Chapter 64

Gabe walked about angrily, his rifle still slung over one shoulder.

Eric stood silently.

His eyes were still red from crying over Ariana’s death, he looked without blinking at the dark forest where Liam had vanished moments ago.

Neither of them said a word.

They could still hear the echoes of those inhuman screams.

He stood there silently for an extra thirty minutes, watching as Gabe calmed down and began to clean off Clara.

Just then Gabe’s walkie talkie, which was clipped to his belt, came to life, it was Lena’s voice.
It sounded urgent.

“Gabe, there’s trouble, we just confirmed three bodies in town.” She said.

“One at Hargrove behind the gas station, one at Leland in the diner, and Tommy at the motel, they all happened a few minutes ago, their bodies drained dry, with no blood at the scenes.” She said.

“The Sheriff is trying to pass it off as a wild animal attack, but… the people who saw it say it’s not.” She continued.

“Get here now.” She added.

Gabe snatched the walkie talkie, his thumb pressing the button.

“Copy. Descriptions?” He asked.

There was a pause on the line.

“It’s really bad, they look like mummies.” She said.

“Their eyes are sunken, their skin looks like paper, nonwounds.” She paused.

“It looks like… like their souls are gone, Gabe.” She whispered.

“Whatever this is, it’s feeding.”

Gabe froze and looked over at Clara.

“Three people,” he said, his voice low and filled with anger.

“ Three bodies in town, all drained empty.” He whispered she bent down and grabbed her chin with gloved fingers, forcing her head up.

His eyes, that were usually warm, were dark with anger and betrayal.

“You did this, Clara.” He muttered.

“You unleashed this thing.” He hissed.

“What the hell were you thinking? Black magic? After everything the pack’s lost?” He asked, sounding betrayed.

Clara couldn’t look at him.

Her eyes dropped to the blood on her hands, Liam’s blood was dark, almost black, it was mixed with her own brighter red.

She looked at his skin under her nails and dried in flaky patches on her palms.
The sight made her stomach roll.

“I just wanted him back,” she whispered.

“He was my mate, Gabe.” She whispered.

“Three days without him, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t live. Mara said, ”

“Mara said what?” Gabe released her chin roughly, and stood again.

“Who is Mara!” He asked.

“The witch at the top of the mountain.” Clara whispered.

Gabe looked down at her, he had no idea the witch was real.

“So you met her?” He asked.

Clara nodded.

“And she said that there’d be no consequences? That you could cheat death without paying?” He asked, sounding angry again.

“You’re not stupid, Clara.” He said.

“You knew the stories, we’ve all heard the stories, a soul for a soul. And you still, ” he paused and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“I knew,” she cut in, her voice shaking.

She opened her mouth to continue but began to cough, she bent over still coughing, she coughed until black spots began to dance in her vision.

When it passed, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing more blood.

“I knew the risk.” She whispered.

“But losing him forever? Watching them lower that box? It broke me.” She continued.

“I’d trade anything, everything, to have him back.” She said.

“Even if it was just for a moment.” She added.

Eric finally moved then.

Kicking dirt out of the way as he walked towards her.

He bent in front of her, close enough that she could smell the copper of his own wounds mixed with gun oil and leaf.

His face was a mess, the deep wound from Tyler’s claws running from temple to jaw, with stains from dried blood, his eyes red and swollen from tears he had shed over Ariana’s body a few hours ago.

Fresh tracks cut through the dirt on his cheeks.

“We’re going into town,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless, like he was reciting a death sentence.

“We see what he did.” He paused, correcting himself.

“Then we end it. No more bargaining. No more rituals.” He added.

Clara shook her head slowly, mechanically, the move sending fresh pain through her neck.

“He’s still Liam.” She whispered.

“Somewhere inside that… that thing.” She continued.

“I felt the bond. It was brief, but it was there.” She continued.

“We can save him. We have to try, ” She pleaded.

“No.” Eric said, his hand shot out, grabbing her chin harder than Gabe had, forcing her to meet his empty stare.

His fingers shook with barely contained anger.

“That thing wore his face like a mask.” He growled.

