Bloodhound Tracks Novels & Stories

Peter said. My wolf howled to see her blood. Dame! She is hurt. Wolves mostly relied on their sense of smell and other instincts for tracking, but I had learned we couldn't rely on just that. Forensic science has much better results. I had invested in and trained my best trackers to use forensics as well. That is why they got accurate information. "And whom does that fingerprint belong to?" I asked. "We need to test that, but I am not sure whom should we test against? "

The movement caused her hood to slip back slightly, revealing more of her face. "Alright, all ears," she said, her tone losing all of its playfulness. "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?" "I need to track someone. He needs to be found, but the rogue is... he's good at losing his trail and hiding." “And?” I crossed the room, retrieved the arrow and held it out to her. “I believe your dire wolf can locate a person by scent," I said, my voice stronger now. "This is the blood of the man we're looking for."

We rode on our horses for several minutes, in the direction which Gama had told us his attackers might have come from. Still, there was no sign of them or their tracks. It was almost an hour later that Steve saw some tracks. They were mixed tracks in the sense that, they were owned by not only humans but by animals as well.

*** Koul, one of my pack's best trackers, had been standing here at the murder scene a little longer than he was meant to. He was one of the few wolves specially gifted the ability to track in this manner. Werewolves have the ability to track scents, yes, but gifted trackers could track even the faintest scents and could see even the most blurry footprints our usual wolf eyes might not see. I always trusted him with such processes. But right now, it seemed he was having a hard time tracking the scent, footprints, or any clue that could give us a head start as to where and how to find this killer.

Ton and I circled the place, our paws lightly touching the ground with precision. The metallic odor of blood permeated the environment, and I struggled to keep my inner beast under control. Every drop, every mark, told the story of the suffering of the human who had taken such good care of my pup. The tracks led us from one room to another, like a somber dance in which Diana played the lead role. Ton sniffed intensely, his sharpened senses capturing nuances that would escape a human investigation.

We stopped briefly to rest, crouching behind a fallen log. I closed my eyes for a moment, drawing in the Warrior’s spiritual presence, letting his guidance flow through me. Patience. Watch. Trust. His presence calmed the sharp edge of fear in me, even as it heightened my alertness. Every sense sharpened, every instinct aligned. Bryan broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “There. Tracks. Multiple. They’re ahead.” I leaned forward, eyes scanning the ground. Marks in the dirt were subtle but deliberate—footprints larger than ours, claws that dug into the soil with purpose. My stomach tightened. Rowan’s allies weren’t just waiting; they were hunting, shaping this encounter to thei

Even the birds had gone silent. Kaelen’s chest burned faintly with each stride. The mark under his shirt pulsed like a heartbeat, tugging him forward. Sometimes it throbbed sharply enough to steal his breath. Mireya noticed but didn’t speak of it. By midday, the mist had deepened. Shapes blurred. The wolves slowed, wary. “Tracks,” one muttered. Kaelen crouched, brushing away the ash. The prints were broad, deep—too heavy for deer.

The night air was crisp and clear, but as soon as we stepped outside, I caught it, a scent that made every hair on my body stand on end. The smell was familiar and foreign at the same time. Wolf, yes, but not quite right. There was something else mixed in with it, something dark and ancient and hungry that made my wolf retreat whimpering into the deepest corners of my mind. "How long ago were these tracks made?" Riven asked, his earlier anger completely forgotten in the face of a potential threat to our territory. "The tracks are fresh," Marcus replied grimly. "Maybe an hour, two at most. Whatever made them circled the entire perimeter twice before disappearing into the northern forest."

Damien asked. “Tracking signs. You are not as careful as you think you are.” “We are very careful,” Damien said. “You left prints in the creek bed below the ridge road. Boot treads that match a size fourteen, which is not common. I cross-referenced three other sighting reports from the last month and drew a radius. It took me four days.” The quiet one, Silas, shifted slightly. Just his weight, barely anything, but I caught it. Damien held my gaze. “Four days,” he said.