On this particular night, beneath the towering spine of the Forks mountains, a narrow stream whispered over smooth stones, its voice a delicate song in the dense stillness.
The air was thick with damp pine and earth, a scent ancient and wild, wrapped tight in mist that rolled like ghosts through the towering firs and cedars.
The forest was alive in a way that only such deep wilderness could be, alive with the murmurs of unseen creatures and the sharp, rhythmic chorus of nocturnal life.
Somewhere far above, a barred owl let loose a lonely call, a haunting note that vanished into the folds of the darkness.
By the water's edge, a majestic buck stood with a slow, deliberate grace. Its antlers dipped into the stream like gnarled branches of a sacred tree reaching toward their own reflection.
The buck was larger than any other in its mob, broad-shouldered and regal, a sentinel whose mottled coat shimmered faintly under the silver light, dew clinging to the course hairlike jewels in the night.
From its crown, a great rack of ivory antlers stretched wide, fourteen sharp points, ancient and commanding, as if born from the roots of the mountain itself.
For a moment, the scene was untouched, a still-life painting of wild tranquility.
But peace shattered like fragile glass.
A sharp rustle tore through the underbrush, an abrupt crack that echoed like thunder splitting the sky. The buck froze, muscles taut as if sensing the sudden shift in the air. Then, in a blink, it vanished from its post.
Chaos erupted.
The deer scattered in wild panic, hooves thundering through undergrowth and fallen leaves. The forest seemed to convulse with their frantic flight,
shadowed forms darting like spirits between ancient trunks, vanishing into the clinging mist.
But the buck lay collapsed not far off, felled with eerie precision, a dark pool spreading beneath it.
Standing over the fallen creature was a man, tall, imposing, with a complexion kissed by the earth and eyes glowing gold with unnatural fire.
The shifting clouds caught the light just enough to reveal the inhuman glare burning within him, a predator in flesh and bone.
Then, like wind through leaves, he vanished again slipping into shadow, the thrill of the hunt urging him onward.
Not far from the carnage, three figures waited, cloaked in the thick woods, inhuman in posture, every movement coiled like a spring primed to release.
When the scattered mob of deer broke into a clearing, the trio pounced.
One was a tall, skeletal silhouette—fast and cold, as if death had taken form and stepped from the earth. Its attacks were precise, merciless.
Another, a medium-framed woman, moved with liquid grace. Her strikes flowed with elegance and deadly intent—a dance between shadow and flesh.
The last figure was different.
A smaller, woman-like shape moved with uncertainty. Her strikes were jagged, hesitant, as if the wild beast inside still struggled for control. She chased her quarry along a narrow stretch of road, breath ragged, limbs fumbling but relentless.
The woman broke into the open beneath a dim streetlight, the feeble halo catching her features at last.
Long curls of light and dark brown tumbled wildly around her face, whipping in the chill night wind. Her eyes, black voids without warmth, held only hunger and confusion.
Her dress, thin and tattered, rippled like smoke, weightless and free in the night air.
Suddenly, she stopped.
Sniffing the air with sharp, animalistic turns of her head.
There it was.
A scent unlike any other, sweet, warm, intoxicating, flooding her senses and wrapping around her mind with an iron grip, squeezing until nothing else mattered.
A tremor ran through her.
Heat flared up her throat. Her jaw clenched hard.
Her hunger roared, a beast unleashed.
The prey she'd been chasing, was forgotten.
This was something else.
Something perfect.
She moved, eyes wide and limbs tense, chasing that divine scent down the road like a moth to flame.
Her thoughts unraveled step by step.
She was close now.
Too close.
Then she saw him.
Two miles away, through the thickening fog, a lone figure sat at a battered bus stop—small and fragile beneath the mist.
A young man, hoodie pulled low, joggers soft against worn sneakers, phone in hand, unaware.
But to her, the mist was thin as glass.
She saw his face clearly.
Hazel eyes, sharp and flickering like flame.
Curly black hair curling at the edges, shaved sides dark and neat.
Tall, towering even, and broad-shouldered.
The scent came from him.
A human.
She whispered it like a curse, barely breath, but sharp as a blade.
Every primal instinct screamed: take him. Tear him apart. Drink deep. Indulge in the forbidden.
Her body shook with need.
She fought it, forcing herself to halt.
But a second breath of his scent crushed her resistance.
She crumbled forward like the undead, soulless, mindless, starving.
Then, suddenly,
He noticed her.
He stood, cautious but concerned, voice steady.
"Hey… is everything okay? Do you need help?"
His fear hung in the air like incense, heavy and sweet.
She tasted it.
That was the final snap.
She crouched, muscles coiling, ready to spring, to surrender to the monster inside her.
One bite.
One taste.
Damnation be damned.
But before she could lunge—
An arm shot around her waist.
She was yanked back into the shadows.
Her prey slipped from grasp.
The boy turned and ran, vanishing down the fog-choked road, unaware how close death had whispered at his heels.
Held tightly, she thrashed once, twice, before going still.
The chase was over.
The meal was lost.
And she shivered with a thousand tangled feelings.
Anger.
Sadness.
Hunger.
Despair.
But above them all,
Relief.
The mountains held their breath as the forest settled back into quiet.
The narrow stream's gentle murmur whispered secrets under the moon's cold gaze.