“It tried to kill you, you, Clara, the one person Liam would have died for a hundred times over.” He continued.

“Ariana’s gone because of choices like the one you just made.” He said.

“Wolfsbane, Tyler, going to the mill alone, it’s all the same, bad decisions and we have to stop it. Now. Or more will die.” He growled.

His words hit like punches, each one landing in her stomach.

Ariana was dead?

She had no idea.

Clara’s eyes filled with tears again.

“I didn’t mean this. I thought… I thought if I loved him enough, ” she cried.

“Love doesn’t fix this,” Eric snarled, releasing her chin.

“Action does, so get up.” He growled.

Gabe pulled her to her feet by the arm.

Pain filled her shoulder socket, but she didn’t fight it.

Her legs were still shaky, she could barely stand.

“The truck is this way,” Gabe muttered.

“Move. We don’t have time for breakdowns.” He added.

She stumbled after them, as they got into Gabe’s truck, Clara in the back seat, sitting between toolboxes and spare ammo.

The engine came to life, and they drove out.

Clara pressed her forehead to the cold window, watching the graves in the distance.

I’m sorry, Liam.

I’m so sorry.

The town had turned to a ghost town.

Sirens wailed in the distance, as they got closer, but Main Street itself was eerily quiet, shops locked and bolted, curtains in houses drawn tight, porches were empty.

A single police cruiser was parked across the intersection, its red blue red blue lights flashing brightly.

The air smelled of snow and something else, something like metal.

Gabe turned the headlights off.

Bringing the truck to a stop behind the gas station.

“Hargrove first,” he said, his voice low.

“Stay close, keep your eyes open.”

They moved in the darkness , Gabe leading with his rifle ready, Eric following behind Clara, his pistol drawn.

The alley behind the station was narrow, and littered with oil stains and used beer cans.

Old Mr. Hargrove, was a seventy-two, retired mechanic with a bad leg from Vietnam and everyone knew him for the perpetual grease stain he always had on his overalls.

He lay on his back against the dumpster.

His skin was as thin as paper, barely clinging to bone like wet paper left to dry in the sun, it was wrinkled and gray.

His eyes were sunken deep into sockets, his mouth open in a silent, eternal scream.

There was no blood left in him, just a dry, empty bag of bones.

Clara’s stomach vibrated as she turned away, holding back her vomit.

He had fixed her old Ford pickup last spring, and he had insisted she pay with black coffee while listening to his stories about his time in the Asian jungle.

“Mr. Hargrove…” she whispered, dropping to her knees beside him.

Her hand raised over his chest, afraid to touch.

Gabe knelt opposite her, his gloved hand also inches above the corpse, scanning for any clues.

“No wounds.” He whispered.

“No defensive marks on the hands, no struggle at all, just empty, like life was vacuumed out.” He said.

Eric stared down at the body, his face emotionless.

“His soul has been sucked out, exactly like the old pack stories, the hollows, the skinwalkers.” He said.

“Things that feed on soul, not flesh.”

Clara shook her head, tears rolling down her cheek.

“Liam wouldn’t… he loved Mr Hargrove’s stories.” She said,

“He called him ‘Gramps’ sometimes.” She added.

“That wasn’t Liam,” Eric said coldly.

“Not anymore.”

They moved on.

The diner was next, Leland’s Place. It had a big bright sign.

The door was unlocked, the bells jingling as Gabe pushed in.

The smell hit first, stale coffee, bacon grease, and underneath, that same dry rot.

Mrs. Leland, the waitress who had worked there for thirty years, always slipping extra bacon onto their plates as kids slumped over the counter, her apron still tied neatly, a shattered coffee pot beside her outstretched hand.

She had the same empty look, her skin shriveled, her eyes milky and staring fixed at the door, as if she had watched her killer enter and still had time for one final, horrified realization.

Clara couldn’t stand it anymore.

She fell to the floor hard, her knees hitting the tiles badly, pain shooting up her thighs.

“No. No-no-no,” she cried, crawling on all fours to Mrs. Leland’s side.

Her fingers shook as she touched the woman’s cheek.

It was cold, and felt like leather.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”

Gabe pulled her up again, gentler this time.

