I was woken by the cold caress of ripples in the water, gently touching my face. My surroundings were oddly familiar, maybe, a memory playing out vividly, just like a dream. I lay on the riverbank, naked and aware, just as I had been the morning after my first transformation—though this time, it was nighttime. The water was serene, reflecting the dim glow of the moon, and the sounds of the woods around me brought a soothing calm to my troubled mind.

I stood up, gazing at my reflection in the water, now changed into a completely different man. As I looked up, an odd sight met my eyes. A white Victorian chair sat in the middle of the shallow river, its legs creating the ripples that had woken me. The chair looked out of place in this tranquil setting, its pristine elegance clashing with the raw beauty of the forest.

Sitting on the chair was a figure, dressed entirely in black, from the long coat that swayed faintly with the breeze to the wide-brimmed cowboy hat shadowing its face. One of its hands swung back and forth, flipping the lid of a lighter, igniting a small flame, only to extinguish it with a sharp snap of the lid.

Then, a voice reverberated through the stillness. Its tone was bold, carrying authority and tinged with familiarity—a voice I knew but couldn't place, lingering on the edge of my memories.

"Are you finally awake?"

I took a step forward, leaning slightly in an attempt to see the face of the figure seated in the Victorian chair. But my approach was halted abruptly, my hands meeting an invisible barrier that stood between us. The sensation was strange, like pressing against a taut, vibrating surface.

"Do I know you?"

The man rose from the chair slowly, exuding an unnerving calm. As he turned toward me, I gasped in surprise—his face was blurred with darkness like a veil of shadows obscuring his features.

Without a word, his hand suddenly moved, and from the sleeve of his black coat, a blade extended. It gleamed in the moonlight, symbols etched into the metal, glowing faintly, pulsing with an otherworldly energy.

My eyes widened at the threat before me, my instincts kicking in as I immediately dropped into a defensive stance. My body was tense, every muscle ready to spring into action—but something was wrong. The beast within me, my primal ally, was silent. I called out to it, desperate for its presence, but all I could feel was a stillness inside me, that I couldn't comprehend.

Mumbled words began to swirl around me, an unsettling chant in a language I couldn't understand. The figure stood unmoving across from me, its blurred face following my every step as I edged backward, seeking distance.

Then, the silence was broken by the figure's bold voice. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."

"What do you want!" I yelled.

The figure tilted its head slightly, the blade in its hand gleaming brighter as it stepped forward. "It's not what I want, that's important; It's what you want, young pup. I can end your suffering quickly, let the world remember you as a coward who couldn't face what he is. Or..."

It paused, the symbols on the blade pulsing as the figure leaned slightly closer. "You can embrace your nature, the monster that dwells within your heart. Become what you were always meant to be. You have ten seconds to decide before this blade finds your heart."

Fear surged through me, overwhelming and paralyzing as I felt the absence of the beast within me. My heart pounded wildly, and my breaths came short and rapid as the strange man raised his glowing blade and struck the invisible barrier. Each swing of the blade sent ripples through the air, and cracks began to spread across the barrier like fractured glass.

Frantic, I turned to flee, but my feet sank into the soft ground beneath me. Panic flared as the muddy earth gripped my legs, pulling me downward with every desperate movement I made to escape.

"There's no escape from it!" The strange man yelled.

The barrier continued to crack under the relentless blows of his blade, as I fought against the sinking mud, clawing at the ground with trembling hands. But the harder I struggled, the faster the mud swallowed me. The cold seeped into my skin as the mud rose higher, wrapping around my chest, my neck, and finally my face. I gasped for air, but the icy mire swallowed me completely.

----------

I gasped for air, bolting upright as the suffocating darkness of the dream released its grip on me. My chest heaved, the room around me slowly coming into focus. The strange revelation still lingered, sharpening my senses, and picking up the warnings that surrounded me.

The incessant rumble of Lydia's urgent knocks echoed through my bedroom door. "Young master, are you awake?"

I turned toward the window, catching the fleeting outline of a shadow. It stood motionless for a brief moment, watching me. As soon as it realized I was awake, the shadow bolted, disappearing into the shadows of the trees nearby.

Forcing myself to focus, I threw off the lingering haze of the dream and rose from the bed. The knocking on the door grew louder, as Lydia's words became filled with urgency.

"Young master, are you awake? There's something important you need to address!"

