Chapter 8: The Blood Trail
The snow outside the tavern was no longer clean. Crimson stained the drifts in wide arcs, a gruesome path leading away into the woods. The villagers crowded around, lanterns held high, faces pale and mouths tight with fear.
Clara clutched the edge of her coat, trying to breathe evenly. The screams had stopped, but silence was worse. Silence meant something had been taken.
"God above…" someone whispered.
Jonah pushed through the crowd, rifle in hand, jaw hard. He crouched near the first splash of blood, studying the prints. "Dragged," he muttered grimly. "Something big took them."
"Something," Marjorie hissed. Her sharp eyes cut to Elias, who stood apart from the crowd, his coat still torn from the church fight. "Or someone."
Murmurs rippled. Suspicion swelled again, thick as smoke.
Clara's chest tightened. "That's not fair—"
Marjorie pointed a bony finger. "He fought that beast and walked away without a mark. Now another body's gone, and oh look, here he is again, right on time!"
"Enough," Jonah snapped, standing tall. "Elias isn't the one leaving claw marks in doors."
"And you know that how?" Marjorie shot back. "He's not normal. We've all seen it."
All eyes turned to Elias. He didn't flinch, didn't defend himself. He simply stood, silent and watchful, eyes glinting faintly in the lantern glow.
Clara couldn't take it. She stepped forward, her voice steady though her hands trembled. "If Elias wanted anyone dead, we wouldn't be standing here to argue about it. He saved us in the hall. He saved me. Twice."
The crowd shifted uneasily. Some nodded. Others frowned, unwilling to be convinced.
Jonah seized the moment. "We don't have time to argue. Whatever took that person is out there now. We track it before it circles back."
A few men muttered agreement, adjusting rifles and lanterns. Others shook their heads, fear carving deep lines in their faces.
Marjorie clutched her shawl tighter. "You'll lead us into death. We should stay inside, lock the doors, pray until morning."
"Prayer won't stop it," Elias finally spoke, his voice low but sharp. "But fire might. Silver might. If you have either, use it."
That earned a collective flinch. "Silver?" someone echoed.
Elias's gaze swept the crowd. "You've all heard the stories, even if you've ignored them. Believe them now, or die pretending."
The silence that followed was heavy. No one wanted to admit the old tales were real. No one wanted to say the word.
Finally, Jonah straightened, rifle on his shoulder. "I'm following the trail. Anyone with a backbone, come with me. The rest of you—board the windows and don't open the doors for anything until dawn."
He moved to follow the blood into the trees. Clara hesitated—then stepped after him.
"Clara," Jonah barked, "no."
"I'm not hiding while others bleed," she shot back. Her voice wavered, but her resolve didn't.
Jonah clenched his jaw, then looked at Elias. "Fine. But he stays in sight."
Elias said nothing, only fell into stride beside her as the small hunting party gathered: Jonah, two nervous townsmen, Clara, and Elias bringing up the rear. Lanterns bobbed as they entered the woods, shadows stretching long over the snow.
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The trail was easy to follow at first. Blood splattered trees, dotted the path, painted the white world with horror.
"God help us," one of the men whispered, his breath fogging.
But as they pressed deeper, the blood thinned. Tracks twisted, overlapping, confusing. The trees loomed thicker, their black arms tangled overhead.
Clara's lantern shook in her grip. "Why did it stop bleeding?"
Elias answered quietly, "Because it doesn't want to be found."
Jonah shot him a look. "Or because it finished the job."
The other men muttered nervously, but pressed on.
At last, they reached a clearing. A shred of fabric dangled from a low branch, stiff with frozen blood. Nearby, claw marks raked the bark deep. Snow churned where something heavy had fallen, then vanished into the trees.
One of the men gagged, turning away. "There's no body."
"Not yet," Elias said. His voice was flat, controlled, but Clara could hear the steel beneath.
Jonah paced the clearing, frowning. "The trail splits here. Two sets of prints—both big. Means there's more than one."
The men swore under their breath, panic rippling.
Clara's chest squeezed. "Two… werewolves?"
Jonah's face was grim. "Looks that way."
The men muttered about turning back, about telling the others, but Jonah shook his head. "If we leave now, it'll take another tonight. Or ten. We keep going."
They argued in hushed voices, fear eroding courage. Clara drifted to the edge of the clearing, lantern held high. The snow glittered faintly under its glow, the forest silent except for the crackle of branches.
Elias appeared beside her, quiet as breath. His presence startled her, but not in the way Jonah's rifle cracks did. With Elias, her pulse raced for different reasons.
"You shouldn't be here," he murmured.
She met his gaze, steady despite the fear tightening her stomach. "You keep saying that, but you never explain why."
His jaw flexed. His eyes caught the lantern light, silver glinting again at their edges. "Because the more you see of me, the harder it will be to run when you need to."
Her heart thudded painfully. "You saved me. Saved all of us. Why can't you just admit you're not the monster they think you are?"
"Because I'm not sure that's true." His voice was raw, low.
The words hung between them, heavy as snow-laden branches. She stepped closer without thinking, their breath mingling in the cold air. "Then tell me. Tell me what you are."
He stared at her, his face carved in conflict. For a moment, it seemed he might. His hand lifted slightly, as though reaching for her, but stopped short.
"Clara—"
A rifle cracked.
Both spun, lantern light jerking wildly. Jonah stood across the clearing, rifle aimed at the trees. "Movement!" he barked.
The woods exploded with sound. A howl shattered the night, so close Clara felt it in her bones. Lanterns swung wildly, shouts rising.
The men bolted toward Jonah, panic erasing resolve.
"Back!" Elias roared, stepping in front of Clara as snow churned at the edge of the clearing. Shadows moved—massive, hulking, circling.
Jonah fired again, the shot vanishing into the dark. Something snarled, furious and deep.
"We're surrounded," Jonah growled.
Elias's posture stiffened, his silver glint burning brighter now, no longer hidden. Clara saw it. She knew what it meant. But before she could ask, before she could even breathe, the howls rose again—two of them, answering each other.
And Clara realized with a sick jolt that they'd been wrong about the monster circling them.
It wasn't hunting in the woods.
It was hunting in the town.