The stench of putrid blood dissipated once Utica vanished, leaving behind a haunting stillness. Her scent had changed—it was heavier now, darker, more akin to that of a vampire. It was a sign that she was nearing the point of no return, shedding her humanity to embrace the hybrid form entirely.

As my lycanthrope form subsided, I walked toward one of the fallen bodies, noticing something unusual. The hunter's crest had been deliberately removed from the armor, leaving behind only faint markings where it had once been.

Antolio and Derrick shifted back into their human forms, moving closer. Without hesitation, Antolio knelt beside the body, and placed his hand on the man's face, closing his eyes. After a moment of silence, he began signing rapidly toward Derrick, his face filled with concern.

"Antolio knew this man, young master. His name is Augustus. They used to drink together at the tavern—until one day, he disappeared without a word. Antolio says, this... this isn't like him at all. He never thought Augustus would Align himself with a band of rogue hunters."

I turned around and began walking toward the waterfall. Rescuing Harold was why we were here, and there was no time for distractions. "Let's get going. We'll deal with the details later."

The sound of rushing water grew deafening as we followed the narrow, slippery trail behind the waterfall. The path led us into a dark, damp cave where the sound of water gradually faded, replaced by the hollow echoes of our footsteps.

Inside, the scene before us was grim. A fully transformed gray werewolf was restrained in the center of the cave. Its massive frame was subdued by thick silver cuffs that dug cruelly into its legs. The chains rattled as the beast strained against them, its muscles rippled with each desperate pull. Its jaws gnawed furiously at the bindings, but the effort only resulted in a pained growl. Faint wisps of smoke rose where the cuffs touched its skin, the silver burning and poisoning the creature with every second.

"Those restraints were forged with silver, young master. If you look at its mouth and legs, you can see how the silver is poisoning the skin. The burns are deepening, and he might not be much of a challenge to control," Derrick said.

The werewolf immediately sensed our presence, its growls deepening into a feral rumble that echoed ominously through the cavern. Its glowing eyes burned with seething rage, staring at us like a predator cornering its prey.

With a guttural snarl, it lunged forward, the force of its movement sending a violent rattle through the heavy chains that restrained it. The metal links snapped taut with a sharp, metallic clang, the sound reverberating off the cave walls like a dire warning.

The beast thrashed against its bonds, its massive frame straining with raw, unrelenting power as it tried to close the distance between us.

"We don't have much time. The silver is weakening him, but it's also driving him mad with pain. I need one of you to distract him. We need to get as close to him as possible."

Derrick and Antolio exchanged a quick glance, and without hesitation, their bodies began to ripple and contort, muscles shifting as they transformed into their werewolf forms. Derrick let out a menacing growl, stepping forward to draw the beast's attention.

The grey wolf growled ferociously at Derrick, relentlessly pushing itself forward, trying to attack him. Antolio began to circle the beast, snarling with furious intent. The gray wolf's attention shifted between the two of them, its rage building as it tried to focus on both werewolves at once. The coordinated distraction created the opening I needed.

Immediately, I took the monkshood potion from my belt, gripped it tightly, and rushed toward the beast.

As I closed the distance, the wolf's ears twitched, sensing my presence. With a ferocious snarl, the beast turned towards me, sinking its teeth into my hand. Pain shot through me as the glass vial shattered between its fangs, spilling the monkshood potion into its mouth. The beast immediately let go, stumbling backward, coughing and retching as shards of glass fell from its jaws. Its growls turned into pained whimpers as its body began to shake violently.

I stepped back, watching as the transformation began. The gray werewolf's muscles spasmed, its fur receding as it dropped to its knees, shrinking back into the form of a man. The sound of bones cracking and reforming resonated throughout the cave until, finally, he collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily.

The man groaned, wincing in pain, then turned toward me. His face became pale and strained; his eyes widened in recognition.

"Tobias? Is that really you?" Harold's voice was weak, trembling with exhaustion and barely holding back the beast within.

I ran toward him, kneeling at his side. "It's me, Harold. You're safe now."

But Harold's grip tightened around my arm, his nails digging into my skin as his eyes burned with rage. His teeth clenched, then ground loudly, as elongated fangs began to emerge from his mouth. "It's too late for me," he growled, his voice trembling with pain and despair. "I'm sorry for everything."

I froze, watching helplessly as Harold's body convulsed violently. The sickening sound of bones breaking and shifting echoed through the cave, forcing a guttural scream from his throat. His face twisted in agony, every muscle trembling as the transformation threatened to take over once more.

