The forest was no longer a cathedral; it was an oven. The smoke from the lower ridge had climbed the slopes, a thick, acrid veil that tasted of pine resin and panic. It clawed at Clara's throat as she scrambled up the jagged limestone of the "Devil's Staircase," the shortcut to the upper ridge.
The sounds of the forest had changed. The birds were gone, replaced by the mechanical clack-clack of bolt-action rifles and the frantic, high-pitched yapping of the hunting dogs. And beneath it all, that low, vibrating hum the collective growl of a pack that had finally been cornered.
Clara reached the crest of the ridge and pulled herself over the ledge. Below her, in a shallow basin known as the "Burn," the two worlds had collided.
She saw Deputy Miller and five other men, their orange hunting vests vivid against the gray smoke. They were standing in a tight circle, rifles raised, their backs to one another. They were firing into the brush at shadows that moved with impossible speed.
"There! By the cedar!" one of the men screamed, firing a shot that splintered a trunk three feet above the ground.
From the shadows, a shape erupted. It was Martha. She wasn't fully wolf she was in that terrifying middle state, a hybrid of fur and fury. She hit the man who had fired, her weight slamming him into the dirt. The circle broke.
"No!" Clara screamed, though her voice was drowned out by the chaos.
Then, she saw Reid.
He was a blur of motion, but he wasn't attacking the hunters. He was a wall. He intercepted a younger member of the pack just as the boy was about to leap on Miller. Reid tackled him, the two of them tumbling through a wall of fire. Reid emerged, his ranger shirt smoldering, his eyes a brilliant, agonizing gold.
"Back!" Reid roared, and for a second, the command was so powerful that even the dogs stopped barking. "Silas! End this! They're leaving!"
"They're dying, Reid!" Silas's voice came from everywhere. He was a ghost in the smoke. "That's the only way they leave the ridge!"
A shot rang out not a panicked hunter's shot, but a deliberate, aimed round. It caught Reid in the shoulder. He spun, his knees hitting the ash-covered ground.
Clara's heart stopped. She saw Miller holding a rifle, his face a mask of sweating, terrified resolve.
"I'm sorry, Blackwood," Miller choked out, his hands shaking. "But you're one of them. I saw what you did to that door. You're a ticking bomb."
Miller raised the rifle again, aiming for Reid's head. Reid didn't move; he looked at Miller with a weary, heartbreaking acceptance. He was too tired to be a monster, and too broken to be a man.
"Miller, don't!" Clara shrieked, throwing herself down the embankment. She slid through the soot and burning embers, her boots catching on roots, until she landed between the barrel of the gun and the man she loved.
The silence that followed was more violent than the gunfire. Miller lowered the rifle an inch, his eyes wide. "Clara, get out of the way! That thing isn't the man you think it is!"
"He's exactly the man I think he is!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the ridge. She reached back, grabbing Reid's hand. His skin was blistering, not from the fire, but from the internal heat of a body trying to heal a gunshot wound while holding back a transformation. "He's the only one here trying to save you! Look around, Miller! The others are hunting you! He's the only thing keeping them back!"
As if to prove her point, Silas emerged from the smoke behind Miller. He was fully changed now a massive, black-furred beast that looked like a shadow given teeth. He moved with a silent, terrifying grace, his eyes fixed on the back of the Deputy's neck.
"Behind you!" Clara screamed.
Miller spun, but he was too slow. The wolf that was Silas lunged, a thousand pounds of predatory muscle aimed at a man who was out of time.
Reid didn't hesitate. With a guttural roar that tore his vocal cords, he threw Clara aside and leaped.
The collision of the two brothers was a sound of pure physics the heavy thud of bone on bone. They crashed into a stand of burning manzanita, a whirlwind of gray and black fur. This wasn't a fight for dominance; it was a fight for the soul of the ridge.
Reid was smaller, his body still fighting the "human" urge to hold back, but Silas was pure instinct. They rolled through the embers, biting, tearing, and snarling. The hunters stood frozen, watching the prehistoric battle play out in the orange glow of the forest fire.
Reid pinned Silas, his claws digging into his brother's throat. He had the killing blow. He could have ended the legacy right there. But even as a wolf, Reid's eyes remained focused, pained human.
He hesitated.
That second was all Silas needed. He kicked Reid off, his hind claws raking across Reid's chest, and scrambled back into the darkness of the unburned woods. The rest of the pack, seeing their leader retreat, vanished like smoke into the trees.
The hunters didn't chase them. They couldn't. They were broken, their bravado incinerated by the reality of what lived in their backyard.
Reid lay in the ash, gasping, his body slowly shrinking back into its human form. The transition was faster this time, fueled by the adrenaline of the fight. He looked up at the sky, where the moon was finally beginning to dip toward the horizon.
Clara ran to him, falling to her knees in the soot. She pulled his head into her lap, ignoring the blood and the smell of burnt hair.
"You're okay," she sobbed, stroking his forehead. "You're okay, Reid."
He looked at her, his eyes fading back to brown, though a ring of gold remained a permanent scar on his soul. He looked at Miller, who was standing ten feet away, his rifle hanging limply at his side.
"Go home, Miller," Reid whispered, his voice a dry husk. "Tell them the wolves are gone. Tell them there's nothing left to hunt."
Miller looked at Reid, then at Clara, and finally at the blood on his own hands. He didn't say a word. He turned and signaled to his men, and they began the long, silent trek back toward the town, leaving the two of them alone in the glowing remains of the ridge.
Reid reached up and touched Clara's face, his fingers leaving streaks of ash on her skin. "I failed," he said. "I let him go."
"No," Clara said, kissing his forehead. "You chose to be a man. And that's the hardest thing you've ever done."
But as the sun began to rise, casting long, bloody shadows over Oakhaven, they both knew the truce was temporary. Silas was still out there, and the town now knew the truth.
The "human" part of their story was just beginning.