FOUR

“There, that should do it,” the shopkeeper said slipping off his gloves. He had finished with the belladonna, folding it up into a little envelope like he had the other herbs. This time he stamped the small packet in red ink, to mark its more dangerous content. He finished by wrapping all the envelopes together in a small package which he tied carefully with butcher string.

Reaching under the counter, the shop-keep came up with a worn leather-bound ledger, its width perhaps a third longer than its length. Flipping through its pages, he finally spread it open, and taking a fountain pen from his left breast pocket began scribbling within it, in a small, neat penmanship. “First initial, last name?” he inquired, looking at Damon over the top of his spectacles.

“D. Sinclair.” Damon announced, as the shop keep nodded.

“If you would initial here, Mr. Sinclair,” he said as he turned the book towards him.

He had indicated a space on the right-hand page of the ledger, where he had recorded the date, the article of sale (in this case, the belladonna), quantity and name of purchaser. The last column was for the seller’s initials. Damon carefully initialed as instructed, and as he did, quickly perused the rest of the page. It seemed that not only were poisonous herbs recorded here, but other more eccentric items as well. Also signed for were things like potions, enchanted items and objects that could be considered weapons, like ceremonial daggers and knives. On the opposite page, a familiar name caught his attention: a P. Vaughn, had only a couple months earlier purchased a quantity of monkshood.

Damon frowned as he slid the book back to the shopkeeper. “Does Penelope Vaughn often purchase wolfs-bane from you?”

The clerk glanced up somewhat surprised. “I suppose she does when her own stores run low. She’s been a faithful customer over the years. Why do you ask?”

“I just find it odd, perhaps, seeing her name there. I wonder why she would need to procure such a thing.”

The shop keeps’ blue eyes narrowed somewhat. “I suppose, I have had my suspicions over the years—but it would be best that you speak to her yourself if you are inclined to learn more. Many of my customers are, how should I put it… more unorthodox in nature. If you know Ms. Vaughn personally, and are aware of her condition, then one might be able to conclude on their own as to why she may need such a thing.”

***

Returning home, Damon immediately recognized the silver Benz that was parked across from his apartment building. “Small world,” he thought as he threw on his blinker and turned on to Becket Street where he then swerved into the alley behind his building. He parked Ryan’s black BMW in one of the vacant spots. Brandishing his keys, he slipped into the building through the back door and took the service elevator up. The sixth floor held only four units with his apartment in the back corner overlooking the alley. Reaching his door, he frowned as he found it slightly ajar. Once inside he removed his dark sunglasses, setting them on the small table beside his front door. He could hear voices coming from his living room; Ryan’s deep baritone and a female voice that no doubt belonged to the she-wolf Penelope Vaughn. Stepping into the living room, he quickly realized that there was another occupant. Nathan, clearly within the throes of a blood lust, was on the love seat, clutching his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. Neither Ryan nor Penelope had taken notice of his distress, so absorbed they were in conversation.

Dropping to his knees, he grabbed hold of Nate’s hands, forcing them from his face as he called out to him—but the boy was already too far gone. Behind him, Ryan was only now becoming aware of what was happening.

“Do you have a bag in the refrigerator?” he asked, suddenly stepping up.

“No time,” Damon said as he dropped his fangs and ripped open his own veins. He’d seen Nate’s eyes, and there had been nothing there but blood-lust. “Drink,” he pushed his open wrist into his face and thankfully, Nathan latched on.

The boy’s grip was like a vice, his hunger relentless. Nate drank and drank from him like his thirst could not be quenched.

Damon had never seen him like this. He worried that if Nate’s hunger didn’t soon sate, he may have to send Ryan to fetch the blood from the refrigerator after all; something that he would like to avoid at all costs. Nathan didn’t consume human blood, and Damon couldn’t betray his principles now in this moment of weakness. He would let him feed for as long as possible.

“Come back to me, Nate.” Damon begged, gently stroking his hair. Finally, Nate released him and looked up into his face. His blue eyes were wild and confused as if coming out of a trance, but at least they were human once more. Damon smiled, relief flooding over him. “Welcome back,” he said. “How are you feeling? Are you back in control?”

Nate nodded silently, dropping his eyes, face red. He was withdrawing from Damon’s touch, uncomfortable by his closeness.

