WARNING: This story contains depictions of violence, gore, and/or death that may be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
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| Damon, before the chase |
Damon despised hunters. As he watched each man and woman laugh, drink, and clean the weapons they clung to so dearly, all he could think about was tearing them apart. They spat at the Caeleste locked in cages and grinned proudly at their latest catch. But not one of them had any idea what was about to happen; no hunter in that camp could fathom the idea that they were now the prey.
He waited in the cover of the brush for the signal, watching Wilson's every move. Damon's hatred for the hunters swiftly shifter to Jackson's friend; he wanted to tear him to pieces, too. But Jackson cared about him, so Damon was going to have to do his best to control his protective, possessive feelings.
Wilson walked out of the tent and started talking to one of his comrades, and when they discussed what bounties were left to capture, Wilson's comrade mentioned something strange—
But then came Tokala's piercing howl.
There was no time for Damon to ponder now. It was starting. Everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing and listened.
The howls of Wesley, Brando, and Enola followed, and with their calls, the hunters burst into action. They yelled orders at each other, hurrying around, snatching their pathetic little weapons, and starting up their vehicles.
Damon began his prowl. He stayed low to the snow-covered ground, moving silently, keeping his eyes fixed on Wilson. However, he needed to remind himself that he couldn't kill Wilson; he had to ignore the growing urge to dispose of him before he could become a threat to his and Jackson's relationship. But he loved Jackson too much. He couldn't take his friend away from him.
His target loaded up on arrows and checked the silver revolver on his side was loaded, and climbed onto one of the motorbikes.
At least he wasn't in a jeep; he'd be much easier to single out now.
The hunters moved out. First, a wave of those on bikes sped into the murky woods, followed by several jeeps, and then the rest of the bikers drove off. Wilson drove off.
Damon sprung forward and began his pursuit. He swerved through the trees, focusing his sights on Wilson, and when he was joined by the rest of his hunting party, he waited for the perfect moment to begin the attack.
That moment came when Brando's second howl told him they were a klick away from the hunter camp.
He looked to his right. Rachel, Dustu, and Leon nodded. He looked to his left. Ezhno, Lance, Bly, and Alastor nodded. They were ready.
"Go!" Damon called.
At his word, Rachel caught up to one of the bikers and lunged at him. She pulled him off his bike as he screamed in shock, and when the rest of the bikers turned their heads and saw her kill their comrade, the rest of the wolves moved in.
All of the bikers swerved and tried to drive after Rachel—who was now running deeper into the woods—but Dustu and Leon cut the man driving beside Wilson off, letting only four of them chase her.
At the same time, Lance jumped out of the murk and pulled the biker furthest to the left off his bike, and when the bike crashed into a tree, the explosives in the saddlebags went off, shaking the ground at their feet.
What remained of the backline fell for it. They turned away from Dustu and Leon and started chasing Lance, Ezhno, Bly, and Alastor.
To keep the jeeps from turning back, Dustu and Leon raced forward and grabbed their attention, and just as Rachel did, they raced off in a different direction, taking half the jeeps with them.
When Damon was sure his packmates were fine, he veered left and caught up with the bikers Wilson was amongst.
But gunfire echoed behind him. Rifles and machine guns, yelling voices, and another fiery explosion. His wolves could handle it.
He fixed his eyes on Wilson. The brown-haired man was in the centre of the chase, following directly behind Alastor. There were seven other bikers to deal with first, though. As much as Damon wanted to adorn his Prime form and slaughter the lot of them, he had to keep his wolves in mind. He wasn't going to risk them.
With a short burst of several snarls, he let his packmates know that it was time to separate these hunters from their target.
Simultaneously, Bly ran to the west, Ezhno to the northwest, Lance to the east, and Alastor to the northeast. The hunters immediately split to chase after them, but Wilson didn't budge. He kept driving forward, seemingly unshaken by the breaking pack and by the fact he was now on his own.
But that was when a cold shiver struck Damon. His instincts were telling him that something was wrong—that something was coming—and that was when Wilson sharply turned his body, equipped his bow, and fired an arrow at him all in the space of a single second.
Damon's reflexes were unmatched, though. He dodged to the side, and when Wilson gripped his bike's handles and skidded around to face his direction, the Alpha jumped at a tree and propelled himself off it. He smashed into Wilson and his bike before he could try to fire another arrow, and when Damon and the hunter tumbled across the ground, the bike ran over a fallen log and crashed into the snow below.
The Alpha slowed his tumble by slamming his paws onto the ground, and the moment he got up and turned to face Wilson, he watched the hunter scurry to his feet, and once he was standing, he pulled his revolver from his side.
Of course Wilson was going to try and fight. But his little revolver wouldn't do him any favours.
Damon wouldn't give him a chance to aim. The Alpha burst to the left, and when Wilson fired, his bullet hit the tree Damon just passed. The hunter fired again and again and again, but Damon effortlessly dodged each bullet, and when he reached Wilson, he lunged at him—
Wilson's body suddenly transformed, and when Damon collided with him, he found himself brawling with a beast his own size. It roared and hissed, managing to slam its huge paw against his muzzle in his moment of confusion, and when it went for his throat, he used his back leg to kick the striped creature's neck and backed off.
