Chapter 2 Something in the blood

Tom Fiske's blood was still warm when I backed away from the body.

I'd seen worse. Hell, I'd done worse. But this was different. It wasn't the mess-the torn throat, the gouged chest, the look of frozen horror in his eyes. It was the fact that I hadn't done it. I could feel it in my bones. In my gut. In the way the wolf inside me was still, head low, ears pinned back.

Whatever did this wasn't me.

And that made it worse.

Because if it wasn't me... it meant there was another.

Another werewolf. In my woods.

And judging by what was left of Tom, it wasn't the controlled kind. This one didn't chain itself up during full moons. It didn't fight the hunger. It didn't care who it tore apart.

I crouched low, studying the prints in the mud. Too big for a normal wolf. Too heavy for a bear. The paw pads had claw points that cut deep and uneven. Four-toed. No shoes. This was someone who fully shifted-someone who lost themselves to it.

A rogue.

I'd heard the stories, even met a few in my younger days-wolves who let the beast drive. Those kinds didn't live long. Either a hunter got them, or their own pack tore them down before they turned feral. But Hollow's Edge had no pack. Just me. And now-someone else.

I looked back at Tom and clenched my jaw.

He'd always called me "Sonny." Treated me like I was still a kid, even though I could break a wrench in half with one hand and pull an engine block like it weighed nothing. He didn't deserve to die like this. Alone. Mutilated. Left like roadkill.

Whoever did this... they'd crossed a line.

And lines meant war.

The sun was just peeking over the hills when I finally made it back to the garage. My boots were soaked. My shirt was damp with sweat. I tried not to track too much mud through the door, but I didn't really care. I locked the door behind me and made a beeline for the backroom, flicking on the small overhead light and grabbing a bottle from the top shelf.

Not water.

Not coffee.

Whiskey. The strong kind that burned.

I downed a shot, winced, and braced my hands on the counter.

"You look like hell."

I spun.

She was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, the same damn stormcloud eyes on me like they'd been waiting.

"Eira," I said, slower than I meant to.

"You gonna offer me one?" she asked, nodding to the bottle.

I stared at her. "You always sneak into garages uninvited?"

"You always smell like blood and fire this early in the morning?"

I didn't answer.

She stepped forward, movements fluid, like a shadow sliding across a wall. She didn't even look tired. I must've looked like a walking corpse-sweat-soaked, filthy, eyes bloodshot. But she? She looked carved out of midnight.

"What happened?" she asked, quieter now.

I hesitated.

I could lie. I should lie. But something in me knew it wouldn't matter. She already knew I wasn't normal. Hell, she might've known before I did.

I poured her a shot and slid it across the table.

"There's a body in the woods," I said. "Tom Fiske. Mailman. You probably met him yesterday."

She nodded, slowly.

"He's dead."

"How?"

"Throat ripped out. Chest opened up like a bear got to him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bear?"

I met her gaze. "Not a bear."

She took the shot. Knocked it back. Didn't even flinch.

"And not you," she said, just as easily.

"No."

"Good. I'd hate to have to kill you this early in our acquaintance."

I should've laughed.

I didn't.

By noon, the sheriff's truck was parked at the edge of the woods.

Crows circled overhead. The forest was quiet-too quiet for summer. No birdsong. No wind. Just the occasional crackle of a radio and the hum of hushed voices trying not to panic.

I stayed on the edge of the scene, arms crossed, keeping my face neutral. Sheriff Maddox didn't like me much. Never had. Too many questions, not enough answers. I always gave him the kind of silence that made his neck veins throb.

"You find him?" he asked, boots crunching over pine needles.

"I was out for a walk," I lied.

"Lot of blood on your boots for a walk."

"Lot of blood in the woods."

He grunted. "You hear anything last night?"

"No."

"You always this helpful?"

I looked him in the eye. "You always this useless?"

He stepped in close, breath smelling like coffee and bitterness. "Don't test me, Thorne. You got a reputation."

"So do you."

He sneered and walked off, barking orders to his deputies.

I looked down at the tracks. They were starting to fade with the morning heat, but I could still see the edges. No human would've left those. No normal animal, either. But Maddox wouldn't see it. He didn't believe in monsters.

Not the kind I was, anyway.

By evening, the town was buzzing.

The diner stayed open late. People whispered over coffee and pie. They talked about accidents. Wild dogs. Maybe even a cougar that wandered in from the next county.

I sat in the back booth, nursing black coffee and listening.

That's when Eira walked in.

Heads turned. Conversations paused. She had that effect-like someone opened a window and let in a thunderstorm. She didn't look at anyone else. Just me.

She slid into the booth across from me like we'd done this a hundred times.

"You think it's still in town?" she asked, no hello, no preamble.

"I think it never left."

She stirred her own coffee, didn't drink it. "Rogue?"

I nodded.

"Full moon was last night. So it'll lay low now. Feed off scraps, maybe. Sleep. Hide."

I glanced at her. "You sound like you know a lot about this."

"I should," she said. "I've hunted them before."

I didn't blink. "You a hunter?"

She smiled, slow and dangerous. "No. But I've been hunted."

For the first time since she walked into Hollow's Edge, I felt like she let something slip.

I leaned forward. "What are you?"

She met my gaze, steady. "Same thing you are. Different story."

I sat back, breathing slow.

This was getting out of hand.

I closed the garage early that night. Locked the doors. Covered the windows. Took the shotgun from the backroom and set it next to my bed. It wouldn't do much against a full-shifted wolf, but it might buy me time.

I didn't sleep.

Around 3 a.m., I heard howling.

Not mine.

Long. Low. Mourning.

It didn't come from the forest.

It came from the edge of town.

Too close.

Morning broke with a knock at my door.

I opened it to find Eira standing there with a black eye and dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

"You okay?" I asked, pulling her inside.

"Yeah," she muttered. "I found it."

"Where?"

"Near the grain silo. It was feeding on a dog. Big one. Fully shifted. Didn't see me at first, but I got a shot in."

I blinked. "Shot?"

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a knife. Silver. Etched in runes I didn't recognize.

"You stabbed it?"

"Clipped its shoulder."

"And you got away?"

"I don't run slow."

I looked her over again. The bruises were bad. She'd been tossed. Slammed into something hard.

I took a breath. "We need to find it."

"We will," she said. "But not like this. Not during the day. It'll be hiding. Healing."

"Tonight then."

She nodded.

And for the first time since I was cursed, I wasn't hunting alone.