“Come,” Damon stood and offered Nate his hand. “You need to rest. You can use my bed.” After a feed of warm blood, it wouldn’t be long before Nathan was sleeping—whether he realized it or not.

Nate shook his head defiantly. “I’m okay. I want to be by Nick.”

“Then I’ll bring you a blanket.” Damon turned to fetch the item, but immediately faltered; his legs having betrayed him.

“I got you,” Ryan said as he steadied him from behind. He had gone to the refrigerator, retrieved the blood and poured it into a large glass, which he was now extending towards him. “Here. You drink this. I’ll get the blanket.”

Damon took the glass gratefully and downed half of it. He glanced over at Penelope, who had been quietly watching everything unfold from her seat in his easy chair. She was hooked up to an IV tube, her blood running down into a glass bottle. Her presence in his home left distaste in the back of his throat, however necessary it might have been. Ignoring her for the moment, he crossed over to check on Nick instead.

***

Hours later, Ryan stood surveying the situation from his post in the Kitchen above. On the far side of the living room, Nathan was camped out on the loveseat, in a slumber so deep that he was oblivious to any happenings going on around him.

Below him, Damon sat dutifully beside Nick like a silent sentry. He had pulled the coffee table so far forward that his knees were wedged up tight against the leather sofa, as he leaned over Nick, talking quietly, his hand hovered gently over his forehead. He’d placed a compress upon his brow and from time to time, his fingers would descend into Nick’s hair, in a gentle sweeping motion, as he brushed his dark hair away from his face.

In the kitchen behind him, Penelope was continuing to formulate a potion from the herbs and powders brought home from the magic shop. The she-wolf had considerably more experience as a chemist, so Ryan had graciously stepped aside, allowing her to take the lead. Time was precious, and the dilution process was taking longer than he had anticipated.

Even with the blood transfusion in place, Nick’s condition seemed no better than before. He had hoped that Penelope’s fresh blood would help his body fight off the toxin in his system. While it was true, he had been able to stop the bleeding in his shoulder (which he had wrapped in clean white bandages), Nick’s pallor was still deathly pale, his heart-rate low and his skin was damp from a cold sweat.

Ryan moved down to the sofa, as Damon took up the cloth and once more dunked it into the bowl of water on the table beside him, before wringing it out and reapplying it to Nick’s brow.

“Can we talk?” He asked, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “In private?”

Damon had been eerily quiet since his return home, and the tension in the room had been stretched thin. He needed to see where his head was at.

Without a word, Damon rose and followed Ryan to the bedroom, taking up an uneasy seat on the bed. He looked exhausted, which was understandable, considering. Still, there was more to it, he thought. Damon could get dangerously overprotective where Nick was concerned, and his uncanny quiet reminded him of a river newly covered in ice; brittle and thin, not quite transparent; ready to crack beneath you if you took a wrong step, and just below the surface; a dangerous current waiting to sweep you away into its churning depths.

“How are you holding up?” Ryan asked closing the door behind him.

“How do you think I’m holding up? I come home to find a wolven in my living room, one son on his deathbed—the other on the brink of a frenzy. Oh, and did I happen to mention… the wolven that was in my living room?”

“Shh,” Ryan cautioned. “She’ll hear you.”

“Of course, she can hear me,” Damon countered rising to his feet. His green eyes flashed dangerously. “She’s a wolf.”

Ryan raised his arms defensively. “I know you’re upset, but I thought it was Nick’s best chance.”

“You’re right.” Damon sighed as he sat back down. This time he dropped his head heavily into his hands. He looked defeated.

Ryan stared a moment at Damon, slowly realizing. “Wait, did you just agree with me?”

“It was a smart move, transfusing her unsullied blood to Nick. You probably saved his life. I’m grateful—truly grateful for all you’ve done.”

“And you’re not angry, that she’s still here, helping with the antidote.”

Damon shrugged. “She has a vested interest in Nick. I know she cares for him, in her own way.” He emphasized. “I can hardly ask her to leave, after all she’s done for him.”

There was a quick knock at the door, and then without waiting for a response, Penelope was peeking in at them. “Gentlemen, I believe we are ready,” she said brightly. Her honey-brown eyes looked hopeful. “I’d like to administer it now, if there are no objections.” She had caught Damon’s eyes then, and Ryan had witnessed their silent exchange. The she-wolf was wise in obtaining Damon’s consent first. It showed a measure of respect.

