Chapter 5

Mark pursued through the twisting cavern, the bastard’s ragged breaths echoing in the darkness, a tantalizing promise of the reckoning to come. He’s not getting away this time.

His glowstick cast a pathetically small circle of light, the darkness beyond pressing in on him, a suffocating presence.

He pushed himself, his enhanced speed a blur, but Elia, his silhouette dancing in the dim light, remained just out of reach. The fucker was fast, surprisingly fast.

Why isn’t he teleporting? He’d expected him to shimmer, to vanish but no.

Their ragged breaths, their pounding footsteps, the only sounds in the vast, space.

Suddenly, bastard took a sharp turn towards a narrow crevice, a dark, jagged opening that looked like a gaping maw.

Mark pushed harder, his muscles screaming, his lungs burning, the adrenaline a fire in his veins. He was so close.

In a last-ditch effort, he lunged forward, but ended up slamming into the unyielding stone as Elia slipped through the narrow gap disappearing from sight.

“Damn it!”

Squirming through the narrow gap, the jagged rock scratching his skin, he cursed under his breath. The space was so snug, barely giving room for his broad frame, making him grit his teeth in annoyance. Persisting, he wriggled and wiggled pushing forward, the musty smell of wet soil clinging to the air.

After what felt like an eternity, the passage widened, and he could see a faint light in the distance. An exit? He broke into a run, his heart pounding, and emerged into the cool night air.

Blinking, he squinted in the moon’s soft glow, the sudden change from darkness catching him off guard.

He looked around, trying to orient himself. How long was I down there?

Thick forest and vegetation stretched out in every direction, the air filled with the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves.

Where did the bastard go? He quickly scanned the area and noticed disturbed foliage and faint footprints in the soft soil. There.

He followed the trail, pushing through the dense undergrowth, thorns snagging his clothes, branches scratching his skin.

The trail led him to a small clearing, a sudden break in the dense foliage that felt ... wrong.

Something pale and still jutted from the ground in the center of the clearing, like a broken bone.

What is that?

He approached cautiously, his senses on high alert. It was an arm, a human arm, twisted at an unnatural angle, the flesh pale and lifeless. What the...

The rest of the body was hidden under a tangle of ferns and ivy.

Kneeling down, he gently pushed the foliage aside and flipped the body over.

It wasn’t Elia but an older, large man. A brutal blow had crushed his skull and bloodied his hair. The wound was fresh, the blood still sticky. This just happened.

A few feet away, he spotted another body, this one mangled beyond recognition, the flesh shredded, the clothes torn, the mutilations so extreme he couldn’t even hazard a guess. What the hell happened here?

He looked around, searching for clues, for answers, his mind racing. This is insane. Did Elia do this?

And then it hit him.

A scent, sickly-sweet and overwhelming smell that made his blood run cold, his heart pound, his every sense go into overdrive.

A wave of pure, primal instinct that short-circuited his brain, his thoughts dissolving into a single, all-consuming HUNGER.

No ... it can’t be...

All conscious thought fled as his hind-brain took over, zeroing in on the scent with ferocious need.

He recognized it, the same scent that day in the library. How?

The world blurred, shrinking to a pinpoint focus.

▲\▼/▲—∞—▼/▲\▼

The scent pulled Mark through the forest, a bloodhound on the trail of its prey. Elia’s trail vanished from his thoughts, swallowed by a new, overwhelming pull.

Gotta find her.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t reason, couldn’t even question the overwhelming urge that drove him forward.

Pushing his way through the tangled mess of bushes, branches clawing at his arms, and thorns tugging at his shirt, he powered on, not bothered by the minor inconveniences. His body moved on autopilot, lost in a foggy daze with only one burning desire driving him forward.

Take her.

The familiar words echoed in his mind, a mantra, a command, a promise.

Take her ... take her ... TAKE HER!!!

The scent grew stronger, thicker, sweeter, filling his lungs, stoking the fire in his veins. He quickened his pace, his heart pounding, his breath coming in ragged gasps. She’s close.

He could almost taste her, the anticipation a physical ache in his gut. He didn’t care about Elia anymore, didn’t care about the mission, didn’t care about anything but the euphoric, overwhelming joy of finding her, of claiming her.

He ran, his feet barely touching the ground, trees blurring past in a dance of shadow, night breeze cool against his skin.

His pursuit eventually brought him to a small cliff overlooking a wooded valley.

And there, below the cliff, he saw her.

