Greykin Valley

| 23 | Asmodi

Damon then lifted his head and let out a short, snappy howl, letting Tokala know that there was an unknown hostile nearby but to continue with the plan. Then, he got up and started leading his pack towards Jackson's aura.

But when he cautiously approached the place where he'd seen the entity race past, he stopped and stared at the carnage. Severed limbs, torn-out organs, and mangled corpses lay everywhere. The snow was red, the tree trunks were red, and the only footprints he found were those of the hunters. Could whatever had done this be Caeleste?

"Fucking hell," Wesley gagged. "I've seen some shit, man...but this is like...what the fuck, you know?"

"Shut up," Alastor muttered.

"I don't like this," Enola told Damon. "Whatever did this could still be out here."

"We have to find Jackson," Damon said, heading through the massacre.

His wolves followed, mirroring his movements as he prowled low to the ground and led the way up the hill.

Damon kept all of his senses alert. The gunfire died down, but the screams grew worse. And suddenly, something exploded, shaking the ground at the pack's feet. As everyone braced themselves, Damon looked back at them and made sure each of them was okay.

"What the hell was that?!" Enola exclaimed.

"Do you think it's the Venaticus?" Alastor asked.

"Or maybe Sebastien?" Wesley suggested.

Damon frowned cautiously and continued up the hill. "Keep moving," he instructed.

"What if it's a cadejo?" Brando questioned worriedly. "It could be some new variant we don't know about."

He had a point, but Damon didn't want to stop. Jackson's aura was so close; all he had to do was get to the top of the hill. So, he kept going. He led his pack closer and closer, and when he finally reached the top, he hurried to the edge and stared at what lay below.

Thick black smoke spewed through the treetops. Damon followed it with his eyes to the hunter jeep, which was up in flames. More mutilated bodies lay scattered all over the glade, and in the centre was the creature responsible.

He knew he was looking at a demon. It had wings on its back and horns on its head. It feasted from the neck of the man in its grip, and there was something glowing on the front of its body. The demon had its back to him, so he couldn't see what it was, but the light was crimson...and it felt familiar.

Damon focused harder on Jackson's aura, and when he realized that his mate was somewhere in that glade, terror surged through him. "No," he breathed. And then he let his instincts rule him.

The pack called anxiously to him, asking him what he was doing and where he was going. But he just ran. He ran and ran and ran, rushing down the hill, through the trees, and into the glade.

"Jackson!" he called, searching frantically for him as he burst into the opening.

The demon snarled as it let go of its victim and abruptly turned to face him.

Damon stopped in his tracks. At first, he thought he was going to have to fight the creature...but then he saw its face.

Jackson's face.

"Jackson?" he questioned in confusion.

Jackson lost his ferocious scowl and stood up straight. Two springbok-like horns protruded from the sides of his head above his ears, and the wings on his back looked like those of a dragon. His eyes were as red as the amulet around his neck, and the claws which sat in place of his fingernails were covered in blood and fine pieces of torn flesh.