In the living room, Penelope had taken up Damon’s spot at Nick’s side. She had a glass syringe containing a colorless liquid. Carefully, she injected it directly into the vein in Nick’s left arm. His right arm was already receiving the blood transfusion.

“That should do for now. I’ve enough for another dosage but I think it wise we wait and see how this affects him.” She stood and faced them then. “There’s not much more I can do for the moment I’m afraid.”

“Would you like some tea?” Ryan offered. The she-wolf looked suddenly drained herself, now that she’d completed the task at hand.

“That would be lovely. However, I think I will just head home.” She turned to Damon then. “You’ll call me if there’s any change?”

“Of course, I’ll see you to your car.”

***

Together they walked down the hall in silence. They were waiting for the elevator when Penelope finally turned and addressed him.

“Come on now, out with it. Tell me what’s on your mind. We both know you’re not accompanying me out of the goodness of your heart.”

Damon sighed and turned to face her. His voice was solemn but sincere. “I want to thank you Penelope, for what you did for Nick.”

His appreciation surprised her. The look on her face told him as much. “I would do anything for Nick. I’d thought you’d know that by now.”

When the doors opened, they rode the elevator down in silence. Once by her car, Damon brought up what was really on his mind.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but when I was acquiring the belladonna, the shopkeeper had me sign a ledger. He keeps track it seems, of whomever he sells his more questionable wares. Something I’m sure you are aware of since you have procured wolfsbane from him on a regular basis.”

Penelope was quick to interrupt him. “What I do, is my own business. I don’t answer to you, Damon.”

He fixed her with an icy glare. “I’m not suggesting otherwise. I am going to insist however, that you keep Nick out of your affairs.”

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“Nick, need I remind you, is a grown man.”

“Nick is my son, my responsibility. Need I remind you; our bloodlines are maintaining a fragile truce—it wouldn’t bode well for either side to start making waves now.”

“Ah yes, our treaty—just how long has it been? I can never remember exactly— OH, wait! How old is Nikolaus again?” her voice dripped sarcasm.

Damon was quick to retort. “We gave up something as equally precious.”

“Yes, of course, the elven child, Il’landra—Anson’s ward. But there’s one thing I’ve always wondered about… Why was it that you specifically, were left in charge of Nick—such a precious commodity, when you’ve never made it secret your hatred of my kind.”

Damon too had admittedly spent a lot of time thinking about that as well. When his father, Anson, had placed Nick in his care they were about to part ways. Anson had achieved his goal in obtaining a treaty between the clans and the packs. He’d been troubled by the loss of the seer-girl, his adopted daughter—but otherwise satisfied with the outcome of the treaty.

Damon however, had been left feeling hollow and unfulfilled. All he’d ever wanted was revenge against the beasts that had destroyed the one thing he’d held dear. He had been a good son and an even better soldier; never questioning Anson’s orders, even when the outcome put an end to the only thing that had kept him going. The answer he thought, was perhaps that Anson had realized that a man with nothing to live for, was a dangerous thing—destructive even. Forcing Damon to take charge of the wolven child had given his existence new meaning.

The she-wolf wasn’t finished however, and Damon steeled himself for whatever it was she was about to say next.

“You were Anson’s most brutal, his most vicious of lieutenants, but when it comes to Nick and the way you’ve selflessly raised him; the way you’ve always protected him—you, are an amazing father. You aren’t the same man who stormed the wolven keep all those years ago. I hope you realize that.”

***

Nick was running, his dark hair flying back from his face, his feet dashing quickly through the grass. He’d been following the riverbed, moving with the current towards the south-east. The farther he got, the more he left the lights of the city behind, but Nick’s eyes were the eyes of a predator and had no problem showing him the way. Behind him, Jaylen was falling behind, his much shorter legs struggling to keep up. He could hear the boy panting, his breath ragged. Nick’s own breathing was even and measured in comparison.

“Try to keep up Jaylen,” he called back encouragingly. He didn’t want the young wolf falling too far behind. His body wasn’t as conditioned as Nicks; but Jaylen hadn’t been born a wolf like he had. Instead, he had been made when he’d been mauled by a werewolf under the light of the full moon, when most werewolf attacks occurred. Jaylen never knew who turned him, and it was likely that whoever did, was as equally unaware. Even for Nick, those few nights of full moon left him with no more than a blur of fleeting images, scents, and sounds.