“We don’t have time.” He said.

“Third one’s at the motel, we need to go.”

The motel was deserted.

Room 7’s door was almost off its hinges, the wood splintered and scattered like confetti.

The clerk, Tommy, a nineteen year old man, was laid across the rumpled bed.

The TV remote is still in his limp hand.

Same style, body shriveled, skin tight over bones, mouth wide open.

But this time, a message was scratched into the drywall above the headboard with deep, claw marks.

HUNGRY in letters six inches tall.

Clara stared at the word until it got blurry as tears filled her eyes, her chest aching her, as she tried to hold back the tears she couldn’t release, her throat felt too damaged.

Hungry.

That was all it, it, he, felt now?

Eric’s walkie talkie came to life again, Lena.

“Sheriff’s mobilizing full force. Roadblocks going up. They think it’s a rabid bear or wolf pack. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before they corner something they can’t handle. Get out or get ready.”

Gabe’s eyes were filled with anger as he looked around the room.

“We have to track and end this.” He said.

“We can’t let there be any more victims.”

They followed the trail Liam left behind.

He left behind a path of destruction, broken street lights, claw marks deep into the bark of trees.

Just then they smelt something.

The wolf in them recognized the scent instinctively, Liam’s smell, but it was twisted and wrong, it smelled rotten, like meat left too long in the refrigerator.
It made their stomachs turn.

They all followed the direction of the smell, each readying their weapon except Clara who was still crying.

It was freezing but she didn’t care, she endured the pain.
She whispered prayers under her breath, praying Liam would be okay.

After a while, they finally found him at the old ranger station, whose roof had collapsed long ago.

He was bent over something,
He was shirtless, naked.

He was feeding, his head buried in the neck of a body beneath him.

They froze, it was a deputy in torn uniform, the badge stained with blood.

Liam’s head snapped up as the truck lights illuminated the scene.

He snarled, his mouth red and dripping.

Eric jumped out first, raising his rifle up and pointing it at Liam.

“Step away from him. Now.” He growled.

Liam rose slowly, the way he moved they could tell he was barely human anymore, he slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a mocking way.

“Eric.” The voice was Liam’s voice but it sounded too off, too smooth, too predatory, each syllable drawn out like he was savoring the name.

“You smell like grief.” He whispered and smiled.

“Fresh. Delicious.” He paused and smiled.

“It’s Ariana’s, isn’t it?” He whispered and began to laugh.

“I can taste it from here.” He muttered.

Clara rushed out from the truck, almost slipping on ice.

“Liam, please, stop this. Come back to me.” She begged.

He turned his head at an impossible angle, his black eyes fixed on her.

“Clara. My maker.” He said and smiled.

“You smell like guilt. Regret. Fear. I want more.” He hissed.

Gabe fired without warning, the wolfsbane-silver round slamming into the center of his chest with a thunk.

Liam staggered back a step, he looked down at the smoking hole in his chest, flesh bubbling, his black veins retreating, then he began to laugh, his laughter sounded like cracking ice.

“Nice try,” he said, and rushed forward with blinding speed.

Eric tackled Clara out of the path, the both of them hitting the ground hard, air whooshing from lungs.

Gabe emptied the gun.

Each bullet hit Liam, who only staggered backwards, they weren’t enough to drop him.

He smacked Gabe aside like he was swatting a fly,the Alpha flew ten feet, hitting a tree with a sickening crack.

He groaned as he slumped to the ground.

Clara screamed.

Eric rolled to his feet, and fired straight into Liam’s face, the bullet entering the cheek, exiting the back of the skull, blood spraying out.

Liam roared, swinging his claws at Eric’s chest in retaliation, four deep claws tearing through the shirt and flesh, blood splashing out.

Then he was gone, vanishing into the trees faster than any wolf, faster than man.

Gabe coughed blood, struggling up on one elbow.

“He’s not healing from silver, he’s rejecting it.” He wheezed.

“Expelling the poison. Like it feeds him instead.” He said.

Eric pressed a hand to his bleeding chest, his shirt soaking red.

“We need that witch now! We need Mara.” He said.