30

Justin nods quietly as he sits down on his cot, lips pressed tightly together in worry as the three of you leave, pulling the door shut behind you.

"A hard decision," Haken says. "But the boy is brave and went without flinching. He deserves more credit than I thought."

"And your men will take good care of him?" you ask.

Haken nods absently. "I have a handful of wolves that I trust with my life. We can keep this within a fairly small circle."

"I'll be back tomorrow to talk to him," Ahote says. "For now, I need to get some rest."

You nod in agreement. It's been an eventful night, and now with its duties discharged, you feel your eyelids drooping as though they have tiny weights attached. Sleep would make for a welcome diversion.

Next Chapter

You lurch into the waking world, soaked with sweat, breath caught in your throat. Your apartment is dark, a rising full moon the only source of light coming in through the open window. You stare for a moment, caught up in the splendor of a night of renewal, the moon plump and full with the promise of new tomorrows.

The moon! You've overslept!

Cursing to yourself, you rush to your closet and don the proper attire necessary to go through the change. Baggy pants, elastic waistlines, billowing shirt, all tailored to survive the trauma of its occupant growing in size along with shifting bone structure.

In keeping with the traditions of the packs of old, the Haven pack acknowledges several phases of the lunar cycle, solemn rituals to be attended on each of the full moons. Tonight is the Hunter's Moon, an event of great significance, marked by a gathering in the Haven square, ritual transformation, sharing the gift of water, and the making of wolf-song.

You lay down to catch a few hours' sleep just after noon, but the strange dreams kept you in their clutches for far longer than you realized. Your mother…you haven't dreamed of her in years, barely at all since her illness took her. And that other wolf. What did she call him again? The name seemed familiar, but it fled in the nature of dreams, flittering away from your wakeful thoughts on gossamer wings.

No matter, there will be time for reflection once the ritual is over.

By the time your door bangs shut and you emerge into the empty street, it is too late. The faint sound of wolf-song rides currents of chill air from the direction of the square, and you feel the wolf within struggling to break free and join in the howl. Holding back your feral inclinations for a moment, you cock an ear toward the song's origin.

Something isn't right. You can't quite put a finger on it, but somehow the howling feels less jubilant than expected. No, it's not merely the absence of joy; this is a sound of anger laced with fear.

You take a moment to step out of the street and into shadow before devoting the entirety of your attention to the howls of the wolf-song. At first it seems jumbled and discordant, an indecipherable mishmash of blind anger.

But as you listen, understanding slowly dawns, and the illumination staggers you. It's a hunt! They're calling a blood hunt! But why? For whom? I haven't heard a call like that since the pack joined together to hunt a killer, a lone wolf gone feral. What the hell is going on?

Cautioned by your realization, you approach the ritual site through shadow, circling around to the east where you can observe without being seen. Crouching behind the rusting bulk of a long-disused dumpster, you peek out toward the green, keeping your movement slow and steady so as not to draw attention. In the dim light you can see the silhouettes of dozens of werewolves, their muzzles tipped upward, howling out wolf-song to the Hunter's Moon. Nothing that would seem terribly unusual if it weren't for the howl's panicked fever pitch.

Fearing the worst, you initiate your change, sleek arms and legs of your lupine form pushing out against your hiding spot and almost giving you away. Your skin crawls, and you start to pull back when a flurry of movement and shouting not twenty feet to the south pulls the pack's attention. They turn as one, focusing on a small group of humans dashing away into the next alley over from you.

You feel yourself go cold as the pack drops to all fours and runs after the humans, baying for blood. You don't know what happened during the ritual, but you do know that if the pack slaughters a group of humans in a rage, your lives as you know them will be over.

For better or worse, your hiding spot has put you in a position where you might be able to intervene, but you fear being discovered by a pack gone mad.

You dash out in front of the snarling pack, yelling and waving your arms in hope of reasoning with them. You're not surprised to see Haken in the lead. The burly wolf stops for a moment to stare at you before snorting indifference and dropping to all fours again, howling out for the hunt to resume.

You confront Haken and the pack with a roar of challenge. You won't be able to stop so many wolves by yourself, but you might be able to delay them long enough for the humans to escape.

Haken lashes out at you, claws drawing blood as you take an involuntary step backward. You dodge to the left, hoping to evade Haken's right-hand slash when the brute's position shifts; it was a feint! Before you can move out of the way, you're knocked to the ground by a left-hand blow to the face.

Your vision clouds over with swimming blackness studded with stars, and by the time you rise to your feet again, the pack has moved on. You have no choice but to chase after them!

Next