Looking over his shoulder, Nick came to a full stop and waited for Jaylen to catch up. “C’mon,” he said lowering his large frame. "It’s not much farther, you can ride the rest of the way.”

With Jaylen on his back, Nick once more took off, his feet following the shoreline, the river a dark scar of quickly moving water beside him. They were coming up on national park land, where there was a campground: an area for picnicking, fishing, and a lock. At this time of year, the grounds would be closed; the summer season having ended, and both the maintenance building and lock would be deserted.

Reaching the canal, Nick once more stopped, before dropping Jaylen to the ground. “Did you cross here?” he asked as Jaylen nodded. Nick scanned the area carefully, smelling the air, looking for anything out of order, but everything appeared to be quiet. On the opposite side of the water, the lock house stood looking dark and abandoned, closed no doubt until spring.

They crossed the dam, coming up close to the house on the other side. Making their way to the back of the building, Nick checked the door before deftly busting it open. It came easily under the weight of his shoulder.

Inside, the main floor was all business. A couple of desks and some file cabinets sat behind a long counter. There was a waiting area: bright-yellow pleather covered chairs, a water cooler and a couple of vending machines that were set up for boaters who would be pleasure cruising during peak season. Maps and diagrams of the lock and how it worked hung on the wall. Pamphlets and leaflets sat along the top of the counter in plastic holders. Behind the counter, a set of stairs led to the upper level. Nick took the steps two at a time with Jaylen at his heels. Upstairs there were sleeping quarters. Four cots, stripped bare for the end of season, lined the wall on the left. To the right, was a kitchenette of sorts for the staff.

“Tell me again,” he said to Jaylen dropping down on one of the cots and motioning for him to do the same.

Jaylen nodded, his voice husky as he spoke. “There’s something in the woods, outside the cabin. We’ve seen it slinking out there in the shadows. We think it might be another wolf.” He lowered his voice. “You know, like us.”

Nick thought things through. If there was a werewolf in those woods other than the boys, then it would be a powerful one at that. His small group of boys—those turned and left orphaned—didn’t yet possess the ability to transform unless under the light of the full moon. Even then, it wasn’t voluntary. Tonight’s waning moon was only half full. If there was a man-wolf lurking, then it had the ability to transform at will; something that could take decades to master. Unless of course, it was wolven born.

“Marcus said it wasn’t anything he and Adam couldn’t handle, but the rest of us are scared. I had C.J. keep an eye out for it while I snuck out. I made sure to keep downwind and then ran as fast as I could to find you.”

“You did well. You were brave to come get me.” Nick patted him affectionately on the shoulder. Marcus was one of the older boys. He and Adam usually assumed responsibility for the pack when Nick wasn’t around. Many had been runaways, but Marcus had been running the streets in a gang when he had been turned. He had a harder edge to him than the other boys, who were mostly lost and just looking for a place to belong.

Nick stood, preparing to leave. “All right, you get some rest. I’ll go check things out. I’ll come back for you in the morning. You shouldn’t be bothered here tonight.”

“But I want to come with you.” Jaylen protested. “I want to help.”

“No. You’ve done your part.” Nick said with a smile. “Now let me do mine.” Jaylen, as enthusiastic as he was, would only slow him down. Besides, if there was a threat back at the cabin, he would be safer here; one less boy to worry about.

Outside, Nick pulled the door closed behind him. On this side of the canal was a tiny rest area. A few wooden tables, trash barrels and hibachi grills were set up for picnickers. Beyond the picnic ground, there was a forested area and the beginnings of a series of old hiking trails that were now scarcely used. Nick once more began running, this time quickly weaving his way through the trees. Coming out on the other side was the shoreline and an old foot bridge. It had been marked as unsafe and been cordoned off to prevent any would-be hikers from traversing further. Downstream of the bridge, was a raging fall, where the current picked up dangerously.

Nick slipped past the blockade crossing the rickety bridge to the other side. From here, he easily picked up the trail that would take him to the cabin; an abandoned ranger’s station that had remained unused for the last decade once a modern replacement had been constructed. The new station lay several miles north and much closer to the old logging trails which were the only way to reach the reserve by vehicle.