And then he saw what his target had become.
In Wilson's place stood a tiger just as big as him, its blue eyes shimmering in the dark as it glared right at him. Orange, white and brown-striped fur, sharp and tall lynx-like ears, and a jaw full of teeth just as sharp as Damon's. Wilson was a muto tigris.
Things just got a whole lot more complicated.
When Wilson roared ferociously, Damon responded with a vicious snarl; his loathing for this man drastically increased, and he now felt even more protective of Jackson. He didn't want to let this creature near him—a creature that had long been rivals of wolf walkers. There was no way Wilson was going to accept Jackson.
They charged at each other, and the moment they clashed, the tiger went for Damon's throat again—how predictable. Damon slammed his paw against Wilson's face, sending him to the ground; he pinned the tiger before it could get up, but that was when he hesitated, keeping himself from sinking his teeth into the beast's throat. Muto or not, this was Jackson's friend—this was the target he needed to deliver to the Venaticus.
Wilson took Damon's moment of hesitation to throw the Alpha off him, kicking him away with his back legs. Damon's back hit a tree, and with a pained grunt, he landed on his stomach.
But he had to get up. The muto was coming.
Damon got up in time to dodge Wilson's claws. He backed off with each of the tiger's swipes, calculating the brief moments between attacks, and after Wilson's next strike, the Alpha lunged forward and gripped the tiger's neck with his teeth.
The tiger whined painfully and tried to pull away, but Damon held his ground. He bit harder—but not hard enough to kill him—and tugged with each of Wilson's yanks. They fought in Damon's lock for several moments; the tiger was getting weaker as Damon injected his venom into its bloodstream and attempted to attack with its claws, but the Alpha avoided each swing. And finally, the muto's strength declined, and it collapsed under Damon's bite.
Damon released his jaws, and the tiger's head thumped against the snow. It groaned quietly as it slipped into unconsciousness, and when it was out, the Alpha snarled victoriously and shook his head, spraying the blood from his teeth.
He then roared fiercely at the muto's face, stomping his paws into the snow. The tiger's body morphed back into Wilson, who lay still and silent.
It was done, and now it was time for everyone to head back to the van.
Damon lifted his head towards the sky and let out a loud, rumbling howl, letting his pack know to retreat. Once he was done, he shifted into his Prime form, picked Wilson up and threw him over his shoulder, and then headed for the Venaticus van.
But as he raced through the woods, a sudden feeling of apprehension gripped him and constricted together and together with each step he took.
Something was wrong.
He focused on what his instincts were telling him, and the moment he realized that it was in fact his connection to Jackson that was warning him, his heart started racing, and his body was filled with dread.
Damon wanted to call to him; he wanted to ask him what was going on, but Jackson didn't know how to communicate through their mated connection, so he wouldn't get an answer. The only way he'd know was if he got to him, and that was exactly what he was going to do. His mate was in trouble, and Jackson was more important to him than getting Wilson back to the van.
The Alpha changed his course. He veered left and followed Jackson's scent, racing through the murk as fast as he could with Wilson still over his shoulder. It was becoming harder for him to remain composed, though. His worry for Jackson grew heavier; he had no idea what was going on, but when he caught the rotting stench of cadejo, he became certain that he knew why his mate was in trouble.
"Alpha!" came Tokala's voice.
Damon looked to his left, setting his sights on Tokala and the rest of his pack. If he was going to be able to help Jackson, he needed to make sure his hands were free. So, he skidded to a halt, and as his pack hurried over to him, he put Wilson down. "Tokala, Rachel, get him back to the van. The rest of you, on me!" he ordered, and then morphed into his normal wolf form as he started running again.
He moved as quickly as he could. The cadejo stench grew thicker once he passed the empty hunter camp, and when he focused the rest of his senses, he didn't only pick up the sound of two savage, snarling beasts...but he could also hear something else. Something humanoid, and it sent a cold chill down his spine.
Then he saw it. The figure of what looked like a man slowly dragging his left foot through the snow while he groaned and growled. Damon slowed down in case the guy was a hunter, but he obviously heard some of his packmates treading in the snow and started turning to face them.
That wasn't a man. Not a living one. The creature's face was pale and rotting, and through its torn clothes, Damon could see its insides hanging out through several deep, wide slashes. It smelled just like a cadejo and possessed the same red eyes, too.
"A-Alpha...what the hell are we looking at?" Wesley breathed.
The creature suddenly snarled aggressively and charged towards them.
Damon scowled and lunged at it; he clamped his jaws around its head before it could try to attack him, and when he tore it off, the creature's body didn't collapse. It kept moving towards his horrified pack, reaching its hands out as if it was trying to grab something.
