William's grip tightened around the bull's sinewy neck. His fingers screamed with the effort—he could almost hear the tendons straining—but he didn't let go. The beast bellowed so fiercely it made William's ears ring, its hooves pounding the earth, sending up mud and shreds of grass. But William clung on, relentless, like death itself. One last convulsion—then the bull shuddered, foam spilling from its jaws, and dropped. The ground trembled as it drove its hooves deep into the dirt.

For a few beats, William didn't move. He still had his hands around its neck, his breath coming in ragged bursts. When his body finally remembered how to let go, he stumbled back and sank to the ground. Air tore through his lungs; his heart hammered somewhere high in his throat.

He was nearly naked—his clothes had been shredded by horns and claws, what was left hanging in tatters. Steam rose from his skin, thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and rain-soaked earth.

"William!"

Milagros was the first to reach him, panic flashing in her eyes. Behind her came Letecia, stumbling through the underbrush, cursing softly. Together they grabbed him under the arms just as he was about to faceplant into the dirt.

"Damn…" His voice came out cracked and hoarse, but there was a crooked grin playing at his lips—boyish, almost absurd given the carnage around him. "Tell me I… got that bastard good."

He didn't dare look back. Some part of him feared that if he turned his head, the monster would rise again from the mud and tear them all apart.

"Got that bastard good?" Letecia barked out a shaky laugh. Her accent always curled her vowels, rough and sweet like riverwater. "Sugar, you done tore that sonuvabitch a new one." She helped him sit up, her hands trembling though her eyes shone bright with pride.

Around them, the forest seemed to exhale. Everything stilled. Somewhere off to the east, a lone bird cried out—and fell silent.

"You keep finding ways to surprise me," Milagros murmured, walking up to the bull's carcass. She nudged its hide with the toe of her boot, cautious, as if testing whether it was truly dead.

"Glad to be of service," William rasped, dragging in another breath.

Letecia crouched beside him, scanning his chest and shoulders, assessing the cuts and bruises.

"Looks t'me like the Skinners got deadlines," she muttered, half to herself. "Ain't no other reason they'd send a beast like that."

Milagros gave a short, bitter laugh and spat toward the carcass. "They've got a contract out on my hide. I'd guess… five million green ones, at least."

William's head snapped up.

"Five million? Just for one wendigo pelt?" He even laughed—an incredulous, breathless sound—before it turned into a cough.

"Well," Milagros said coolly, brushing a strand of black hair from her face, "at least they don't value us cheap."

William turned to Letecia, brow furrowing. She caught the look before he even spoke and gave him a teasing squint.

"Don'tcha go askin' what mine's worth, boy," she said with a half-smile. "Ain't no price high enough for this fine hide, anyhow."

He chuckled, his voice rough but warmer now.

"Fair enough. Just curious…" He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of where to look. "Milagros, aren't you worried the Skinners will come after your alpha, too?"

"No."

The answer came instantly. Her eyes went cold, glassy. "Edward knows how to protect himself. He's in Canada now—and there are too many up there who won't let the Skinners play hunters. They wouldn't make it past the first snow."

There it was—a tremor beneath her voice, fleeting but real. William caught it, that subtle quiver that betrays anyone thinking of someone too far away.

"Then why didn't you stay with him?" he asked softly. "Wouldn't it be safer to stick together, like you said before?"

Letecia shot him a warning look but stayed silent.

The wind stirred, sweeping through the tall grass, carrying with it the faint metallic scent of blood and smoke.

Milagros took a slow breath, her gaze lost somewhere beyond the tree line. "Edward needed to meet with the other alphas. Settle something for our packs. And I… I needed to grow stronger. To hunt. To remember what blood feels like." She paused, lowering her eyes. "But time's a filthy thing. There's never enough of it. And when you've got the Skinners and their witches on your trail—witches who can track you from a single strand of hair—you don't always get to choose."

William and Letecia exchanged glances. The mention of witches stirred something heavy between them—the memory of the coven that had once come for Letecia's soul rippled in the silence.

No one spoke for a long while.

The forest listened, holding its breath. Only the whisper of the wind through the leaves remained, a quiet voice among the living and the dead.

Milagros spoke first, her voice low, almost fragile—as if each word cost her strength.