I ran my hands over my face, grounding myself before stepping toward the door. I opened the door finding Lydia immediately staring at my chest. "I'm awake. What's going on?"

"You have some visitors, signore. Two hunters brought a summon order for you. They're waiting for you in the gathering room."

"Thank you, Lydia. Please, tell our guests, I will be there with them shortly."

"As you wish, milord," Lydia said, remaining in place. "May I have permission to inquire about Signore Harold?"

I lowered my head as sorrow welled up in my chest. Shaking my head slowly, I responded to her question. "He didn't make it. I need to find out how to properly lay Harold to rest."

"I'm deeply sorry to hear that, signore. If you're looking for assistance with the preparations for his funeral, I know just the right person who will be willing to help. Do you have some paper?"

"Sure."

I stepped into my room and retrieved a sheet of paper from the nightstand. Lydia took it from my hand and began writing. "This is the address of a family friend. He specializes in preparing bodies for burial—particularly werewolves."

"There's a specific way to bury werewolves?" I asked, puzzled.

"Yes. Death isn't the final destination for beings in Adams Town. Take vampires, for instance. They're the simplest to lay to rest. If killed, their bodies turn to stone and crumble into dust. And if a vampire chooses to end their existence, they walk into the sunlight. The sun's rays slowly solidify their bodies, until they're unable to move, bringing their journey to an end."

She handed me the piece of paper. "Warlocks, on the other hand, are different. Their physical bodies vanish when their life force is completely depleted, and their souls are transported to a resting realm—a plane created specifically for them. There, they await reincarnation. But werewolves... they're unique, compared to the other monsters living in Adams. A werewolf's funeral isn't just a goodbye; it's a safeguard to protect the human soul from corruption."

She glanced at me, her eyes filled with concern. "Harold's body must be cremated on a pyre if you don't want his dead body to become a tool of the undead. But before the flames can cleanse him, a ritual must be performed. According to ancient lore, a werewolf who dies in human form may still live as a beast. There are accounts of werewolves resurrecting after being given human burials. To prevent this, the body must be carefully prepared to seal the beast's spirit. Only then can the purifying fire cleanse the human soul."

Lydia stepped closer, gently holding my hands. "After what happened to your mother nearly twenty years ago, Annie and I moved to the neutral part of town. While exploring the market there, we came across troubling tales. Hunter scouts spoke of skeletal wolves prowling the northwest forest. I'm sharing this because, near that part of the forest, there's an old burial ground where werewolves are traditionally laid to rest. But the scouts say that area is cursed. If you plan to bury Signore Harold, the vampires won't permit it in the town cemetery—you'll have to take him there."

"You said the burial ground is cursed?" I asked.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Lydia nodded. "I don't usually put much stock in rumors, but I've heard whispers of a group of warlocks frequenting the werewolves' burial site. These individuals, Signore... are known for dabbling in necromancy. You must be cautious around them."

"Thanks for the information, Lydia. Now, I will tend to our visitors."

"With pleasure, young master. Please give the address I gave you to your guys. Tell them to take Harold's body to the location I have written for you."

"Will do, thanks again. Who did you say have come to visit me?"

"Two hunters young master. The man... I don't recognize, but the woman, I have known to be a bit difficult to handle. Her name is Utica."

A surge of anger coursed through me, manifested as a low growl that startled Lydia. Ignoring her reaction, I made my way to the basement, determined to keep the upcoming meeting brief and to the point. As I descended the stairs, movement caught my eye—a hand waving through the metal bars of one of the cell windows.

"Is anyone there? I need some help, please."

Intrigued, I approached the cell, finding the old man awake, reaching as far as he could to grab someone's attention.

"Ah! Finally! Someone I could talk to!" The old man said, sitting back down on the floor of the cell. The moment he gazed at me, his eyes opened wide. "A primal blood..." He stared at me in awe, surprised. "I thought, Curtis was the last of your kind." His expression shifted to one of wonder as a smile spread across his face. "I know who you are... By my old bones, you're her son, aren't you? You're Helena's boy!"

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral. The old man covered his face with his hands, as a laugh escaped his mouth. "Please, don't misunderstand me," he said between chuckles. "It's been far too long since I've felt any kind of joy. Let's just say, your presence has given me... hope."

"I have a few questions for you, but I also have visitors to attend to. Let's hope you're still in a talking mood after my meeting has ended."