The fact it was still walking confirmed his suspicion—a suspicion he'd hoped was no more than that. But now it was a fact. That creature was infected with the same virus that was driving wolf walkers nearer to extinction.
With a furious growl, the Alpha launched himself at the headless corpse, pinned it on its front before it could reach his frozen, mortified pack, and plunged his jaws into its back. He tore its rotten heart out and chucked it into the murk, and then he turned around and kept running, his desperation to get to Jackson increasing. He could hear more of those undead humanoids, and among the snarls and growls, he heard voices.
Jackson's voice.
"Jackson!" he called.
It was hard to see through the thickening fog, but Damon could make out the shadows of two wolves up ahead surrounded by human figures, and he was certain that those wolves were Jackson and Julian.
As his heart raced in his chest, Damon burst through the murk and into the midst of the corpse horde. He tore the head off the first corpse he saw, kicked a second one away, and hurried to Jackson's side.
"Damon!" Jackson exclaimed with both relief and startle in his voice.
"They're coming from everywhere!" Julian cried.
"Go for their heads first!" Damon called. "Don't let them get their arms around you!"
His pack immediately got to work and fought off the groaning, undead monsters, tearing them apart and avoiding their arms and teeth.
"Are you okay?" Damon asked Jackson, and when Jackson nodded, the Alpha looked around for the guy who was supposed to be helping him. "Where's Sebastien?"
"I-I don't know, he was just...I..." Jackson answered, shaking his head, looking around.
There wasn't any time to look for him, and despite the fact that his wolves were making quick work of the undead humanoids, the horde wasn't getting any thinner. He also spotted Lalo lying still in the snow, and the only way he could see getting everyone out alive was to run.
So, he scowled in frustration and told Jackson and Julian, "Stay behind me." Then adorned his Prime form, picked Lalo up and held him over his right shoulder, and then called to his pack, "We're retreating! Make a hole together—Wesley, lead the way!"
Wesley finished executing the corpse beneath his paws, and with Brando and Enola at his side, he hurried over and started clearing a path through the horde in front of Damon. The rest of his wolves helped, and once there was enough space, Damon ran forward, and his pack quickly followed.
The Alpha used his free hand and all the force he could to shove away any corpse that came at him. His wolves tore apart whatever got too close, and once they were free of the horde, they raced back towards the van.
"Did you get Wilson?!" Jackson asked anxiously.
Damon didn't want to overthink the fact that his mate seemed more concerned about a friend—a friend who had just tried to kill him. "Tokala and Rachel should be back at the van with him."
"What the hell were those things?!" Julian panicked.
"They looked like people!" Lance breathed.
"Humans?" Leon questioned.
"Let's focus on getting back to the van," Damon called. The last thing any of them needed right now was to be distracted by questions that no one could answer.
But he couldn't help wondering: where the hell did those humanoid corpses come from? How long had the virus been infecting them? Did the Venaticus know? And what did all of this mean? Was it possible that the virus was progressing, and if so...how much worse was it going to get?
"How much further?" Ezhno asked from the back.
"What about Sebastien?" Jackson then asked him.
But Damon didn't answer. He heard them, but he was also hearing something else. The horde they'd left behind was catching up; somehow, those corpses which had once been people were catching up to a pack of running wolf walkers.
"We need to pick up the pace," he called.
Everyone ran faster, following him through the woods, and after a few more moments, he spotted the van headlights.
"There!" Brando announced.
The pack rushed towards the light, and when they got to the van, Tokala and Rachel—in their human forms—pulled the back doors open for them.
"Everyone, get in!" Damon ordered, handing Lalo to Tokala.
Each wolf morphed into their human form and climbed into the van, and once Damon was inside, he pulled the doors shut.
"What are you waiting for?!" Tokala exclaimed, leaning past the passenger seat so he could look at the driver.
"Where's Sebastien?"
Damon shouted, "We lost him in the woods—he'll find his way back—"
"Did he tell you that?"
"Just go!" Tokala insisted.
"I can't leave without him!" the driver insisted angrily.
Damon focused on the noise outside the van for a moment.
The undead were getting closer.
He snarled angrily and stormed to the front of the van. He reached around and gripped the driver's collar. "Either drive us the fuck out of here or I'll throw you out the fucking window and drive myself!"
With a nervous nod and terrified expression, the man turned the keys and started the engine.
Damon turned around, but before he could get back to his seat beside Jackson, he heard a ferocious roar and the driver shriek—
The van jolted, its tires squealed as it skidded on the road, and Damon was thrown to the side when the vehicle tipped and rolled.
Everyone shrieked and yelled in horror as they were chucked around inside. The glass smashed, the engine sputtered, and when the van landed on its roof, the sound of the incoming horde grew closer and closer.
Damon couldn't move. He wasn't sure if the pain throbbing in his back had something to do with it or if it was because several of his packmates were piled on top of him. But from where he lay, he could see out of the open back left door, and as he watched a crowd of at least a hundred corpses gush towards the van, his racing heart filled with terror.
How the hell were they going to get away now?
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