Chapter 2: The Hunter's Offer
Mério’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat measuring the silence between them. The werewolf—Scar—stood frozen, its massive head lowered, nostrils flaring as it inhaled the metallic scent of the rabbit he held out. The blood from the catch stained his fingers, warm and sticky.
“See? Got a little snack for you,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and even, the way he’d talk to a spooked horse. He took a slow, deliberate step backward, his boots crushing a bed of moss. “Bet you’re real hungry after all that… commotion.”
The yellow eyes tracked his movement, but the threatening growl had subsided into a panting, eager rasp. Its muscles were still coiled springs, but the immediate danger seemed to have passed, for now.
He took another step. Then another. The wolf followed, its gait a silent, powerful glide over the forest floor. It was working. The simple, primal urge for food was overriding whatever else was going on inside that tangled, furry head.
“That’s it, Scar. Nice and easy,” he coaxed, leading her deeper into the woods, away from the clearing where her clothes lay in torn shreds. The memory of the sound her bones made as they cracked and rearranged themselves was something he’d stuff down deep, later. Right now, he just had to keep her moving, keep her focused on him and the rabbit.
The moonlight speared through the canopy in jagged shards, illuminating patches of ferns and the gnarled roots of ancient trees. The air was thick with the perfume of night-blooming jasmine and the damp, earthy smell of decay. Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted, a soft, questioning sound.
“Heard the boys talking at the mill today,” Mério said, mostly to hear his own voice, to fill the terrifying quiet. “Old Man Higgins says he saw a big buck, a twelve-pointer, bedded down near the creek bend. Thinks he’s real clever, hiding there. But we know better, don’t we?”
He chanced a glance back. The wolf was still following, its attention split between him and the rabbit. A string of drool dripped from its jaw.
“Course, Higgins couldn’t track his own shadow,” Mério continued with a forced chuckle. “But you… you could find anything. You always had a nose for things.”
He remembered the time she’d found his lost wedding band—his grandfather’s—in a pile of leaves after a week of searching. She’d just sniffed the air, walked right to it, and picked it up with a smug little smile. He’d called it luck. Now, watching the powerful beast behind him, he wasn’t so sure.
They reached a small rise, and Mério paused, pointing with his free hand toward a denser part of the forest where the undergrowth was thick and dark. “Down there. That’s where they’ll be. All cozy and thinking they’re safe.” He tore a strip of meat from the rabbit and tossed it gently toward the wolf. It snapped the morsel out of the air with a swift, precision that made his stomach clench.
“Just follow me quiet-like, okay? No sudden moves. We don’t wanna spook ‘em.”
He started down the slope, his movements careful and deliberate. The wolf stayed close, its warm, panting breath ghosting across the back of his neck. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to put distance between himself and this predator. But he forced himself to breathe, to move slowly, to project a calm he didn’t feel.
This was Scar. His Scar. The one who laughed at his dumb jokes and held his hand when they walked through town, even when his brothers teased him for being soft. The one who got this strange, faraway look in her silver eyes sometimes, like she was carrying a weight he couldn’t see.
The pieces were all there, scattered in his mind like leaves after a storm. The way she’d cancel plans around the full moon. The locked cellar door at her house. The raw, animal fear he’d sometimes catch in her gaze before she quickly masked it with a smile. He’d known she was different, had accepted it without question because it was part of her. But this… this was something else entirely.
A sudden crack of a branch to their left made the wolf’s head snap around. A low growl rumbled in its chest, the sound vibrating through the soles of Mério’s boots. A young doe, startled from its browsing, froze for a moment, its eyes wide with terror, before bolting into the darkness.
The wolf tensed, every muscle quivering with the urge to give chase.
“No, hey, easy,” Mério said sharply, stepping directly into its line of sight. He held up the remainder of the rabbit, waving it slightly. “This is better. Slower. Safer.” He didn’t know if he was talking to the wolf or to himself. “We don’t need to run. See?”
The wolf’s yellow eyes flickered from the fleeing deer back to him, to the bloody prize in his hand. Indecision warred in its gaze. The primal call of the hunt was a powerful lure, but so was the easy meal being offered.
It took a half-step toward the darkness where the doe had vanished, then stopped, its attention returning to Mério. A soft whine escaped its throat, a sound of frustration that was oddly, heartbreakingly familiar.
“I know,” Mério whispered, his voice rough with an emotion he couldn’t name. “I know it’s hard. But stay with me, Scar. Just for a little while longer.”
