⚠️Graphical Violence depicted within the chapter. Reader's discretion is advised ⚠️

Through Damian's eyes:

The city passed by in a blur, the flickering streetlights nothing more than fleeting beacons as the encroaching darkness swallowed them whole. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, my hands trembling—not from fear, but from the storm raging within me.

Guilt, relentless and suffocating, washed over me in waves.

How had I let it come to this? How had I failed to quell the tempest before it was upon us?

"Guilt is a human affliction," the monster's voice whispered, its low, steady thrum echoing in my veins.

"We do not dwell on what has passed. We act."

I clenched my jaw, forcing the words through a throat tight with regret. "I should've acted sooner. I should've been there."

"And yet," the voice murmured, "here we are. Together. Ready to right the wrongs."

It was true. The monster and I were bound by more than mere circumstance. We were two halves of a whole—each with our strengths and flaws, each playing our part in the inevitable dance between predator and prey.

It did not bow to me, nor did I bow to it.

There was an understanding, a harmony forged through necessity. And in that harmony, we were something unstoppable.

I nodded, a heavy breath escaping my chest. "And we will bring the storm to them."

The monster's presence receded slightly, as if respecting my resolve.

I slowed the car as I neared the edge of the city, the wilderness beyond calling to me with an ancient, untamed voice. I could feel it then—the pull. The desire to let go, to unleash the beast, to let it reign free and savage in the wild. But I was not yet ready. Not yet.

The car hummed to a stop in the shadows of 'The Howling Dog,' the bar's sign flickering in and out of life. It was the kind of place where the lost came to drink their demons away. The kind of place that smelled like regret, a haven for those who'd long ago made their peace with the darkness.

I sat there for a moment, my hands gripping the wheel like it was the last thing keeping me grounded. The city's hum faded, replaced by the bar's muted heartbeat. The wilderness beckoned at my back, but for now, I had a job to do.

I stepped out, the night air greeting me with the cool bite of anticipation. The scent of my target was faint but unmistakable, lingering on the breeze. Oil. Rain. A hint of perfume. And somewhere beneath it all, the acrid sting of fear.

The door to the bar creaked open, the sound of it a reminder that this place was full of secrets—secrets that had been spilled over countless nights of too much whiskey and not enough redemption.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick, saturated with the scent of stale beer and unspoken regret. The walls were lined with echoes of laughter and sorrow, the remnants of a thousand untold stories.

I settled into a seat at the bar, the wood worn smooth by years of use, the surface cool beneath my fingers. The bartender nodded, acknowledging me without a word as he slid a glass of whiskey my way. I didn't need to ask for it. He knew what I needed.

I took the glass, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. For a moment, the turmoil within me settled, the whiskey a brief distraction from the darkness pressing against my mind.

The monster's voice broke through the haze, its tone sharp and demanding.

"Why do you hesitate, Damian? The hunt calls to us."

I closed my eyes, allowing the warmth of the drink to dull the sharp edges of its question.

'Who says we aren't hunting?' I replied silently. 'We're just assessing the field. Our target was here, so we wait for the opportunity.'

The hours slipped by, each one marked by the steady rhythm of patrons entering and leaving. The noise, the laughter, the clink of glasses—it was all a background hum, a distraction from the tension building within me.

The monster's presence was a constant, a low growl at the back of my mind. I could feel its hunger, its anticipation.

When the time finally came, I feigned a stumble, deliberately clumsy in my movements, making my exit appear less calculated than it was. The cool night air hit me like a slap as I pushed open the door and stepped into the street.

The conversation shifted unexpectedly, the monster's voice turning contemplative.

"She has a certain aura about her, I must admit. No wonder you're fond of her."

I stilled, the words resonating deeper than I cared to admit.

Ruby.

My connection to her was undeniable. But the thought of it—of her—was a distraction I didn't need.

I pushed those thoughts aside.

Focus.

My mission.

My hunt.

The bartender's exit was the signal I had been waiting for. I moved with purpose, my steps silent as I closed the distance between us. His startled gaze met mine, recognition flickering in his eyes, but fear followed quickly.

"We're closed," he said, his voice tight with an edge of apprehension.

I stepped forward, my body a fluid movement, a predator moving in for the kill.

"I know," I replied, my voice low and cold. "But I'm not here for closure. I'm here for answers."

The bartender stiffened, his posture tightening. There was something else—an undercurrent of fear that crackled in the air. I leaned in, my voice a whisper that carried an unspoken weight.

