by SM Reine
“You should run,” Seth mumbled. “I’m going to kill you.”
He realized it didn’t sound threatening, but he had to try. Jericho let out a cruel, laughing yip.
Shaking his head to clear it, Seth examined his surroundings. Stone pillars towered above him, forming a ring. There were no other mountains in sight. He was at the very top of Gray Mountain.
Seth had read all the legends from his family’s books, but he never believed it was real, even though he spent half the summer looking for it.
The temple.
Jericho was even more intimidating as a wolf than as a human. His dark form silhouetted against the stars was like a black hole. A chill ran over Seth when he realized the werewolf was examining him. Jericho was trying to figure out why he hadn’t torn through Seth’s clothing.
But he wasn’t attacking. He was waiting.
For what?
Jericho strolled away, staring at a starless patch of sky.
Seth wasn’t safe yet. Just because Jericho hadn’t bitten him didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. He searched the dark mountaintop for his rifle and saw it wedged between two boulders further down the slope.
He tested his legs by trying to get onto his knees. They wouldn’t support his weight. Seth had sprained something—maybe even broken a few bones. But he needed his gun.
It was so quiet on the top of the mountain. All he could hear was the cold, gusting wind. His hands slipped on ice as he began to drag himself toward his rifle. Seth wasn’t dressed for such high elevations. His fingers were losing sensation.
Jericho only needed two steps to cross the distance between them. He shoved Seth with his muzzle to keep him from the gun.
Seth shoved back, pushing his face away, but Jericho only nudged him again. It was like the werewolf was toying with him. “Are you waiting for Rylie?” Seth demanded, his breath fogging the air.
Jericho’s head tilted to the side. His hot breath stank of rotten meat and his fur smelled like mud.
“She won’t come,” he went on. “She’s too strong to transform.”
The werewolf didn’t react. Seth moved experimentally toward his gun again, but a heavy paw crushed his chest. Jericho’s weight bore down on his ribcage and he gasped at the pressure. The message was clear: Don’t move.
Jericho turned to stare at the moon again.
“She’s not coming,” Seth insisted.
He unhooked the knife from his belt. If he could just provoke Jericho into attacking, maybe he could get at his weak underbelly. It was his only chance. Seth wasn’t ready to die.
“You were going to try to change everyone at camp, weren’t you? Nobody you bit has survived and everyone else got to safety where you can’t reach them. All you have left is Rylie, but she’s not going to transform tonight.” Seth could only pray it was true.
Jericho began to pace. Each time his paws hit the stone, it sounded like a sandbag falling. He had to have been the biggest werewolf Seth had ever seen.
“I killed your pup,” Seth said. “You’re alone now, and nobody will ever come back to these camps. You failed.”
Jericho finally returned his attention to Seth. His teeth were bared and his hackles rose as he stalked toward the hunter. Seth flipped the knife around in his hand and braced himself for the attack.
But it never came.
A second dark shape appeared on one of the highest pillars, gazing down at them. Its fur glowed gold in the starlight.
Seth’s heart plummeted into his gut.
Rylie.
The two werewolves studied each other from a distance. Jericho’s fur smoothed and his tail swished once. He gave an inquiring yip, as though to ask if she was on his side. It was almost a sad sound. Seth wondered if he was upset about losing his pup.
He held his breath waiting for Rylie’s response. Jericho yipped again. Rylie growled, and Jericho’s fur stood on end.
She leaped down. The wolves collided like two fronts of a storm.
Rylie landed on Jericho’s back, and her claws raked red stripes down his spine. He freed himself of her in a flash. They didn’t play around—they were both out for blood.
They crashed together. Jericho’s teeth tore at Rylie’s ear. She buried her claws in his belly. They rolled and fell, hitting the rocks below.
Seth didn’t stop to watch. He hurried toward his rifle, dragging himself as quickly as he could across the slick ground with a lame leg. Every little motion sent pain rippling anew through his body, but there was nothing more motivational than knowing he was stranded alone with two bloodthirsty animals.