"I can't... I won't be able to hold it back for long," he panted, his breaths shallow and ragged. "I'm too weak... I can't stop it!"

"You can't let that happen, Harold!" I yelled, desperation lacing my voice. "You have to fight it! You must control it!"

I lunged forward, gripping his arm tightly, forcing him to look at me as I lifted his chin. His glowing, feral eyes began to fill with rage, flickering faintly with the remnants of humanity buried deep within. "I need you to tell me... who did this to you? Everything is clear now—I know about Curtis, the secret deals with the vampires, everything you tried to hide years ago. I need to know if the rumors are true."

Harold clung to my arm, his entire body trembling as he struggled to keep the beast at bay. His eyes flickered with desperation, as the internal battle consumed him. "I've made so many mistakes in my life here in Adams. I made choices—difficult ones—that gave everyone the wrong impression about me. I made decisions no one else wanted to make—decisions your father refused to take—for the sake of the clan. But in the end..." His voice faltered, as he turned his gaze upward toward the cave's ceiling, gasping for air. "In the end, I couldn't amend my mistakes."

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"Harold, look at me!" I said, gripping his shoulders to bring him back. "Do you remember who attacked you?"

"You must not trust anyone. Not the vampires, not the warlocks, or the hunters... but most importantly... do not trust your own kind."

Suddenly, Harold's grip tightened around mine, its strength nearly unbearable. His body tensed, his back arching violently as a guttural growl erupted from deep within him. His eyes snapped open, glowing a deep, terrifying yellow that pierced the dim light of the cave. It was unmistakable—the beast had seized control, winning the battle for dominance.

His breathing turned rapid, transitioning into savage snarls as his body convulsed. Bones cracked and shifted, his muscles twisted and realigned as thick fur began to sprout once more. The transformation back into the feral creature was quicker and relentless, taking the man, we had fought to save deep within the madness of the beast.

"Tobias, what's going on?" Derrick asked, shocked by the sudden change in Harold.

"He's transforming again!" I yelled.

Without hesitation, Derrick and Antolio approached us, grabbing one of Harold's arms, and using every ounce of their strength to pin him to the ground. Their claws dug deep into his thrashing limbs as he snarled and snapped at them with unrestrained fury. Harold's chains rattled and clanged, the sound echoing through the cavern as his partially transformed body strained against their hold. His strength was monstrous, his movements wild and relentless—it was clear that their efforts weren't enough to subdue him.

"The monkshood potion—it's not working?" Derrick asked, his voice strained as Harold's arm pushed back against him.

"The beast is fighting back. It's up to Harold to regain control. We can't do it for him!"

The struggle was fierce. Harold's guttural growls reverberated through the cave, his feral side clawing desperately to maintain its grip. His muscles rippled and contorted as he thrashed against the chains of his own body and mind. The transformation threatened to overwhelm him entirely, the battle teetering on the edge of no return.

But then, through the chaos, something changed. Harold's snarls faltered; his limbs trembled violently as the relentless force of the beast began to wane. The terrifying glow in his eyes dimmed, as the remnants of the humanity within him struggled to remain in control.

His thick fur receded, revealing pale skin as the transformation reversed. Antolio and Derrick removed themselves from holding his limbs, letting Harold move closer to me with a pained gasp. His eyes, now dull and human once more, stared up at me with desperation.

"I... I'm sorry," Harold whispered weakly. "But you must know! You must know, Tobias..." He paused, gasping for air before his trembling hand gripped my arm with sudden force. "The one who killed your mother... your mother's killer was—"

The air around us grew thick with the stench of putrid blood, suffocating and vile. Then, out of the shadows, a silver bolt cut through the dim light of the cave, aimed directly at Harold. The bolt struck him in the chest, the force of the impact jerking his body backward.

I froze, unable to take my eyes away from the blood that poured from his wound, pooling beneath him. My breath caught in my throat as a fleeting shadow moved at the edge of my vision, disappearing into the darkness of the cave. A tidal wave of emotions surged within me, threatening to drown me in their intensity. Fury, anguish, and guilt blended into one, triggering the primal force buried deep within me. My beast roared to life, its rage consuming me as I let out a desperate howl that echoed off the cave walls.

"Derrick! Antolio! Chase him down—don't let him escape!"

His trembling hand lifted weakly, reaching toward my face, his fingers brushing against my skin with a touch as fragile as a feather. His eyes, once vibrant and fierce, now began to lose their light, glazing over as the fire within them dimmed. Each second felt like an eternity as I watched his life slipping away.