"Are the others here part of your crew?"

His grip on the door tightened, a subtle sign of his unease. He shifted his weight, unwilling to meet my gaze.

"Look, it's time for you to go," he muttered, his tone trying for calm but laced with something else—something primal.

I wasn't going anywhere.

With a single, deliberate motion, I pushed past him. The door swung open with a sharp creak as the scent of my kind filled the space—the unmistakable mark of werewolf.

I raised my voice, projecting it with the full weight of authority. "I know the brothers of the night star are here."

Silence.

The tension thickened, drawing every breath into the same space, every heartbeat a drumbeat marking the arrival of something inevitable. I took a deep breath, pushing my scent into the room—a challenge, a declaration of who I was and what I was here for. The air shifted, a scent of pine and wild earth wrapping around me like a cloak, unmistakable to any who knew what they were sensing.

The bartender's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a low growl.

"What do you want?"

"I want the one who's been hunting in my city," I replied, my gaze unwavering. "And I will have answers."

The air pulsed with tension, the quiet before the storm. I felt them—the others—moving in the shadows, their presence a sharp, electric current threading through the air.

The bartender hesitated, then stepped back, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender—or perhaps caution.

"They're not here," he said, but the lie was thick in his voice. His pulse quickened, the scent of fear mingling with the bitter whiskey on his breath.

I nodded, not buying his words for a second.

"Then you wouldn't mind telling me where to find them, would you?"

The moment stretched. The room felt smaller, the shadows closing in. The bartender's gaze flickered behind me, and I knew they were out there—waiting.

"Where?" I asked again, my voice hard, the weight of my intent clear.

The moment stretched in an uneasy silence, each breath sharper than the last. The bartender's posture stiffened, and I could feel the shifting tension around me—the subtle hum in the air, the tightening of muscles, the way the room seemed to shrink under the weight of their presence.

They were here. They had been watching, waiting.

With a sudden, unnerving synchronicity, they moved.

A low growl vibrated the air. It was the first audible sound of transformation, the kind that sent a cold shiver down any human's spine.

From the shadows, the wolves emerged.

Each one hunched forward, their spines cracking, the air thick with the sound of bones shifting and stretching. Their faces elongated, fur erupting from their skin in patches, their eyes glowing a pale, predatory yellow as they tore away their human forms like discarded clothing.

The bartender was the first to shift. His hands twisted into claws, fingers elongating with sickening cracks. His mouth stretched wide, the fangs sprouting, his face contorting into the terrifying snout of a wolf. But I saw the hesitation in his eyes—a glimmer of the man I'd spoken to earlier.

And then, they all followed suit. The other wolves, their bodies rippling with the grotesque transformation, their roars and snarls filling the room with an unholy cacophony. They were still bound by their instincts, driven by the hunger and thrill of the hunt.

I stood perfectly still, watching them. I could feel the weight of their gaze on me, the challenge thick in the air. These were not just wolves—they were pack members, part of a larger threat, drawn to the darkness I carried within me.

But I did not shift. I would not give in to the wildness they craved.

My breath came slow, measured.

Control.

I had to maintain it.

The bartender snarled, his massive wolf form towering over me. His yellow eyes flickered with desperation, but I could see the calculation in them—he wanted me to engage, wanted me to show my hand.

"You'll regret this," he hissed, his voice guttural and distorted by the wolf form. He was trying to assert dominance, trying to make me question myself. He thought he had the upper hand.

But the thing he didn't understand was that I didn't need to shift to destroy him. I was not just another wolf.

I could feel the monster stirring within me, but it did not control me. I was its equal, not its servant.

"Answers," I whispered, my tone as cold as the steel beneath my skin. "Tell me where they are, and I won't have to make this painful."

His lips curled into a snarl, but his hesitation flickered once more, and in that moment, I saw the crack in his armor. He wasn't as sure of himself as he pretended to be. He was afraid, and that fear was the key to my control.

But then, in a split second, it vanished.

The bartender lunged at me, his claws slashing through the air with lightning speed. I dodged, my movements calculated, a blur of precision honed over years of training.

He was fast, but I was faster.

His claws raked against the air where my neck had been seconds before.

I didn't hesitate. The monster wanted blood. But I—Damian Briggs—needed answers.