A furred body tumbled past him. Seth couldn’t tell which one it was. He buried his knife in it, and the responding howl was deeper than Rylie’s growls. Jericho jerked the knife out of Seth’s hand, the blade trapped between his ribs.
The werewolf barely noticed it. He hurtled toward Rylie again, limping slightly on one side.
She leaped onto one of the pillars, and then to another. Jericho followed.
Seth’s freezing fingers wrapped around the barrel of his rifle, and he pulled it out of the rocks. It was banged up from having been thrown aside. He fumbled for the silver cartridges in his pocket.
A strangled scream reached Seth. He knew he shouldn’t have been afraid for Rylie—it was too late for her now—but he felt sick to see Jericho’s jaws buried in her throat. Her cries were strangled and raw.
Having her windpipe torn open barely phased her. Jericho was older and stronger, but Rylie had all the fury and energy of a new werewolf on her side.
She jerked free and snapped at the side of his face.
Seth’s fingers trembled as he loaded the bullets into the bottom of his rifle. He needed at least two rounds. He didn’t want to think of how he needed to use them.
He raised the barrel to aim. They were atop the pillars now. Too far away to hit. Seth held it steady, waiting for them to come closer.
Rylie tore into Jericho’s belly, and his head swung around to bite her. He was losing blood. Sluggish. She had all but gutted him.
It was almost too awful to watch. Jericho staggered. He nipped at her remaining ear, but the fresh blood was quickly lost amongst everything around Rylie’s throat. They wavered atop the rocks, two silhouettes at a standstill against the stars.
With a final burst of energy, Rylie jumped forward and knocked into his side.
Jericho tumbled off the pillar of rock and landed on the slope near Seth with a sick crunch.
Dropping down, Rylie stumbled and barely caught herself. Her teeth were bared for another bite—but Jericho’s back was twisted at a strange angle. His mouth hung open and there was nothing in his eyes. His forepaw twitched once.
Seth fired from his position on the ground. The slug buried in the wolf’s carcass, but Jericho didn’t react.
She had killed him. Rylie had killed Jericho.
Seth stared between the two werewolves. Rylie dipped her head to sniff the body and licked her nose as though to taste his odors. The fur over her shoulders smoothed.
He fired a second time. Rylie flinched, but this shot wasn’t aimed at her, either. Seth hit Jericho again to make really sure he was dead. He would take no chances with an animal that big.
Now that adrenaline was fading, Seth’s twisted leg throbbed. He couldn’t shake the memory of being dragged through the forest like a prize.
Rylie turned her stare from Jericho to Seth.
She took a step forward, and he tried to get to his feet again, but his leg collapsed under him. He sat down hard.
Seth leveled his rifle at Rylie. He stared at her down the barrel, meeting her reflective golden gaze. She was a beautiful wolf, much more slender than Jericho, and more catlike than the one Seth killed earlier. Her shaggy mane was golden blonde and matted at the throat where Jericho had torn into her.
Something in her eyes was human. She recognized him. Her lip curled over her fangs.
He tried to get onto his knees so he could brace himself better
, but it was hard to balance on one leg. And now he was starting to freeze. Seth could barely move. If she attacked, he wouldn’t be able to get away.
His finger tensed on the trigger, but he didn’t squeeze even though every instinct told him he should.
Seth could end the horrors of Gray Mountain if he killed her. She wasn’t Rylie anymore. The wolf had taken her, and she was evil now.
But still, he didn’t fire.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Rylie lowered her head and her lips slid back over her sharp teeth.
She turned and limped down the rocky slope toward the trees. Her left leg was mangled, and blood dripped onto the rocks from her throat.
Her back faced him. It was time to shoot.
But she hadn’t attacked him. Seth couldn’t pull the trigger. She wasn’t just a werewolf, after all—she was Rylie.
Seth lowered his gun. Rylie disappeared into the darkness.
Epilogue
The Day After
Seth’s brother called him early the next morning.
“Did you finally do it?” Abel asked.