He turned and continued walking, pushing through a thicket of young pines, their needles brushing against his jacket. The wolf followed, its presence a constant, living pressure at his back. The forest began to change, the trees growing thicker, the air cooler and carrying the distinct, musky scent of deer.
They were getting close.
Mério’s mind raced, trying to formulate a plan beyond this moment. The moon was still high, a relentless eye in the sky. He couldn’t lead her on a wild deer chase all night. He needed to get her somewhere contained, somewhere she couldn’t hurt anyone, including herself.
He thought of her sister’s place, a good ten miles through rough terrain. Impossible. His own cabin was closer, but it was just wood and nails. It wouldn’t hold her.
The old ranger’s watchtower.
It was a forgotten relic, a half-crumbled stone structure perched on a bluff another mile or so east. It had a heavy oak door and no windows on the ground floor. If he could lure her inside…
He glanced back at the wolf, now diligently sniffing the trail they were leaving, its earlier aggression muted by the promise of food and the rhythm of their journey. It was listening to him. It was still following.
A tiny, fragile hope bloomed in his chest.
“Change of plans, Scar,” he said softly, altering his course slightly, angling toward the rising ground where the watchtoor stood silhouetted against the starry sky. “Gotta show you my favorite spot. Best view around. You’re gonna love it.”
The wolf lifted its head, ears twitching, as if it understood the shift in his tone. It let out a short, soft bark, a sound that was neither a threat nor a submission, but something in between. An acknowledgment.
Mério took a deep breath, the cold night air filling his lungs. He adjusted his grip on the remains of the rabbit, the blood now cold on his skin, and kept walking.
He adjusted his grip on the remains of the rabbit, the blood now cold on his skin, and kept walking. The wolf followed, its heavy paws silent on the damp earth, a shadow tethered to him by scent and sound. Every rustle in the undergrowth made his shoulders tense, but he forced his breathing to stay even, for her.
“Almost there, Scar,” he murmured, his voice a low thread in the night’s tapestry. “Place is just up this hill. Sturdy walls, good roof.” He needed her to associate this with safety, not confinement, to override the animal panic he sensed simmering beneath her fur.
The watchtower emerged from the pines, a squat silhouette of crumbling stone and rotten wood. Moonlight glinted off the broken hinges of the heavy oak door, which hung slightly ajar. Mério’s heart sank a little; he’d hoped it would be more intact.
He tossed the last of the rabbit carcass through the doorway, the meat skidding across the dusty stone floor inside. “Go on,” he urged, stepping aside. “Get it.”
The wolf hesitated, its yellow eyes scanning the dark opening, ears pivoting to catch every sound. It sniffed the air, then took a cautious step forward, then another, drawn by the primal call of food.
As soon as its massive form disappeared into the darkness, Mério moved. He shoved his full weight against the door, the old wood groaning in protest as it swung shut. He fumbled for the rusted iron bar leaning against the wall outside, his muscles straining as he slid it into place across the doorframe.
The bar settled with a solid, final thud. Secured.
From inside, a low, questioning whine echoed, followed by the sound of claws scraping on stone. Mério leaned his forehead against the rough wood, his body trembling with spent adrenaline. “It’s okay,” he whispered, the words feeling inadequate. “You’re okay now.”
He listened for a long moment, hearing her pace, then settle, her breathing a steady, rhythmic sound. The immediate danger was past, but the image of her bones breaking under the moon was burned behind his eyes.
He slid down to sit with his back against the door, the cold seeping through his jacket. The forest was quiet now, holding its breath. “My brothers would’ve run,” he said to the night, to her. “But I ain’t them.”
A soft scratching came from the other side of the door, not frantic, but searching. He reached a hand up, sliding his fingers through a gap in the wood where a knot had fallen out. Coarse, warm fur met his touch.
He began to move his fingers slowly, tracing the patterns of her coat, the way he’d sometimes stroke her hair when she was human and stressed. Her breathing deepened, the pacing stopped. A contented rumble vibrated through the wood, a purr-like sound that was entirely new.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his own exhaustion washing over him like a tide. His eyelids grew heavy, the fear and the running finally catching up. His hand stilled, resting against her fur as her breathing evened out into the slow, deep rhythm of sleep.
He didn’t fight it, letting the warmth from her body and the quiet of the forest pull him under. Mério slid sideways onto the damp ground, his head finding a soft patch of moss, and fell asleep right there, his fingers still touching her through the door.