Chapter 8: The Fog Returns
Rowan woke to a stillness that felt wrong, the inn's usual creaks and murmurs swallowed by an oppressive quiet. His shoulder burned, the scar pulsing beneath the fresh bandage Elara had applied, and the memory of yesterday's
forest…. those ancient stones, the whisper clung to him like damp earth. He sat up, rubbing his face, the air heavy with the scent of rain that hadn't fallen. The mist outside his window was thicker than ever, a gray wall pressing against the glass, and the red moon glowed faintly through it, a bloodstain in the sky. Something was coming he could feel it, a pull deep in his gut that he couldn't ignore.
Downstairs, the common room was empty, the fire out, leaving a cold ash scent in the air. Elara was nowhere in sight, and the silence gnawed at him. He grabbed his gear notebook, camera, tranquilizer gun his hands trembling slightly as he slung the bag over his shoulder. The villagers' warnings, Tam's tales of the pack, Elara's cryptic concern… they all swirled in his head, but he pushed them down. He needed to check the forest again, to confirm what he'd seen, to hold onto the science that had always grounded him.
Stepping outside, the mist enveloped him, cold and thick, the ground slick under his boots. The village was deserted, the cottages dark, as if everyone had vanished into the fog. He followed the path toward the forest, the lantern's light barely cutting through the haze, its flame dancing wildly. The air grew heavier, carrying that metallic tang again, and his hearing sharpened, every drip of water, every rustle of leaves rang clear. His skin prickled, a sensation like fingers brushing his neck, and the scar on his shoulder flared, sending a shiver down his spine.
He reached the clearing with the stones, the carvings faintly visible in the mist. The ground still glowed faintly, a dark patch that seemed to pulse, and he knelt, sketching it quickly. The whisper returned, low and wild, calling his name, and he froze, his breath shallow. "Who's there?" he muttered, scanning the trees, but the fog swallowed his voice. The itch in his shoulder spread, heat radiating through his chest, and he rubbed it, wincing as the bandage grew damp again. A growl rumbled from the shadows, deep and guttural, and he swung the gun up, heart pounding. The mist parted, and a shape emerged tall, furred, its amber eyes locking onto him. It moved too fast, a blur of muscle and claws, and before he could fire, it lunged. Pain exploded in his side as claws raked across his ribs, hot blood soaking his shirt. He stumbled, firing the tranquilizer dart wildly, and heard a snarl as it struck something. The world tilted, the forest spinning, and he hit the ground, darkness closing in.
When consciousness returned, the moon hung higher, its red glow casting an eerie light. His side throbbed, the wound searing, but he forced himself up, clutching the gun. The creature was gone, the dart lying spent in the mud, and the air was thick with the scent of blood, his blood. He staggered back toward the inn, the mist clinging to him, his legs trembling. His hearing was sharper still, picking up the rustle of leaves miles away, and his vision cut through the fog, edges crisp where they should've been blurred.
Bursting through the inn's door, he collapsed into a chair, his breath ragged. Elara rushed from the kitchen, her face paling as she saw the blood. "Rowan!" she gasped, kneeling beside him, her hands quick as she tore at his shirt to expose the wound. The gash was deep, but even as she pressed a cloth to it, the edges were knitting together, the blood slowing unnaturally fast.
"What happened?" she demanded, her voice tight with worry. "Attacked again," he rasped, wincing as she cleaned the wound. "Same thing big, fast. Claws like knives."
Her eyes flicked to his shoulder, then back to the new injury. "You're healing too quick. This… this isn't normal." She paused, her hands trembling slightly. "The pack's mark. It's triggering something."
He leaned back, breathing hard, the heat in his side spreading. "What are you talking about? It's just shock, adrenaline"
"No," she cut in, her gaze steady. "It's the curse. The Silent Moon's waking it in you. I've seen it before, men who go into the forest, come back… different."
Rowan shook his head, but the words hit hard. His body felt wrong… hot, restless, his senses overwhelming. He heard the drip of the faucet upstairs, the creak of the floorboards, a howl in the distance that seemed to call to him. "Different how?" he asked, his voice cracking.
Elara hesitated, her hands still on the cloth. "Like them. The pack. Your blood's tied to it, and the attacks are pulling it out. You need to rest, let me watch you."
He wanted to argue, to cling to his skepticism, but the pain shifted, becoming something else, a surge, a hunger. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw amber eyes in the mirror of his mind, his own face twisting. He gripped the chair, fighting it, and Elara's hand on his arm steadied him, her touch cool against his fevered skin.
"Stay here," she said firmly. "I'll get water, something to calm you. Don't move."
She hurried off, and Rowan sat there, the room spinning. The wound on his side was scabbing over, the scar on his shoulder glowing faintly under the bandage. His nails dug into the wood, and a low growl escaped his throat, unbidden. He clamped a hand over his mouth, horrified, but the sound lingered, echoing the howl outside.
Elara returned with a damp cloth and a cup, her face set with determination. "Drink this," she said, holding it to his lips. The water was bitter, laced with herbs,
and it dulled the heat slightly. She wiped his forehead, her closeness a strange comfort, though he pushed the thought away. "You're fighting it," she murmured. "That's good. But it won't stop unless we figure out why."
"Why me?" he whispered, his voice raw. "I'm not one of them."
Her eyes darkened, a secret flickering there. "Maybe you are, more than you know. Rest now. We'll talk when you're steady."
He nodded, too exhausted to argue, and let her guide him to a cot she'd set up. As he lay down, the mist pressed against the window, and another howl rang out, closer this time. His body trembled, the transformation stirring, and he knew the forest and whatever lurked there wasn't done with him. The curse was real, and it was sinking its claws deeper, whether he believed it or not.