Tall, at least six feet, with a toned, athletic physique that radiated power and grace. Her long, golden hair flowed down her back, a wild mane that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

Her skin glowed, her features sharp, her eyes ... he couldn’t see her eyes from this distance.

She stood on a boulder, her presence commanding, her posture as fierce and unyielding as the forest around her. She radiated power—raw, unbridled, and magnetic—a queen basking in her domain.

A dozen figures, armed with weapons, surrounded her, but they were mere shadows, their presence insignificant compared to the raw, untamed power that radiated from her.

She looked ... ravishing. Powerful. Dangerous. Mine.

Mark froze, lurking in the shadows, completely captivated by her every gesture, his whole being consumed by his craving for her. I am...

“Surrender, Katrina!” a voice shouted from the crowd. “It’s over!”

“Surrender? And to whom?” She responded with a soft, melodious laugh. “This rabble of disobedient whelps?”

“We made a mistake letting someone like you lead us,” another voice snarled. “We’re taking back what’s ours, bitch”

“Better a bitch than a pack of sniveling cowards,” she retorted. “At least I have the balls to lead you pathetic losers!”

Angry shouts and curses erupted from the crowd, their words a mix of frustration and fear.

“You bitch!”

“Whore!”

“We’ll kill you!”

“Is this the best you’ve got?” She tsked disapprovingly “Lame threats and insults? How ... disappointing.”

More taunts and curses were flung up, but Katrina remained unfazed, smirking as if delighting in their impotent fury.

“Enough of these pitiful displays. If you’ve come to challenge me, then prove your worth with actions ... not meaningless tongue-wagging like ill-bred whelps.”

Her words seemed to deflate their bravado, their earlier confidence replaced by a hesitant uncertainty. One by one, they lowered their gazes, their anger replaced by a flicker of doubt.

“What’s the matter?” She taunted, savoring the words mockingly. “Lost your balls?”

One of the larger figures, a hulking brute with a scarred face, roared, charging towards her, his blade a glint of steel in the moonlight.

Katrina leaped from the boulder, landing gracefully in front of him. She sidestepped his clumsy swing with ease, then, before he could recover, she delivered a single, precise punch to his midsection.

Crunch. The air exploded from his lungs, and he crumpled to the ground, his body convulsing.

“Who’s next?”

The others hesitated for a moment, then, fueled by a mix of rage and desperation, they charged, their weapons raised.

Katrina flowed through their midst, her movements a blur of speed and power.

A sweeping kick took out two of them, their knees buckling. An elbow to the face sent another sprawling, blood spurting from his nose. She was a whirlwind of motion, her attacks precise, her strength undeniable, her grace unsettling.

Enemies rained down from all angles, but she didn’t so much as acquire a scratch.

It was like watching a tornado tear through a scrapyard - cyclonic movement punctuated by bursts of devastating force that sent bodies ragdolling away.

She was a predator, and they were her prey.

“Is that all you’ve got? You’re a disgrace to the pack.”

An axe hissed by her head, close enough to part a few golden tresses. “If you can’t handle me...” She seized the discarded weapon mid-swing and cracked the wielder across the jaw with the flat of the blade. “ ... maybe you should grow some and try again!”

The place was a chaotic mess of bodies, people groaning and writhing in pain, their attack a pathetic display of misplaced ambition. None had even managed to graze her, their clumsy blows easily deflected, their desperate attempts to overwhelm her met with brutal efficiency.

Three of the remaining figures shimmered, their bodies shifting, their bones cracking, their muscles bulging as they transformed into massive wolves, their fur matted, their eyes glowing with a feral hunger.

Werewolves, huh?

One of the wolves howled, a long, mournful sound that echoed through the valley, and more figures emerged from the trees, their shadows lengthening in the moonlight. Shit, there’s more of them. Mark counted at least fifty.

“We’ll end your reign tonight!” one of them shouted, his voice full of rage.

“Seriously?” Katrina scoffed, rolling her eyes. “More numbers? You think that will...”

She left the words hanging as her gaze snapped towards the cliff’s edge.

“What, bitch?” the same voice taunted. “Got nothing to say?”

But Katrina ignored him, her gaze fixed, her expression ... different. It wasn’t anger, wasn’t fear, it was something else, something ... hungry.

She feels it too. Mark realized, a thrill running through him.

“Looks like she’s got backup!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Get him!”

“Shit,” He leapt from the precipice - plunging into their midst even as the first volley of blades and hurled projectiles filled the air where he’d been perched.