Chapter 3: The Scent Trail
Seconds stretched, each one feeling like an eternity. Eden's hands were trembling, a violent tremor she couldn't control. Her lips, dry and parted, struggled to form words. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, a relentless, deafening thunder. She stared, wide-eyed and unblinking, at the empty spot where he had stood just moments before—the very place where he had changed from boy to beast. Slowly, as if in a trance, she took a single, hesitant step backward.
What the hell had she just seen? And why… why didn't it feel like the first time she'd witnessed something so utterly impossible?
The alley was utterly silent now, a stillness so profound it felt unnatural. It was the kind of stillness that settled after a scream had been held captive, never truly escaping one's throat. Eden stood alone, her back pressed hard against the rough, broken wall of the gas station. Her breath, sharp and ragged, tore through her lungs. Every fiber of her being told her to run, to desperately dial someone, anyone, to scream until her voice gave out, or to simply collapse and cry. Anything. But she didn't move. She couldn't.
The images swirled and blurred together in her mind, a terrifying moment his face mid-shift, contorting into something inhuman; the impossible warping of flesh; the sickening sound of his bones snapping and reforming into something else entirely. And his eyes. They were the worst part, haunting her thoughts. Not because they were monstrously inhuman, but because they weren’t. There was a boy, a discernible human soul, trapped inside that terrifying creature. And he had looked at her, truly looked at her, as if he knew her, as if she wasn't supposed to be afraid. And she hadn't been. Not truly. Not until the oppressive silence had descended, once the immediate terror had passed.
That was what truly scared her now. That frozen moment, that unsettling feeling of—connection? No. That was insane. Utterly, terrifyingly insane. She shook her head, as if to dislodge the impossible thought, and rubbed frantically at her arms, seeking a comforting warmth that wouldn't come. She looked down at her phone, desperate for a lifeline. No signal. Of course. Just her luck. Where were Sierra and Logan? Were they safe?
She turned back toward the alley’s entrance, but stopped short, her feet rooted to the spot. Her eyes caught on something near the overflowing dumpster, a small detail that pulled her gaze away from the path to escape. A patch of gravel was smeared dark with dirt. Not a sprawling puddle, but a thin, elongated streak, as if from a nosebleed, a sign of injury from a creature far too large for this cramped space.
She stepped closer, drawn by an irresistible curiosity, and crouched slightly, her gaze fixed on the grim mark. Just beside the blood, half-embedded in the dirt, was something small, glinting dully in the faint light. A metal chain. It was snapped, broken cleanly. She picked it up, her fingers closing around the cold metal. The small tag attached to it was rusted, but still legible. RYKER. Her fingers curled tighter around the piece of metal, her breath catching in her throat. That was a name. A person. The person.
This hadn't been a monster caught in a random act of madness. This had been someone. Someone who had lost control, someone who was now terrifyingly, undeniably real. Someone who might, terrifyingly, come back. She looked toward the dark forest beyond the alley, an unseen, brooding presence in the night. Somewhere out there, hidden among the trees, a boy who could turn into a wolf was running. And she had seen him. Every single second of it. She remembered.
The forest at night was never truly quiet. It hummed with a thousand unseen lives. Owls whispered secrets from the high branches, their soft calls drifting through the canopy. Foxes rustled beneath the thorny brush, their stealthy movements betraying their presence.
The wind tugged through the towering pines, a low, mournful sigh that sounded like a constant warning. But tonight, every one of those familiar sounds had gone still. An unnatural silence had fallen, heavy and oppressive.
Kade’s powerful boots sank softly into the damp moss, each step leaving a barely perceptible impression. His breath plumed into the cold night air, curling into ephemeral clouds before vanishing. Talon, ever watchful, flanked him a few paces behind, his eyes darting through the shadowy trees, vigilant for any sign.
No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The rich, pungent scent trail, strong and fresh, told them everything they needed to know.
Ryker had runn. That much was clear. But he hadn't shifted immediately. The scattered bootprints, still distinctly human, confirmed it. They were light, indicating speed, and erratic, hinting at a desperate, uncontrolled flight. But then, the shift had hit. Kade knelt beside a shallow depression in the fallen leaves. His gaze fixed on four deep claw marks, savagely torn into the rough bark of a nearby tree. The wounds were fresh, glistening with bleeding sap.
“He changed somewhere here,” Kade said, his voice flat, low, devoid of emotion. Talon crouched beside him, inhaling once, then twice, confirming the scent. “Mid-run?” Talon murmured, his tone grim. “That’s not good. No control.”
“He’s not trained,” Kade muttered, his jaw tight. “He never should’ve been this close to the edge of the territory.”
Talon’s body tensed, his senses heightened. “You think he was chasing something?”
“No,” Kade corrected him, his eyes scanning the impenetrable darkness ahead. “I think he was following something.”
He stood, his gaze piercing the night. The air shifted, a subtle change in the currents, and with it, a new scent hit him. It sliced through the familiar forest smells like a sharp knife—faint, but distinct, unmistakable. Human. Female. And impossibly, fresh.
Kade stopped walking, his body rigid. “What is it?” Talon asked, his voice low, filled with a growing apprehension. Kade didn’t answer. He simply stepped forward slowly, methodically, his senses now singularly focused, following the scent like a bloodhound on a fresh trail. It clung low to the ground, spiked with fear, but not the wild, desperate panic of someone in mortal danger. Instead, it spoke of curiosity, of confusion. And most importantly, it was intact. She hadn't been hurt. But she had been incredibly, terrifyingly close.
Kade reached the very edge of the woods, where the dense trees abruptly gave way to an expanse of overgrown gravel and shattered asphalt. In the distance, silhouetted starkly under the cold moonlight, sat the abandoned gas station, its decaying structure like a skeletal carcass. His nose twitched again, confirming what he already knew. The human girl had been here. Just minutes ago.
He turned toward Talon, his jaw tight, muscles clenching. “Someone saw him."
Talon’s face paled, the color draining from his features. “Saw what?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Everything.” Kade’s gaze was unblinking, unwavering. “She saw the shift.”
But even as the words left his mouth, a chilling sensation, like a cold lick of ice, traced its way down his spine. He straightened, his posture suddenly rigid. He turned, sniffing the air again, his powerful senses straining. And then, he froze. There was another scent. Faint, almost imperceptible, cloaked beneath the stronger smells of copper, gun oil, and old ash. A hunter.
Kade’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a low, guttural snarl. “He tripped something,” he growled, the word a venomous hiss. “A ward.”
Talon’s head jerked, his eyes wide with disbelief. “No one’s used those in years.”
“Someone has,” Kade corrected him, his gaze sweeping through the shadowed trees, searching. “They’re nearby.”
And miles away—just past the ghostly ruins of the gas station, tucked away inside a half-sunken surveillance shack, cunningly buried beneath a deceptively ordinary-looking false rock—a single, small monitor blinked red. The man inside, a figure cloaked in patience and quiet intent, stirred from his motionless vigil. Bearded, his eyes sharp and alert, he reached for a long-barreled rifle, his fingers running with practiced ease down its etched handle. Not out of fear, but out of ingrained habit. He didn't say anything, didn't curse, didn't panic. He simply smiled, a slow, predatory curving of his lips.
And whispered, "Found you."
