Chapter 3: The First Attack
Rowan couldn't shake the weight pressing on his chest as he stepped out into the
gray morning, the mist curling around his boots like it had a mind of its own. His
shoulder ached under the bandage, a dull throb that pulsed with every step, but it
was the memory of those amber eyes that kept him on edge. The camera footage
from last night played in his head... fur, speed, a shadow too big to be anything
he'd studied. He needed answers, and the forest was the only place to find them.
He slung his gear over his good shoulder. notebook, camera, tranquilizer gun, and
headed down the muddy path leading out of Skyevale. The town was eerily quiet,
the cottages shuttered tight, as if the people inside were holding their breath. The
howl he'd heard last night lingered in his ears, too close, too real. Tam's words
about the Silent Moon and the pack gnawed at him, but he pushed them down.
He was a scientist, not a believer in ghost stories.
The forest swallowed him whole, the trees standing like silent sentinels, their
branches dripping with moisture. The air smelled of wet earth and something
sharper, metallic, like blood. He moved carefully, scanning the ground for tracks,
his breath fogging in the chill. Then he saw a dark shape half-hidden in the
underbrush, its stillness wrong against the rustling leaves.
.
Rowan crouched, his stomach turning as he pushed aside the ferns. It was a deer,
or what was left of it. Its body was torn open, ribs splayed like broken fingers, and
the ground around it was soaked with dark, congealed blood. He pulled out his
camera, snapping photos with shaky hands. The claw marks were deep, jagged,
stretching across the flank in a way that didn't match any predator he knew. Too
wide for a fox, too irregular for a bear. His mind raced... could it be a hoax? Some
localsare trying to spook him? But the stench, the rawness of the kill, felt too real.
He traced a finger near the marks, careful not to disturb them, and froze. The
edges were fresh, the blood still tacky. Whatever this had been here recently
, maybe last night, when he'd been attacked. His shoulder twinged, and he rubbed
It absently, the bandage crinkling under his touch. The coincidence gnawed at him,
but he shook it off, jotting notes in his book: Claw marks, 10-12 inches, irregular
pattern. No known species.
A rustle in the trees snapped him upright, his hand flying to the tranquilizer gun.
The forest went still, the birds silent, and for a moment, he thought he heard
breathing....low, ragged, too close. "Hello?" he called, his voice sounding small
against the vastness. Nothing answered, but the air felt heavier, charged with
something he couldn't name.
Back at the inn, Rowan spread his photos and notes across the table, the dim light
of the lantern casting long shadows. Elara glanced over as she passed with a tray,
her brow furrowing. "Found something, did you?"
"Yeah," he said, pointing to the images. "A deer, ripped apart. Those claw marks
don't match anything I've seen. Too big, too... strange."
She leaned in, her expression tightening. "Where was it?"
"Deep in the forest, near where I set the traps. Same area I got attacked." He
hesitated, then added, "The blood was fresh. Whatever did it might've been close
last night."
Elara's eyes flicked to his shoulder, then away. "The others will say it's the pack.
They've found carcasses like that before, always under the Silent Moon."
He sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm not buying into that yet. But I can't deny it's
weird. I need to check the other traps, see if I caught more on camera."
She nodded, but her silence felt loaded. "Be careful. The forest's different this
time of year. People go in and don't always come back."
Rowan grabbed his gear and headed out again, the mist thicker now, clinging to
his skin. He found the next trap a half-mile in, its red light blinking steadily. The
memory card held more footage... trees swaying, fog drifting, then a blur of
Motion. He froze the frame, zooming in. There it was again. Fur, amber eyes, a
shape that shifted too fast to hold. His breath caught as he noticed something
else: the creature's paw, massive and clawed, pressed into the mud near the
camera. The print was huge, the claws leaving deep gouges. He measured it
against his boot, twice the size of a wolf's.
His hands trembled as he packed up, the weight of the gun heavier now. Back at
the inn, he reviewed the footage again, the image burning into his mind. The
locals' talk of alphas and cursed bloodlines started to feel less like nonsense. He
stood, pacing the small room, when a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He
winced, peeling back the bandage. The wound was scabbed over, the skin around
it red and hot, but what stopped him cold was the mark beneath.... a faint, jagged
scar that seemed to pulse faintly, almost glowing in the lantern light.
"What the hell..." he muttered, pressing a finger to it. The pain flared, and for a
split second, his vision blurred, flashes of fur, teeth, a howl echoing in his skull. He
stumbled back, heart pounding, and splashed water on his face from the basin. It
was exhaustion, he told himself. Or shock. But the unease wouldn't leave.
Downstairs, the common room was filling up as evening fell. Tam was there,
nursing a pint, and Mara sat by the fire, her shawl pulled tight. Rowan
approached, the photos in hand. "I found this today," he said, laying them out. "A
deer, torn up. Claw marks like nothing I've seen. Does any of you know what could do
that?"
Tam leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Told ye, lad. The pack. Them alphas
don't leave clean kills. That's their mark rage and hunger."
Mara crossed herself, muttering, "Silent Moon's got its teeth in ye now. Ye
should've left when ye had the chance."
Rowan clenched his jaw. "I'm not here to believe in fairy tales. I need facts. Has
Anyone seen this thing?"
A young man at the back, his face pale, spoke up. "My cousin did, two nights ago.
Said it was a man one minute, then... not. Big as a horse, eyes like fire. He ran, but
it followed him halfway home."
The room went quiet, the air thick with fear. Rowan felt it too, a knot tightening in
his gut. He thanked them and retreated to his room, the scar on his shoulder
itching now. He sat on the bed, staring at the photos, the footage, the print. His
mind raced. Science couldn't explain this, not yet. But his body felt different,
heavier, like something was waking inside him.
That night, sleep came fitfully. He dreamed of the forest, the deer's torn body, and
those eyes staring back. But this time, the creature turned, and he saw his own
face or something like it, twisted, feral. He jolted awake, sweat soaking his shirt,
his hearing sharper than it should've been. The creak of the floorboards
downstairs, the drip of the faucet, the distant hoot of an owl, all of it rang clear. He
stumbled to the mirror, his reflection catching the moonlight. For a moment, his
eyes seemed to flicker, a hint of amber in the brown, before fading.
Rowan backed away, his breath ragged. The attack, the scar, the dreams, it was all
connected. The Silent Moon, the pack, the alphas. He didn't want to believe, but
the evidence was piling up, and his own body was turning against him. Outside,
the mist swirled, and a low growl echoed through the night, calling him back to the trees.