The fear is there—cold and sharp as winter air in my lungs. It doesn't leave. I act anyway, leaving the car and moving up the trail toward the agreed upon location.
The creature'sattention fractures between the pack flanking its left and the scent trail I've been laying for the past ten minutes. I crouch behind a fallen oak, counting heartbeats as the growl I now know is Rowan's echoes from the ridge above.
"Now would be good," I whisper into the radio, watching the thing's massive head swivel toward the sound.
The creature is larger than anything should be, all wrong angles and too-long limbs that bend in places they shouldn't. Its awareness splits like a broken mirror—hunting instinct warring with territorial rage as the pack closes in from multiple directions.
Mara's voice crackles through the earpiece. "Eastern flank in position."
I ease forward, keeping low. The plan hinges on timing, not heroics. The creature's attachment to this specific grove makes it predictable—it won't abandon the territory even when surrounded.
"Distraction in three," I murmur, pulling the air horn from my jacket.
The blast cuts through the forest like a blade. The creature's head swivels eerily toward me, and I see its eyes—too intelligent, too hungry. But instead of charging, I'm already moving, using the moment of confusion to dart between the trees toward the second position.
You know, you really should’ve lost 100 pounds before trying to outrun a lethal hungry wolf monster. It’s like they said in Zombieland. It’s all about the cardio.
I hear Caleb’s voice boom through the radio.
"Eastern push, now!"
The pack surges forward in coordinated waves. Not attacking—herding. Forcing the creature toward the trap we've spent hours preparing.
I reach the clearing as planned, but the creature moves faster than anticipated. It breaks through Rowan's line like paper, heading straight for me with those impossible limbs eating up ground.
My foot catches on exposed root. The world tilts, and I hit the forest floor hard, shoulder slamming against stone. Pain shoots down my arm, but I roll anyway, putting the boulder between us.
"Caleb!" I shout into the radio, not in panic but in partnership. "Northwest corner—redirect needed!"
The creature rounds the boulder, and I can smell its breath—decay and copper and something worse. But I'm not helpless. I'm exactly where I need to be.
I trigger the second horn, the sound bouncing off the rock face in a cacophony that sends the creature reeling backward. Its territorial instincts kick in, and it spins toward the perceived threat from the cliffs.
That's when Caleb hits it from behind, all controlled fury and pack authority. Not to rescue me, but to finish what we started together.
26
CALEB
The creature staggers from my impact, but doesn't fall. Blood streams from its flank where my claws found purchase, yet it wheels around with that unsettling intelligence burning in its eyes.
"Containment's broken on the eastern perimeter," Rowan's voice cuts through my earpiece, breathless from the chase. "It's not following the predicted patterns."
I circle the creature, keeping myself between it and Ellie as she pushes herself upright behind the boulder. She appears to be in pain, but her grip on the radio remains steady.
"Because we've been playing by rules that don't exist anymore," I respond, dodging a swipe that would have taken my head off. "Mara, what's your position?"
"Southern ridge, but the old barrier points are useless. This thing's learned our playbook."
The creature feints left, then lunges right—a tactic we've never seen it use before. I barely avoid the strike, and the realization hits me like ice water.
"It's been watching us," I call out. "Learning how we contain threats."
"Well, that's deeply unsettling," Ellie mutters, struggling to her feet. "Got any new ideas, or are we improvising from here?"
The words sit there, unanswered, as the creature repositions itself. Decades of pack protocol scream at me to fall back, regroup, wait for it to retreat to familiar territory. But waiting is what taught it to adapt in the first place.
"Rowan, forget the eastern approach. Come in from the northwest—use the terrain, not the boundaries."