Book Hounds の小説・ストーリー

I went to the inner room to check for a book that could be of help at all. In the dim light of the library hall, I wandered through the aisles, my fingers trailing along different volumes of books. The air was thick with the scent of dusty and old paper. As I turned a corner, an old, leather-bound book caught my eye. Its name cover was wrapped with strange design that seemed to shimmer faintly from the rest. It was the eyes of the rarest species of werewolves...... The white wolves. Curiosity got the better of me, I pulled the book from the shelf and opened it.

I rounded a corner, turned left down a tighter row, and— Stopped. There, nestled between two massive grimoires, was a book that didn’t belong. It was smaller, wrapped in black hide, no title. A circular crest gleamed faintly on the cover, a silver wolf’s head bisected by a black sword, the same we saw in the tunnel the other day. I knew that crest, its Blackwood sigil. My lungs tightened. My hand moved before my brain could catch up. I pulled the book free. Dust billowed, I coughed hard.. My heart beat faster.

Brooke. “Here,” Alexander sidles next to me on the table I am sitting at, with a book open in front of me. He shows me the book he’d found just now. It’s a book with a dark, leather cover with the title ‘Creatures of the Lunar woods’ on it, “I read the synopsis, and it’s got a section dedicated to all the packs in the Lunar woods. Granted the book was written decades ago, but most of the packs in the woods are ancient, so almost all of them are still here.”

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.

“Participants are expected in the eastern ballroom at ten o’clock for the oath ceremony. The Hunt begins at midnight. Until then, you are forbidden from leaving the mansion grounds.” I tucked the card into the pocket sewn into the side of my dress. “And the Alphas?” Her expression became even colder. “What about them?” “Are they already here?” Several women turned more openly now. The registrar studied me. “The hunters arrived before sunset.” My wolf stirred beneath my skin. Not fear. Not exactly. She had spent three years pacing inside me, restless and furious each time another trail led nowhere. Tonight, she was alert. Ready. “Which Alphas?” I asked.

“These symbols... they’re from the Old Tongue. They speak of something sealed—something powerful.” “The Crown?” I asked, stepping closer. “Maybe,” she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But this inscription mentions a key. Whatever’s hidden here, we won’t find it without that.” Before I could respond, a faint growl echoed from the shadows. We both froze. The sound grew louder, followed by the scrape of claws against stone. My grip on my blade tightened as two pairs of glowing eyes emerged from the darkness. Rogues. Their mangy fur and emaciated frames marked them as exiles—wolves with nothing to lose.

The runes pulsed like a heartbeat. The shadow paused just beyond the circle. It had no clear form, but hints of a muzzle and claws flickered in and out of existence, as if it couldn’t quite decide what it was. When it opened its mouth, no sound came out — only a ripple of cold that raised gooseflesh on everyone’s skin. Jude whispered, “What the hell…” Lyra’s eyes hardened. “It’s a Hound of Ash,” she said. “He makes them from the wolves who fight him.”

Look closer. Her gaze settled on a particularly weathered book tucked away near the corner. Its cover was simple, but a faint embossed design caught the light - a pair of intertwined wolves beneath a crescent moon. The image sent a shiver down her spine, and her fingers tingled as she pulled it from the shelf. She opened it carefully, the pages crackling with age. The script was ornate, the kind that took a moment to decipher, but the accompanying illustrations made her breath catch. Drawings of wolves with hollowed eyes and jagged teeth, their forms twisted and monstrous, filled the margins.

“That’s what these faeries do. They want people to follow their orders, their rules, their say-so, but when it’s their turn, they hide behind some guy they tricked into servitude.” The dogs calmed, and Beki barked at them to move aside. A heartbeat later, the nearest one bowed its head and stepped backward to reveal a gap in the bookshelves. “Thank you,” I said and meant every word. Griff and I walked side by side through the space between the dogs, whose bodies drifted over us like the morning fog. They weren’t Hellhounds. Hellhounds were hot and smelled of brimstone. These creatures seemed to be made of something much colder than smoke.

By the time we had finished gathering as much data as we could, the click-clack of Heather’s shoes was heard once more, though this time they were accompanied by a heavier set of leather shoes tapping the ground. I could hear several voices, though they remained near the entrance of the library somewhere. I could smell them, Hunters. One, in particular, held my attention. The one following Heather.