"Stay with me! Harold, don't leave—stay with me!"

His lips moved, his breath shallow and ragged, letting loose a faint whisper that barely broke through the suffocating stillness of the cave. I leaned closer, struggling to catch the single word that escaped his dying lips—a word that would forever etch itself into my soul.

"Scar... let..."

His voice faded, and his body stilled, leaving an unbearable silence in its wake. The faint echo of his final word, Scarlet, burned itself into my mind, igniting the anger coursing through my veins. I knelt there, frozen, gripping Harold's lifeless hand—he had fought to the bitter end to share a truth I couldn't yet fully grasp.

I took a deep breath, then, reached down and yanked the silver bolt from Harold's chest. The cold metal glinted in the dim light, its surface still covered with blood that hissed and burned faintly from the venomous touch of the silver. My grip tightened around the bolt as the bitter truth settled in—this wasn't random. This bolt was a signature weapon belonging to a single clan in Adams Town. Chief Harrow would have to provide me with answers, one way or another.

But as I stared at the weapon in my hand, a gnawing doubt began to creep in. Harold's last whisper echoed in my mind, a faint but haunting word: Scarlet. It didn't fit—not with his assassin, not with this weapon. The bolt may have belonged to a hunter, but the air in the cave told a different story. The stench of rotten blood, thick and pungent, lingered heavily in the space. That scent, combined with Harold's final word, pointed unmistakably to vampires.

The scent of vampires lingering on hunters was undeniable. I'd noticed it before, just like with Utica. The conflicting evidence swirled in my mind, casting doubt on every possibility. Could hunters and vampires work together to take Harold's life? Or was this something even more sinister—a deliberate framing to pit the clans against one another?

It was hard to believe that such an alliance could exist, but one thing was clear: this wasn't an isolated act of violence. It was calculated, precise, and designed to sow confusion and chaos. The intent was not only to kill Harold but to obscure the truth and destabilize any effort to uncover it, especially when he was about to reveal the true circumstances of my mother's death.

Gently cradling Harold's lifeless body, I sprinted back toward the house, but a sudden whiff of familiar scents made me stop in my tracks. Derrick's and Antolio's presence were close by. Instinctively, I turned toward the riverbank and ran, as fast as my feet allowed me. As I reached the clearing, I skidded to a halt. Derrick and Antolio stood solemnly at the water's edge, their expressions etched with frustration and regret.

"I'm afraid we've lost the scent of the killer, young master. The assassin was faster than us and more knowledgeable of this part of the forest. His trail was masked by a strange odor—a mix of mint and flowers," Derrick said.

Carefully, I laid Harold's body on the ground, and as I took a deep breath, I closed my eyes, allowing my senses to focus entirely on the air around me. I inhaled deeply, trying to detect any lingering trace of the assassin's scent.

The faint smell Derrick described had already dissipated, leaving no discernible trail behind. I clenched my fists, frustrated by what had happened. But as I focused back on my surroundings, another scent caught my attention. It was subtle but unmistakable: the musty, animalistic smell of a werewolf.

The scent was concentrated, and heavy, but what truly unsettled me was the pungent, unnatural odor intertwined with it—something that didn't belong, something dangerous. My eyes snapped open as realization struck deep within my heart. The scent was drifting toward the estate.

"Annie," I said, as fear crept into my voice. I quickly turned to Derrick and Antolio, worried about another werewolf attack. "Something's wrong. That smell—it's coming from the estate. Both of you, take Harold's body and secure it. I have to be certain Annie, and her mother are not in danger."

Antolio moved swiftly, kneeling beside Harold and carefully lifting his lifeless body. "We’ll take care of him. We’ll meet you at the guest house shortly. For now, we’ll hide Harold’s body in our old den—the cave near the river behind the estate. It’ll be safe there."

I nodded, as I fought to keep my growing unease in check. "Be quick. I fear the werewolves surrounding the estate may have already begun an attack. But there’s something else—a scent unlike any I’ve encountered before. It reeks of pure evil, and it’s coming from near the guest house."

"Understood, young master," Derrick said. "We’ll secure Harold and return as soon as possible."

Without hesitation, I turned and broke into a sprint, my body shifting instinctively into wolf form as I bolted through the forest toward the estate. The unnatural scent grew stronger with every step, filling my senses with an ominous presence I couldn’t ignore. Whatever was happening, I had to reach Annie and her mother before it was too late.