Grain Wagon Hunting Blind Novels & Stories

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭 The heavy hydraulic ramp of the gunship groaned as it hissed shut, cutting off the view of the dark valley and locking Lucian Blackwood inside the dim, red-lit belly of the cargo hold. He sat exactly where Maya had ordered him with his back pressed against the cold metal bulkhead, listening to the muffled, distant shouting of Valen’s perimeter guards as they secured the captured northern trucks outside.

"More will come." "No car," Kaelen said, looking at the twisted metal. "We walk," I said. I grabbed the duffel bag from the trunk. It was miraculously intact. We walked away from the crash site. We walked away from the empty metal husk lying in the road. We walked into the woods. We found a hunting blind three miles away. It was a small wooden shack raised on stilts, hidden in the canopy of a massive oak tree. It was tight, dirty, and freezing. But it was hidden.

I need to find her, but hunting blind won’t help. I needed to take a rest after driving for so long. Bars are where people talk, where whispers float on liquor breath. I spot a neon light flickering ahead that identifies a bar. “Midnight Howl Bar.” Sounds like a spot wolves might be, or at least humans who don’t mind the wild side. I pull over, kill the engine, and step out.

Harkin shifted and dressed, coming toward us with a frown on his face. "We have ten miles to travel and won't make it there by morning. I think I should run back and get your truck Alpha," he suggested firmly. Grayson narrowed his eyes and looked pained. "I don't even know if it's still there. It could have been destroyed during the explosion," he replied. Harkin said we could camp at the spot we were at and he'd go check. "Alright, be safe old friend," Grayson growled and Harkin chuckled before stripping and shifting to his gray wolf. We all watched him race back the way we had walked.

That made them predictable. I waited until the wind shifted, then moved through the trees like a shadow, careful not to break a single twig. I could hear the occasional distant conversation, pick up on the scent markers that ringed the heart of their territory. When I finally spotted the caravan of wagons—three of them, packed and covered—I knew I was close. The embalming fluids had to be in there.

Blaze's POV I peeled off from the convoy without making a sound. Damon had given me the signal, and I knew what to do. The dark vehicle stayed just far enough ahead that I could follow without being spotted. My bike stayed quiet on the back roads as I kept my distance. I wasn’t heading back to Vance’s main hideout like I half expected. Instead, the car turned down a long dirt path toward an old abandoned warehouse on the edge of neutral ground.

Feel absolutely disgusted by it. Before, Hunter used to be careful, meticulous, even—he must have been. I don’t know how he managed it, how he kept everything so clean, so untraceable that I never once questioned him. But he must have paid attention to the smallest things… the kind most people wouldn’t even think twice about. But I’m not most people. I’m blind. And somehow, that works in my favor. My other senses have sharpened—maybe out of necessity, maybe out of habit. Either way, I rely on them now in a way I never did before.

The iron window shield slides down, revealing David Duskbane's dark, chiseled face. "Vin? Why are your wheels spinning in this sector?" Harvey shouts in total astonishment, halting right next to my shoulder. David lets out a rough cough, his golden eyes sweeping across my denim trousers before locking onto Harvey. "My wagon was coincidentally crossing the trade tracks. My brain decided to collect your body for the interrogation." "My own war-wagon is parked in the lower yard, David," Harvey argues, shaking his head. "Drive your wheels ahead. My claws must guide Master Sterling to the trading square first, then my boots will breach the lodge gates."

I couldn't give them the satisfaction. The wagon lurched over another rut in the road, and I bit down hard on my lip, tasting copper. Around me in the darkness, I could hear others breathing. Survivors, maybe. Or prisoners like me. The heavy canvas covering the wagon blocked out everything, sight, sound, even scent. All I could feel was pain and the rhythmic creak of wheels on dirt.

“Any word from the other teams?” “Nothing yet!” he shouted back, voice nearly lost in the wind. “The river team lost the trail at the water’s edge. They’re circling back.” The outlands stretched out before us, a maze of ruined buildings and lawless wolves who answered to no king or Alpha. Without a clear scent, we were hunting blind. But I would not stop until she was back under my roof. “Spread out wider,” I ordered. “Search every ruin, every hiding hole. Check for wagon marks, blood, anything. She is clever. She might have left us a trail. Find it.”