Chapter 2: The Town's Whisper
Rowan woke to the dull throb in his shoulder, the bandage Elara had wrapped around it tight and scratchy against his skin. The rain had stopped, but the mist outside his window hung thick, turning the world into a watercolor smear. His head felt foggy too, like the edges of last night's attack were slipping away, leaving only the sting of those claws and the glow of amber eyes. He sat up, wincing, and ran a hand through his tangled hair. Whatever had hit him wasn't natural, not with how fast the wound seemed to heal. He shook the thought off, blaming exhaustion, and swung his legs over the bed.
Downstairs, the inn was quieter than the night before, the fire reduced to a smolder. Elara moved behind the counter, stacking plates with a focus that made her look miles away. The few locals who'd been there last night were gone, leaving the place feeling hollow. Rowan grabbed his coffee mug, she'd left it out for him, and nodded her way.
"Morning," he said, voice rough. "Thanks for patching me up last night."
She glanced over, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his pale face. "You look like you've seen a ghost. How's the shoulder?"
"Sore, but better than it should be," he admitted, rolling it gingerly. "Weirdly better. Must've been the adrenaline."
Elara didn't reply, just turned back to her work, but her silence felt heavier than usual. He sipped the coffee, its bitterness grounding him, and pulled out his notebook. The deer carcass, the claw marks, the attack, he needed to make sense of it. But every time he tried to sketch the scene, his mind drifted to those eyes, sharp and alive in the fog.
The door creaked open, and an old man shuffled in, his coat dripping with mist. His face was a map of wrinkles, eyes sunken but bright, like he'd seen too much to ever look away. He nodded at Elara, then spotted Rowan and froze.
"You're the new one," the man said, his voice a low rasp. "The one pokin' at the attacks."
Rowan set his mug down, meeting the man's stare. "Name's Rowan. Yeah, I'm looking into what's been happening. You know anything about it?" The old man hobbled closer, leaning on a gnarled cane. "Folks call me Tam. Been here my whole life, seen things ye wouldn't believe. Them attacks ain't no wildcat or stray dog. It's the Silent Moon's work."
Rowan raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Silent Moon? Sounds like a story to scare kids."
Tam's lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. "A story, aye, but true as the hills. Every few years, when the moon turns red and silent, the pack wakes. Men who walk as wolves, cursed by blood older than this town. They hunt, they kill, and they take what's theirs. Last night's moon was a warnin'... blood on the edge, callin' the alphas."
Rowan felt a chill, but he forced a laugh. "Wolves haven't been in Scotland for centuries. I'm sticking to tracks and evidence, not ghost stories."
Tam's eyes darkened. "Evidence, ye say? Ye'll find none that holds up when the moon's got its claws in ye. Ask around, folks here know. They've buried the proof."
Before Rowan could press, the door swung open again, and a woman with a shawl pulled tight around her shoulders stepped in. Her face was pinched, her gaze darting between Tam and Rowan. "Tam, ye shouldn't be stirrin' trouble," she snapped. "Outsider or not, he doesn't need yer tales."
"He's already marked," Tam shot back, pointing at Rowan's bandaged shoulder. "Ye can smell it, can't ye, Mara? The pack's scent on him."
Mara's eyes widened, and she took a step back, crossing herself. "Lord, save us. Ye should've stayed away, lad. The Silent Moon doesn't forgive meddlin'."
Rowan stood, frustration bubbling up. "Look, I don't know what you're on about, but I'm not here to stir trouble. I got attacked last night by something big, something real. I just want to figure out what it was."
Elara stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension. "Enough. Tam, Mara, leave him be. He's hurt, not cursed. Go on now."
The two exchanged looks but shuffled out, their whispers lingering like the mist. Rowan turned to Elara, his jaw tight. "What was that about? Marked? Pack? You believe this stuff too?"
She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "I believe the town's scared, and fear makes people see things. But Tam's right about one thing. Last night's moon wasn't normal. It's got folks talking, and they've got long memories."
He studied her, trying to read the flicker in her eyes. "You're not telling me everything, are you?"
"I'm telling you what I can," she said, her tone firm but gentle. "Finish your coffee and rest. You're no good to anyone if you're dead on your feet."
Reluctantly, he sat back down, but his mind wouldn't settle. The locals' words stuck with him….. Silent Moon, pack, alphas. It was nonsense, yet the way they'd looked at his shoulder made his skin crawl. After finishing his coffee, he grabbed his gear and stepped outside, the mist wrapping around him like a damp cloak. He needed to check those camera traps, get some hard data to shut down the fairy tales.
The forest was quieter than it should've been, the usual bird calls muted, the air heavy with damp earth. He found the first trap where he'd left it, the red light blinking steadily. Popping the memory card, he headed back to the inn to review the footage. Inside his room, he hooked it up to his laptop, the screen flickering to life. The first few clips showed nothing but swaying trees and drifting fog. Then, a
shadow moved fast, too fast. The camera caught a glimpse of fur, a flash of amber eyes, and then darkness as something knocked it over.
Rowan replayed it, his heart picking up. Whatever it was, it wasn't human, and it wasn't a known animal. He scribbled notes, trying to measure the size from the frame, but his hands shook. The claw marks on the deer, the attack, now this, something was out there, and it wasn't playing by the rules he knew. A knock at the door jolted him. Elara stood there, holding a tray with bread and cheese. "Thought you might need this," she said, setting it down. "You've been up here a while."
"Thanks," he muttered, gesturing to the screen. "Look at this. Caught something on the trap. Big, fast, not natural."
She leaned over, her brow furrowing as she watched the clip. "That's… not good. The others will say it's the pack, the alphas waking. They believe the Silent Moon calls them, turns men into beasts."
Rowan rubbed his temples. "And you? What do you think?"
She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the laptop. "I think Skyevale's seen too much to ignore the old stories. But I also think you should be careful. That wound… It's healing too quickly."
He glanced at his shoulder, the bandage still in place. She was right, it didn't hurt as much as it should. "Maybe it's just a good immune system," he said, but the words felt hollow.
Elara straightened, her expression unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe the moon's already got its hooks in you. Rest up. You'll need it."
She left, closing the door softly behind her. Rowan sat there, staring at the frozen image on the screen, the amber eyes staring back. The locals' whispers echoed in his head, mixing with the ache in his shoulder. He'd come here to debunk a myth, but now he wasn't so sure. The forest felt alive, watching, waiting. And deep
down, a part of him wondered if Tam was right, if the Silent Moon had marked him for something he couldn't yet understand.
Outside, the mist thickened, and a low howl drifted through the trees, too close for comfort. Rowan's breath caught, his hand hovering over the tranquilizer gun. Whatever was out there, it wasn't done with him yet.