"I assure you, I'm not going anywhere," he said, holding up the metal cuff on his wrist. "But before you leave, could you spare a moment to get this old man a glass of water?"

Without a word, I turned to the nearby table, where a pitcher and glass were waiting. Pouring the water, I placed the glass between the metal bars. The old man stretched as far as he could, grasping it with some effort.

"Thank you," he said, taking a long sip. "By the way, I believe there are a few vampires nearby, though I can't be certain. Their scent is... slightly different."

"You don't need to worry about that. They pose no threat to me or my people."

"I see. It's good to know that primal blood has returned to Adams Town, though it's unfortunate it comes during such a perilous time. Your resemblance to her is... unmistakable. Tell me, young master, do you share Lady Helena's indomitable spirit as well?"

"I don't think your circumstances warrant an answer to that question."

"Fair enough. But tell me—if I offered an honest explanation, would you listen? Or are you bound to uphold the rigid laws of the clans without exception?"

I hesitated, considering his words. Unlike most werewolves, who often resort to brute force to make their points, this old man carried himself as educated and eloquent.

"Hold your silence for now. I'll grant you an audience once my meeting is over."

He inclined his head slightly, as a faint smile spread across his face. "The idea of new leadership is... invigorating. You have my word—I will keep my thoughts in check and my tongue sharp, in return for an opportunity to speak with the young Master."

Footsteps echoed down the stairs, drawing my attention. Lydia appeared, followed by Derrick and Antolio. "Signore, your men have been looking for you."

"We came as soon as we heard the hunters had arrived at the estate," Derrick said. "Shall we stay by your side?"

"I doubt she intends to act violently. I have a feeling her motives aren't rooted in aggression. For now, fetch some clothes for this old man and perhaps something for him to eat. Though he's our prisoner, we should extend some hospitality—at least until I learn why they've attacked the estate again. After that, I'll decide whether he lives or dies."

I turned and made my way into the gathering room, immediately noticing the familiar stench of rotten blood emanating from Utica. This time, the odor was noticeably stronger. Utica sat at the table alongside a hunter I hadn't met before. The man was dressed in black, his attire more casual than the typical hunter's garb.

"Good morning. Let's hope your visit is brief. I have a lot to attend to."

Utica waved casually. "Good morning, puppy," she said, clearing her throat before continuing. "Listen, I wanted to apologize for my behavior—for meddling in your pack's business. My intention was to help, but it seemed like you weren't interested in accepting any assistance."

I took a seat across from them, pausing briefly to gather my thoughts before responding. Utica's intervention during our mission, while intrusive, had undoubtedly reduced the potential casualties. Still, her abrupt sincerity was unexpected, leaving me momentarily off balance.

As I considered my reply, a sudden sensation against my leg drew my attention. I glanced down to find a small creature attempting to climb up my clothes.

Before it could get any higher, I quickly caught the animal with my left hand, holding it firmly as I studied its squirming form.

"What is this?" I growled, feeling my blood begin to boil as my skin started the transformation process involuntarily.

"Wait!" Utica shouted. "There's no need to get worked up; it's harmless!"

I released my grip on the small creature, laying it gently on the table. The unfamiliar hunter let out a sharp whistle, and the ferret immediately abandoned its attempt to climb me.

"Omir!" At the sound of his name, the ferret sprinted toward him, disappearing into a pouch strapped to the man's chest.

"My apologies for Omir's behavior," the hunter said. "He has a weakness for shiny objects—likely something in your pocket caught his attention."

"I have no interest in meeting any of your pets. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."

Without waiting for a response, I turned around and walked away, keeping my back to them. The cold dismissal should have made my stance unmistakably clear.

"Can we have a conversation like adults for once?" Utica said, watching as I made my way toward the door.

Her words gave me pause. They weren't entirely unreasonable, and I began to wonder if hearing her out might be worthwhile. Reluctantly, I halted my retreat and turned to face her.

"You think I don't know why you're here? Do you think I'm blind to what the hunter clan is up to? I know everything about the elder's essence—the one your hunters are using to grow stronger. I know, because I had a little run-in with one of your so-called monsters."

Suddenly, Utica lowered her head. "We know. But he wasn't part of the clan when he attacked you. There are too many of us to keep track of everyone's intentions—we can only account for our own."