"Then one of Edward's old friends told us to split up," she began. "He'd go meet the alphas, and I'd head to this damn little town. Said it'd be safer for me. That I could hunt, rest a bit…" She let out a bitter, broken laugh. "Ha. Funny thing, huh? Looking for easy prey, I about ended up yours, William."

The sarcasm in her tone didn't hide the flicker of sadness in her eyes.

"Wait," William said, his expression hardening, shoulders tensing. "You're telling me—this friend of yours wanted to send you after me?"

Milagros shook her head, running her fingers through her tangled hair, where dried blood and bits of branch still clung.

"No. Declan never mentioned you. He only said I'd find 'worthy prey' in this town." A humorless smile crossed her face. "Pure coincidence—unless you're the poetic type, then call it fate."

"Declan…" William murmured, rubbing his chin as if trying to remember a dream. "Damn it. That name rings a bell. I've heard it before—just can't place where."

At that, Letecia shivered—just a flicker, subtle as the whisper of a blade along the spine. She quickly masked it, smiling like nothing had happened.

"Lesse…" William narrowed his eyes at her. "You don't happen to know anyone named Declan, do you?"

She gave him a light smack on the shoulder, playful, practiced.

"Sorry, sugar, but I ain't got a clue. Declan's a mighty common name, y'know?" she said too sweetly, too quick. Her drawl wrapped around the words like honey hiding a nail.

"Hmm." William frowned, suspicion clouding his face. "All of this feels wrong. Too many coincidences. Too many monsters for one backwater town."

He rose to his feet, wincing as his spine protested. The ground under him squelched wetly with blood.

"Alright," he sighed, exhaling hard. "Since we've apparently become accidental butchers, what do we do with the body? Can't exactly leave a pickup-sized corpse lying around. Or…" He tilted his head, half joking. "Do these things evaporate like in the movies?"

Both women turned to stare at him like he'd just grown an extra head.

"Boy," Letecia muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, "you been watchin' way too much TV."

Milagros snorted, lips curling into a feral smile. "We can eat part of it right here. The rest, we sell. Always some butcher curious whether a Bonacon tastes like beef or like hell itself."

Her fangs glinted yellow in the half light.

"You're serious? You want me to eat that thing?" William recoiled, face twisting. "Christ, it smells like a barnyard exploded!"

Milagros shrugged, unfazed. "Suit yourself. Just don't come begging for my meat when the hunger hits you."

She took a step toward the carcass, ready to tear into it—when Letecia suddenly threw out an arm, blocking her path.

"Don't even think about it," she snapped. Her tone had lost all sweetness, replaced by raw authority. "That body's loaded with chems. Flayers pump their creatures full of enhancers. Toxic blood, y'hear? Would kill a butcher faster'n bad whiskey." She flicked a sharp glance at William, too. "Ain't no one touchin' it if they wanna live past next week."

Milagros froze, the color draining from her face. Her sharp grin slipped away.

"Damn," she whispered. "Right. I forgot how foul their flesh tastes."

"Then best you remember," Letecia said, stepping back.

Silence settled heavy over them. The wind crept through the tall grass, carrying the stench of burnt fur and rust.

"What do we do with him then, Lesse?" William asked finally, scanning the trees as if expecting something worse to crawl out. "We can't just leave it here…"

Letecia opened her mouth—then froze.

A sound cracked through the air: not quite a pop, not quite a crash. All three turned as one.

From the bull's corpse billowed thick, white smoke—boiling, hissing, hot as steam from a cauldron. It rolled in waves, carrying the acrid scent of scorched hair and something metallic. Instinctively, William stepped in front of Milagros, though he was barely standing himself.

"What the hell—" she began, but her voice died in her throat.

The smoke turned inward, collapsing upon itself, sucked into the ground as though the forest was inhaling. And then—where the hulking carcass had been—stood a man.

Naked, smeared with blood and earth, body shaking from strain. Every muscle twitched as he drew in sharp, ragged breaths, vapor rising off his skin like mist.

"Oh, hell no…" William whispered, staggering back. "He's—he's human?"

"Or what's left of one," Milagros rasped, her eyes flashing with a feral gleam.

The stranger lifted his head. His eyes gleamed a venomous, burning yellow—and his lips curled in a smile that looked far too aware.

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