The slight wind, fleeting as she was, favored him tonight, blowing towards him when she was able, masking his scent from any predator he might be coming upon. A couple miles in he stopped at the edge of a clearing. The old cabin lay ahead. Inside, it was dimly lit, the windows barely aglow from lanterns within. Immediately Nick began skirting through the trees, searching for the hint of an intruder; but the earlier rain had left the area damp, the scents diluted. If there had been a man here, he had since moved on. With the fickle breeze dropping down there would be no air-driven scent for him to pick up.

Nick began to strip down, pulling off his dark shirt, which was sweat damp from his earlier run. He could cover the ground in half the time in wolf form and his nose could detect scents in an almost visual sense, as if they were patterns of colour that had been splashed and strewn along the forest floor. Nick kicked off his sneaks, unbuttoned his fly and before his jeans were around his knees, leapt out of them in a graceful blur of silver and white. Nose to the ground, he soon found the place where someone had indeed been lurking, and for quite some time at that. Rising on his hind legs, he found a spot on the tree; a hand-print of smell where someone had leaned against it momentarily with a sweaty palm. The same scent led off into the trees, and on padded feet he followed.

***

“You got him? You’re sure you got him?” The younger of two men asked as he lowered his night vision binoculars. He had lost sight of their quarry only short moments before.

“Calm down. I got a nice clean shot. Lilly here, never misses.” Jett said as he lowered his goggles and affectionately patted his crossbow.

“Lilly? Idiot! What has father told you about naming your weapons?”

“Relax, Jasper. All the best hunters do it.”

“You mean the crazy ones, don’t you?” Jasper had once more raised his binoculars to scan the horizon for any sign of movement, but there was nothing. The forest was exceptionally quiet this night.

“Well, I reckon we all have to be a bit crazy to be in this line of work,” Jett said as he began collecting gear and slinging it over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go finish the job.”

“Finish the job? I thought you said you got him.” Jasper said as he fell in line behind his older brother.

“I did, I did. I clipped him good.”

Jasper stopped sharply and reached for his brother. Grasping his shoulder, he roughly turned him towards him. Anger and fear resonated in his voice. “What do you mean, you clipped him?” he hissed. “You said you had the shot.”

Jett was grinning like a fool, delighted perhaps by his distress. “Come, now. How is it at all sporting if I one shot him like that?” He reached to his belt and pulled out an ugly hunting knife. He held it up as he spoke. “It isn’t at all fun unless I get to drive the blade in myself, twist it for good measure and watch the light leave their eyes.”

“Sporting? Fun? This isn’t a game, Jett. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Don’t you worry now,” Jett continued as he admired his blade. “It’s not like I didn’t lace the thing. I may be a bit loco, as you suggest—but I’m not stupid.”

Jasper stared at him wide-eyed, a look of fear across his face. “What? What is it now?”

“Your gloves,” Jasper replied meekly. “You’re not wearing your gloves.”

Jett snorted. “Stop worrying. I wore my gloves when I applied the poison—if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“And the bolt?” Jasper was licking his lips nervously as he glanced about at the surrounding shadows, as if he felt eyes upon him from everywhere at once. “You wore your gloves when you handled the bolt as well?”

The look of confidence faded from Jett’s face only to be quickly replaced by one that wordlessly admitted to having just royally screwed up.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Jasper turned suddenly and began heading in the opposite direction.

“Hey.” Jett reached and grabbed Jasper by the arm. “Where do you think you’re going? The job’s not done.”

Jasper flung his brother’s arm from him irritably. Tears of fear and anger burned his eyes. “You idiot!” he whispered hoarsely. “You’ve killed us. Did you forget what it is we’ve been hunting? How could you be so stupid? It has your scent now. We’ve got to get out of here. Come back with Father—come back with a party. If we run now, maybe we can still make it.”

“Stop overreacting. We are not going anywhere. Father wouldn’t run. He would stay and finish the job.”

“Father wouldn’t have been so stupid as to slather his scent all over his arrow before firing it.” Jasper pulled out his cell phone and began scrolling through his contact list.

“What are you doing? Who are you calling?”

“Who do you think?”

Jett reached out and snatched the cell phone from his brother’s hand. He flung it angrily into the underbrush. “I will finish this, with or without you. No stupid beast has ever got the best of me.”