“Yeah. I killed the werewolf and his pup,” Seth said, using an earpiece so he had both hands free for packing up his camp. He loaded his rifle onto his motorcycle and checked the straps to make sure it fit snugly.
“Awesome. My bike better be in one piece, unlike the last solo hunt.”
Seth snorted. “Your baby is fine.”
“Better be,” Abel said. He wasn’t mad. He sounded proud.
Once his saddlebags were packed with the last of his clothing and supplies, Seth limped over to his squat tent and pulled up the stakes. After sleeping on the hard ground for three months, he was eager to get home, and the sorry state of his leg didn’t help. Even though Seth had made a rough splint from a sturdy branch and bandages, he needed to get to a doctor soon if he wanted to preserve his ability to walk.
“How are you feeling?” Seth asked. Abel had avoided transforming on his sixth moon after being bitten—unlike Rylie—but it was still a struggle every time the moon went full or new. It was a long, slow road to recovery.
“As good as can be expected.” He suddenly sounded exhausted. “Mom helped.”
“Sorry, man,” Seth said.
Pulling on a helmet, he rode down the trail to the mouth of camp. He kept to the side to avoid hikers and cars, but there weren’t any people left to avoid. He didn’t cross paths with anyone on his way down the mountain.
Abel cleared his throat. “How was the hunt?”
Seth paused on the motorcycle, planting a foot on the ground to maintain his balance. He looked back over his shoulder to the forest he was leaving behind.
Both camps had been emptied out within hours of sunrise, and nobody seemed sure if they would ever reopen. After the deaths of two counselors and a camper, he doubted it.
Once he splinted his leg, Seth had spent the day cleaning up the werewolves’ bodies and searching for Rylie. He kept looking until darkness fell again. He wasn’t the only one on Gray Mountain. Rangers were still looking for Jericho, Cassidy, and Rylie, all of whom were considered “missing.”
Seth found no signs of her. Most werewolves left telltale marks on their first moon, like dozens of dead animals, destroyed trees, and a bloodstain where they transformed. They could sleep for days after the first real change, so she should have been easy to locate.
Rylie left nothing behind.
He had, however, found a backpack in the ruins of the old outpost. Most of it was uninteresting. He didn’t care about the sandwiches, half-empty water bottle, or the trail mix.
But there had been one thing of note: Rylie’s journal. He had it in his saddlebags now. He wasn’t sure if he would ever read it.
He wanted to believe the werewolf hadn’t taken over, but he feared that the alternative wasn’t much better. Rylie’s throat had been torn out by Jericho. There was a very good chance she hadn’t survived.
Seth didn’t know what he would have done if he found Rylie anyway. While his family didn’t kill werewolves in human form, they wouldn’t welcome her with open arms. He missed his chance to shoot her as a wolf. He wouldn’t be able to do it if he came across her again.
Maybe it didn’t matter. They never would have worked out. Hunter and hunted—their relationship was doomed from the start.
Seth never should have let himself fall in love with her.
It took him too long to realize Abel was still talking. “Do you hear me, Seth? I asked how your hunt went.”
“Fine,” Seth finally said. “It went fine.”
Kicking off, he tore down the trail with a cloud of dust in his wake. The camps were empty and silent, as though in mourning for what happened the night before. Even all the animals seemed to have abandoned Gray Mountain.
Distantly, somewhere beyond the lake, a mournful howl rose amongst the trees.
About the Author
Sara Reine is a twenty-something writer/ geek/mom dwelling in a dodgy corner of Sin City with too many cats. She writes books to escape the drudgery of the desert and bakes a lot of cookies. Mmm, cookies.
You can find her on Twitter as @smreine, and her blog at http://smreine.com/.
Table of Contents
The End of Summer
Full Moon
The Boy
Observations
Hiking
New Moon
Solutions
Golden Lake
Laying Low
Teeth and Claws
Co-Ed
The City
The Fourth Moon
Trouble
Confinement
Sacred Ground
The Camp Social
Hunter and Hunted
Moon Called
The Third Werewolf
The Day After