I stepped forward, my left arm swiping in a vicious arc, my claws unsheathing with a sharp rasp, cutting deep into the bartender's shoulder. He howled, a guttural sound that split the air, but his retaliation came swiftly.

With a roar, the bartender twisted his body and struck, his massive jaws snapping shut just inches from my face. The force of the blow sent a rush of air toward me, but I ducked low, my body moving with the precision of a soldier. My fist landed hard against his ribcage, a swift strike that broke with the power of years of discipline, not brute strength.

But still, it wasn't enough. The bartender's wolf form was strong, relentless, and despite the damage I had inflicted, he kept coming.

I gritted my teeth, feeling the tension building inside me. The wolves in the room were stirring, pacing, preparing for their moment, waiting to see if I would give in. They wanted a fight, but I was not here to indulge their bloodlust.

I stepped back, and that's when I heard it—another wolf, moving behind me. I spun around, just in time to block a savage swipe aimed at my back. I barely had a second to react before the next wolf attacked, this one from the right, its fangs flashing in the dim light.

I shifted my weight, sidestepping the blow and grabbing the attacking wolf by the throat. With a single, smooth motion, I drove my claws deep into its flesh, just below the jugular. Blood poured out in a hot rush as I twisted, my aim true, striking to end it quickly.

The wolf collapsed, its body twitching before it went still, the life draining from its eyes. The room fell silent for a brief moment, the tension thick in the air. My claws were slick with blood, the iron tang heavy on my tongue.

But there was no time to savor the kill. The bartender roared in fury, his massive body charging once more, and I knew this fight wasn't over.

As I faced him again, I could feel the others closing in, but I remained focused. My training, my instincts, they were all that mattered now.

In a flash, I closed the distance between us, launching myself at him. The bartender's claws slashed downward, but I sidestepped, cutting across his chest with a deep, decisive strike. Blood sprayed, and I didn't give him a chance to recover. My foot connected with his midsection, and with a crack, I slammed him against the wall.

He gasped, struggling for air. His eyes flickered in shock, a momentary weakness that I seized without hesitation.

With a brutal twist of my wrist, I reached for his neck, my claws digging deep. I held him there, waiting for the moment his strength began to wane. He struggled, but the fight was slipping from him.

"Tell me where they are," I growled, my voice low and dangerous, my control slipping to the edge of the abyss.

The bartender's eyes flickered, his lip curling in defiance. But the light was fading from his gaze, his body convulsing under my grip. With one final, devastating movement, I jerked my claws free, severing his life with a single strike.

His massive form crumpled, and as his body hit the ground, the transformation reversed. The grotesque wolf-like form melted away, and his human body lay still, lifeless, blood pooling around him.

I stood over him, my chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The room was silent, the other wolves frozen in place, watching me. They had seen what I was capable of, and I knew they would be more cautious now.

I turned my gaze toward them, my eyes hard.

"I said," I repeated, my voice carrying the weight of finality, "where are they?"

The two wolves moved at me together, a perfect pincer. I didn't flinch. I didn't need to. The moment their claws extended, I was already calculating their movements, anticipating every strike. One lunged at me with savage speed, its claws slashing through the air. I dodged, a blur of motion, grabbing the wolf by the throat before it could get a second swipe in.

The snap of its neck was clean, quick. I twisted, hard, and it crumpled in my grip. Its body shifted back, the fur melting away to reveal a human form, but it was still twitching. Alive, but barely. I ignored it, tossing the body aside, and turned toward the second one.

This one was faster, angrier. It charged, teeth bared, claws like daggers aimed straight for my chest. I sidestepped, its claws raking the air where I'd been just a split second ago. I was already behind it, my hand closing around its neck in a vice grip, my fangs sinking deep into the flesh at the back of its throat.

I felt its pulse shudder before it went still. The body shifted back, but there was no life left in it. I let go and stepped back, watching the corpse crumple. Another wolf down.

But I wasn't done.

The first one—still not dead, I realized. Its body twitched, reshaping into human form. The last of its breath escaped in a strangled cough, but it wasn't finished. I could feel it. The pack bond was still there, lingering. Still tethered to something.

I couldn't let it go.

My claws were already unsheathing, sharp and deadly. I pressed them into the back of its neck, right below the base of its skull. I felt its pulse racing against my fingertips, but I wasn't after a kill anymore. I was after answers.

The connection was instant. Like diving into the mind of another, I was flooded with memories, impressions—faster than I could process. It was disorienting, but I kept my grip firm. I needed to know.

