Beau and Beau got his best trackers on her scent. When we got to the park, the trackers were able to pick up her scent immediately. We followed them in wolf form. When we got to the interstate, we stuck to the woods on the highway. When the trackers stopped at a demolished vehicle, my heart sank. The only solace I had was that I hadn't felt the mate bond break yet, so I know she is alive. I just pray to Goddess that she stays that way. I can't lose her yet.

They observed the clear traces of something too big to be an otter or beaver crawling out of the water. Undeterred, they traced his footsteps through the grass, each imprint guiding them closer to the road's edge. Reaching a spot on the side of the road, they found nothing. Closer analysis revealed track marks, signs of recent car presence, two sets of footprints, and the lingering scent of a bear shifter. Hunger surged within them. "The guy has too much luck on his side, getting picked up by a shifter. We lost him again," Troy said through the link with an irritated tone. "We have to try and find him!”, he added.

I instruct. “Yes, Alpha,” she says stepping forward, “I tracked their scents to the river and then lost it. I crossed the river on foot to try and pick it up on the other side but there was nothing. I travelled along both stretches of the lake thinking they had kept to the water and travelled down or upstream and crossed somewhere else but again I was unable to pick up a scent. I found tire tracks, so I believe there was a getaway vehicle. I followed the tracks, but once they hit the road I lost them,” she says in irritation. “Also there was something just not right about their scents. I’m not sure what it was, it was just… different,” she says her brows set in a deep frown looking like she’

Looking at the footprints as big as a room in front of him, a thoughtful look appeared in the Head Dog's eyes. The five subordinates standing behind him didn't move at all. When they saw Head Dog's gesture, they stepped forward. Some of them walked directly toward the footprint, while others walked around and carefully observed the ground. The ground was covered with fallen leaves. If it was an ordinary person, it was impossible to find any clues from it. However, Head Dog and the others had all undergone special training and were born with astonishing talent in tracking. In their eyes, the marks on the ground could be traced back to the original, and the complete process of what had happene

"They're really fast!" "Sub-level 10," Grog shouted, leading the way. "Down! Water stops scent!" They reached a rusted iron staircase leading down into a flooded lower level. They splashed into waist-deep water. It was freezing, black, and smelled of decay. "The water won't stop them!" Jack yelled over the splashing. "They aren't tracking scent! They're tracking heat! Infrared!" He could see it now. The Hounds weren't sniffing the air; their mechanical eyes were scanning the thermal spectrum. Jack, with his feverish body temperature, was a beacon in the dark.

Their boots crunched on the undergrowth as they moved with purpose. “How's the trail?” inquired the team leader, his voice a low rumble of authority. One of the trackers, blessed with an extraordinary sense of smell, replied, “We traced him from the destroyed safe house. His blood... it's everywhere. As long as he bleeds, we can track him. He can't escape us.” The scent of blood was unmistakable, leading them unerringly through the wilderness. Soon, they arrived at the summer house. “The scent leads here and doesn't leave. He's still inside,” announced the tracker, his nostrils flaring as he deciphered the myriad smells.