“That’s just it. You’ve underestimated our quarry. This isn’t an ordinary beast we’ve been tracking. We’re in over our heads here. We should have never attempted this alone.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jett said stalking off in the direction he had last seen his prey. “Run home to daddy with your tail between your legs if you like, but I’m finishing what we started.”

With that, he was gone, and Jasper was standing alone, in the still and the dark, the only light from the moon above. The wind picked up then, cooling his sweat damp skin and causing the gooseflesh to crawl. Searching the underbrush, he soon found his phone mercifully undamaged and immediately attempted to call for help—but there were no bars, reception this far out was nonexistent.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Jasper repeated, unsure of his next move. His instincts told him to flee. To run. To get as far away from this spot as it was humanly possible. But a second voice—one that sounded an awful lot like his father—was scolding him for even thinking of abandoning his brother at a time like this. Finish what you’ve started. It was saying, and although every measure of common sense told him to do otherwise, he found himself turning and following instead in his brother’s footsteps.

***

There was a motley collection of scents running amidst the hidden pathways of the forest. In one direction, there was the muted scent of man; not only the one he was following, but occasionally, when the wind picked up, the musky stink would come floating down on the breeze—a hunting party perhaps? Intersecting this, were the scents of smaller beasts; rabbits, the fodder of the animal kingdom, crossed here on a regular basis. A stag too, had passed by earlier this evening, and Nick struggled to keep his wolf-self on point, forcing it to abandon the urge to pursuit.

Concentrating, he forced Niko to stay on the task at hand, but the man scent was confusing. If it was a hunting party, then they had divided. The trail he’d followed from the cabin, now headed off in an easterly direction, while the whiff on the breeze; a much more recent and pungent scent, was coming down from almost due north. He was trying to decide which to follow, when a sound; a distant twang and swoosh of rushing air caused his wolf to start. He dropped, but it wasn’t enough to avoid the arrow which struck him hard in the shoulder, piercing his coat and lodging inside. He cried out; a startled yelp of pain, and it took every measure of control that Nick possessed, to stop his wolf-self from fleeing in blind terror. Almost immediately, a burning sensation, like molten metal erupted within his shoulder. Silver. He recognized the burn, had been cut by it before. Except this time, it was embedded deep within him, and the effects would soon be devastating. While it hadn’t hit any vital organs, the silver itself could still prove deadly; it would continue to weaken him, sapping his strength and impeding his ability to heal.

This was no typical hunter—not if he was using silver. It meant only one thing, he was out tracking wolves and the boys, his boys, were in trouble. Struggling to his feet, his shoulder aching with every step, he headed north. The hunter couldn’t be far, 70 yards perhaps, more likely closer still. Forty yards ahead, he heard something, his wolf ears picking up, turning, focusing. Something was moving quietly through the underbrush ahead—just not quietly enough.

Nick kicked his wolf into high gear closing the distance fast. Catching sight of a dark figure, he sprang; his wolf form changing in mid-air, easily doubling in size until he was now proportionate to that of a small bear. It was what Damon had affectionately dubbed his “tank form” and while it lacked the speed and agility of his “travel form” it more than made up for it with power and brute strength. The hunter hardly knew what hit him. In mere seconds, Niko had the man’s throat in his jaws, even before they’d hit the ground from the force of his impact.

The wolf’s jaws closed, teeth sinking easily into flesh. Ripping and tearing ensued. There was a gargling sound, a wet and sickly choking, as Niko finally released him, the hunter’s hand coming up to his open throat. It wouldn’t be long now. Death was imminent.

The hunter however was smiling, a sick and gruesome sight. Blood, dark as oil was sliding down his neck; a slick waterfall, his teeth were full of blood. Triumphantly, he held up the bolt from the arrow, having pulled it free from the wolf’s chest. Seconds later, his arm dropped heavily, the gurgling sound ceased, and the hunter lay still.

Staggering, Niko turned and fled tail down. He changed form once more, conserving energy. One moment he was lumbering heavily, the next stride, daintily: the change happening as fluid motion. Numbness was beginning to span down across his leg. In one respect, it seemed to be dulling the sharp pains that were jarring out from his shoulder with each step. What he couldn’t shake however was the sight of the hunter’s face, so jubilant in his last few seconds of life. It could hardly bode well for him.