Then I saw it.

Ruby.

She was struggling, fighting against the attacker who had her by the throat. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with panic, and she was kicking, scratching at the hands that were choking her.

Her breath was ragged, desperate, and I could feel the anticipation, the urgency, through his eyes as he watched his partner strangle her.

He was watching her fight. Watching her suffer.

I wanted to rip the memory from his skull, crush it, but I forced myself to focus, let the images play out.

He had been part of it. Part of the group that'd planned to hurt her. Part of the attack.

I felt my claws dig deeper, the anger rising like a tide.

But then the link was gone. It severed, a sharp snap in my mind, and I was back in the moment, hovering over the man's broken body.

He was dead.

The memory faded, but the rage didn't.

I had my answers, but I wanted more.

I wanted retribution.

I found the clue I sought.

With the information now etched into my being, I retracted my claws. The man's gaze met mine—something between recognition and fear, an acknowledgment of what I had just done. A wordless exchange.

A shift in the air that made everything feel heavier, more urgent. I rose from my crouch, the blood of the fallen still fresh on my skin, my form casting a long shadow over the wreckage of this violent chapter.

I didn't need to look at the bodies to know they would be nothing more than crumpled heaps of flesh when the shift came—when the bodies returned to their human forms. The kill had been clean, too clean, and the meaning of that struck deeper than any flesh wound could.

My body moved almost instinctively as I stepped away from the carnage. The cool night air prickled at my heated skin, reminding me of the thin veil that separated the human from the animal within. The city lay sprawled before me, indifferent, unknowing.

Quiet.

Its pulse was a dull hum beneath the tension I carried in every muscle, every breath. A storm had passed through the heart of it, and yet the night held its breath, still and waiting. My hunt, however, was far from over.

I had the answers I needed now. The final piece of the puzzle, the one responsible for Ruby's anguish, the one who had pulled her into this nightmare—he would soon know the tempest he had unwittingly summoned. His time was running out.

The monster and I, united in purpose, tracked his scent.

I drove back through the winding streets, the city's lights dimming in the rearview mirror, the skyline a jagged line against the night sky. The streets were quieter now, almost too quiet.

The hum of the city had softened into the stillness of the night, and with it, my thoughts shifted. Ruby's touch, the softness of her fingertips against my skin, lingered in my mind.

It was a whisper, an imprint on my very soul, reminding me of the humanity still clinging to the edges of the monster within.

Her warmth—strong, resilient—radiated through me. I hadn't known how badly I needed her until her presence had filled the spaces I didn't even realize had been hollow. The brush of her skin against mine sent electric shivers down my spine, both a balm and a fire, soothing and igniting something deep inside me.

She was the tether that kept the beast at bay, the one force that could anchor me in this human shell.

But for now, it was the beast that needed to rise.

I parked by the building where the man lived, a dilapidated structure nestled in the shadows of the city's forgotten corners.

The slums were deceptively clean, too pristine for a place so steeped in decay. The irony of it wasn't lost on me. The monster inside stirred, itching for the full pound of flesh it was owed, but I hesitated, letting the weight of the decision press down on me.

Why was I here? To kill? To extract vengeance?

No.

I was here for Ruby.

For the promise of retribution that would be hers, no matter the cost.

The balance in my mind tipped, the human control slipping away. I relinquished it, allowing the darkness to consume me entirely.

The world shifted. The world blurred. Now, from the monster's eyes, I saw it for what it truly was: an ugly, fractured thing, full of empty promises and broken bodies.

We waited.

Time stretched, the seconds felt like hours, until the door to the building burst open, and there he was—weapon in hand, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The silver glinted from the blade he held, but it was a false promise, a lie. The metal might have held some kind of power over others, but not over me. Not over the thing that had risen within me.

He was too slow. Too desperate. He had sensed me, sensed another creature of the night, but he hadn't known which one. And he had certainly underestimated what it meant to face me.

His eyes widened as he took a step forward, weapon raised, ready to strike. But it was already too late.

Before his mind could even register the danger, I was upon him. The change was instant, fluid, the deadly grace of a predator in its element.

His first swing missed, the blade slicing through air as I closed the distance in a heartbeat, too fast for him to comprehend. He was desperate now, eyes wide with panic, but that panic only made him sloppy.

