The forests beyond Jericho stretched for miles, older than the town itself — their canopy thick enough to swallow the moonlight whole. Tonight, the air shimmered with motion. Two shapes moved through the black timber, faster than the eye could follow, muscles and sinew flowing like water beneath fur.
The wind carried the scent of pine sap and river moss, chased by the echo of claws raking against stone. Bruno Yuson tore across the ridgeline in silence, his stride steady and sure. He didn’t need the moon. The beast within him answered the pulse of the night itself — something ancient and unrestrained.
Beside him, another shape ran — the one the academy called You. Together, they had been running for hours, crossing creeks, weaving between trees, vanishing into the rhythm of the wilderness. They ran not as students, not as humans — but as creatures older than reason.
Bruno slowed only when the scent hit him. Smoke. Metal. The sharp taint of blood not yet spilled. His ears twitched. Ahead, the forest floor broke open into a clearing — one too neat to be natural. Someone had been here. Someone human.
Then came the sound.
A sharp, metallic snap — followed by a howl that split the night.
Bruno’s head whipped around. The sound came from behind — a dozen yards, maybe less. He bounded back, paws tearing into the dirt, breath harsh against the cold air. The scent of blood was sudden, raw, alive.
The clearing shimmered with motion. Moonlight caught on the edges of steel — a bear trap, old and rusting, teeth slick with crimson. The chain still rattled with the weight it held.
Bruno skidded to a stop, claws dragging through the dirt. The trap’s jaws were clamped tight around flesh, its iron teeth buried deep. The forest fell silent except for the ragged breath and the metallic creak of the chain.
He lowered his head, eyes reflecting the pale silver of the moon. Then, without hesitation, he shifted — bones cracking, fur retreating beneath skin until he stood barefoot in the cold, human again. Steam rose from his breath as he knelt beside the trap.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough. “Hunters.”
His hands moved fast — fingers bloodied as he pried at the hinge. The trap was old, but its bite was merciless. He braced a knee against the frame and forced it open, every muscle straining until the steel screamed and gave way.
The tension snapped. The jaws fell open, and the weight came free.
Bruno leaned back, catching his breath. “Hold still,” he said, his tone steady, almost commanding. He tore a strip from his shirt and pressed it against the wound to slow the bleeding. “We need to move before whoever set this comes back.”
From the treeline, the night murmured — an owl, distant footsteps, the faint hiss of leaves under wind.
Bruno’s eyes flicked toward the sound. The hunters were near — he could smell the gun oil, the copper tang of bullets that were never meant for deer.
He shifted again without hesitation. His bones reshaped, claws cutting through earth, and his breath came out in a low growl. He circled once, then crouched low beside You, his fur bristling in silence.
The footsteps drew closer.
Then came the voice — low, muffled through the trees.
“Trap’s sprung,” one man said. “Something big.”
Another voice answered. “Wolf?”
Bruno’s ears twitched. His body went still.
He moved only when the hunters stepped into the clearing — two silhouettes carrying rifles, flashlights sweeping across the brush. The beam caught the torn trap, the blood, the dark shape beside it.
“Holy hell—”
They never finished the sentence. Bruno moved like lightning, a blur of fur and teeth and force. One hunter went down instantly, rifle flung into the dark. The second shouted, stumbling backward, but the sound was swallowed by the forest.
The woods became still again.
Bruno turned back, the night’s calm returning just as quickly as it had been broken. The forest swallowed the noise, leaving only the quiet rhythm of breathing and the rustle of wind through pine.
He nudged the air once, scenting the wind. Then he