I leaned forward, planting my hands firmly on the table, as a low growl rumbled in my throat. "And what are your intentions, Utica? I suggest you choose your words carefully while you're in my house. I won't tolerate defiance or mockery within these walls. If you want to have an adult conversation with me, start by answering this: who fired the silver bolt that killed Harold?"

Straightening, I stepped back from the table, watching their expressions freeze at my request. "I'll leave the room and give you some time to think about your answer. Use it wisely."

Outside, Derrick and Antolio were deep in conversation with the old man. As I approached, I pulled the piece of paper Lydia had given me and handed it to Derrick. "Would you two mind taking Harold's body to this address?"

Derrick glanced at the paper and nodded. "Absolutely. I know the man—he's excellent at what he does. We'll head there immediately and ensure Harold's body is handled properly."

"Thank you."

I turned to the old man, who was finishing his meal. He looked up at me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to clear away the remnants of the meat's dressing. "I could cry right now," he said with a smile. "I thought I'd never taste this kind of meat again. It's a far cry from the scraps I've been surviving on."

"You said you knew my mother. Did you help her escape as well?"

The old man shook his head. "No, I wasn't involved in that, but I'm glad she managed it. Her escape is the reason you're here today."

"My name is Tobias, son of Helena Reinhart. I want to know why you and your companions decided to attack the estate again. Depending on your honesty, you might live long enough to deliver a message to your alpha."

"I didn't want any part of it. I was sent to observe Dylan and his pack as a favor to my old alpha, but I got caught. Then Dylan forced me to join his pack and sent me, along with five others, to monitor the estate after they witnessed the birth of the first Luna wolf."

The old man laughed. "That really pissed them off. We didn't make a move at first—not until we received orders from Dylan to eliminate her. As we approached the guest house, I caught a strange scent surrounding it and stopped in my tracks. The others sprinted ahead toward the guest house, but the first wolf to reach the area suddenly dropped to the ground with violent force."

The old man paused, sliding his fingers across the plate to scoop up the remaining meat sauce. He quickly placed his fingers in his mouth, savoring the last taste. "My apologies," he said with a faint smile. "I want to enjoy what's left of this meal before I die."

He set the plate on the ground and resumed his story. "We stopped our approach, confused and horrified as we watched Gabriel collapse unconscious in front of the house. Then, a small black frog appeared, leaping toward him. It opened its mouth impossibly wide, shooting its tongue at him, swallowing him whole. The sight was beyond anything I'd ever seen. The other four wolves rushed to save him, but by the time they reached Gabriel... it was already too late, the frog had swallowed him completely."

"Its size grew exponentially, immediately noticing the other four wolves near the estate. In the blink of an eye, the massive animal began to shake its body, emitting a shrieking noise as many more tiny-sized frogs began to emerge from his back. The wolves were quickly overwhelmed, swallowed one by one by this enormous... toad-like creature. I managed to remain hidden, thinking if I didn't transform into a wolf, the toad would ignore me. But I was wrong. I remained hidden in the bushes, watching the wolves moving inside the toad's belly, struggling to survive. Then, the toad vanished from sight, and a drop of yellow slime fell on my shoulder, numbing my arm. When I looked up, the toad opened its massive mouth and swallowed me in one bite."

The old man stood from his sitting position, maintaining his distance from the door. "Inside, I was covered in that awful yellow slime. I thought I was done for. Every movement was a struggle, and worse, I felt like it was draining me—siphoning my energy bit by bit. I can't explain it, but somehow, I'm still here. I don't know why I survived, but I wish I didn't have to remember it."

"Maybe... it's fate."

"Perhaps," the old man said, bowing slightly. "Thank you for listening to my pathetic ramblings, young master. And thank you for the fresh clothes and the final meal. If I die by your hand today, it will be a death of honor—a righteous end for an old wolf like me, who has overstayed his welcome in this cruel world."

"Why do you believe the outcome of this conversation will end with your death?"

"It’s the way of the werewolves. It has been for centuries. We attacked first, and I played a part in it. That you had such powerful allies was an unexpected twist. But failure carries only one penalty in the clan: death."

I studied him for a moment before asking, "I have just one more question for you, Mr...?"

"Gerald, my lord. Just call me Gerald."

"You mentioned being sent to watch Dylan as a favor to your former alpha. Were you referring to Curtis?"

"Yes, young master. Curtis Reinhart—your father."