I grabbed his arm mid-swing, twisting it in an impossible angle, disarming him with a sickening crack. He barely had time to register the pain before I slammed my knee into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. His body crumpled against the wall, but the fight wasn't over. Not yet.

I could smell his fear, taste it in the air. I could feel the pulse in his neck, his heart pounding in time with mine. This was the end of his story and he understood it very well.

With a swift, fluid movement, I slashed across his face, my claws slicing through flesh and bone with lethal precision.

The sound was sickening—an audible tear through the night, the brutality of it echoing in my skull. A chunk of his face was ripped away, his skull now exposed to the cold, merciless night.

Blood splattered, the crimson against his skin a stark contrast to the pallor of death creeping into his features. He staggered back, eyes wide in shock, but it was too late.

His body crumpled, lifeless, at my feet. The silver weapon he'd raised in desperation lay next to his form, its threat now null and void, a mere relic of his folly.

The silence of the night wrapped around me like a cloak, settling deep into the bones of this deserted street.

I stood there for a moment, listening to the wind, feeling the weight of what I had just done. The beast, still thrumming beneath the surface, receded like a tide, leaving me to stand alone.

I inhaled deeply, exhaling as the man within me fought to regain control, the predatory instincts of the wolf shifting back into the human shell.

I moved with practiced ease, a shadow flitting between pools of dim light cast by the street lamps and the unblinking gaze of the CCTV cameras that watched over the streets. They wouldn't capture the truth of what had happened here—not the savagery, not the violence.

They were just another set of eyes in a city too blind to see the darkness lurking beneath its surface.

My skin prickled with the cool touch of the night air, a sharp reminder of my naked vulnerability after the transformation, but it didn't matter. In this moment, I was both man and monster, and the world could deal with that.

I crouched down and gathered the remnants of my torn clothes, the fabric a casualty of the night's violence, and tossed them into the trunk of my car. They were a reminder of the animal I had become, a discardable mask.

Beneath them, nestled among the tools and the spare tire, was a fresh set of clothes—a simple grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans. They were mundane, unremarkable. A small preparation, a reminder of the life I led—one foot in the world of man and the other straddling the realm of the beast. But even the man in me knew there was no real return.

Not after tonight.

As I dressed, the monster's voice echoed in my mind—a low rumble, a growl that vibrated deep within me, carrying the weight of a warning.

"They will come for you," it warned, its tone unwavering, like a drumbeat that could not be ignored.

But I was undeterred. The city might send its hunters, might try to strike back in a dozen ways, but they could not understand the depths of the bond I had with Ruby. They didn't know what I was willing to sacrifice for her safety.

As long as they kept their distance from her, I welcomed the challenge. I would tear apart anyone foolish enough to step in my path.

Yet, the monster pressed on, its question sharp like a claw in the dark.

"Have we made her safe, or have we drawn more danger to her door?"

The question gnawed at the edges of my resolve, its meaning sinking deep, taking root in the soil of my doubts. Had I truly protected her? Or had I invited the storm in, made her a target by drawing blood in this way? I couldn't let myself fall into the spirals of doubt. Not now. Not after everything she had been through.

I closed the trunk with a solid thud, the sound punctuating the quiet of the street. A final note in the symphony of violence and retribution that had played out in these shadows.

I hoped, with every fiber of my being, that my actions had fortified the walls around her, that the storm I had unleashed tonight would serve as a warning to anyone who would dare harm her. But even as I pushed the doubts aside, I knew I couldn't be certain. Not yet.

I slid into the driver's seat, the leather cool against my skin. The engine rumbled to life, its hum a constant, steady pulse beneath the weight of my thoughts.

As I drove through the quiet streets, the city's heartbeat pulsing beneath the skin of the world, I allowed myself a fleeting moment of reflection. The image of Ruby's smile—her warmth—flashed before my eyes.

It was a light in the darkness, the promise of something beyond this chaos. A fire that burned within me, giving me a reason to fight, to survive, to protect.

Her smile was my anchor. It was her safety I fought for, her future I would secure, no matter the cost.

I parked the car with a slow, deliberate movement, stepping out into the cool night. The weight of the night hung heavy on my shoulders—the lives I had taken, the paths I had shifted, the ghosts that lingered in the aftermath.

I stared up at the stars above, scattered like diamonds against the black velvet sky, a reminder that even in darkness, there is light. And in that moment, I made a silent vow.

To her.

To myself.

The weight of what I had done would not crush me.

Not as long as she was safe.