Of Blood and Beasts

In the chilled air of a moonlit forest, the sound of leaves began to crunch and snap. Logan, covered in his own blood, stopped to catch his breath, his foggy breath clouding from the cold.

He turned and looked back, too exhausted to keep on running. Logan could hear them getting closer. His heart pounding, he forced himself onward.

Gripping the wound at his side, he came across a small creek. He stood in it, hoping that the water would dilute his scent.

It was his last hope, for he knew they were following the scent of his blood.

That morning, Logan had gone into the forest, intent on claiming the head of the beast he knew resided there.

He had found what he had been looking for, but when the time came, he had fallen, cutting himself with his own dagger.

The beasts of the forest were rumored to be the result of dark magic, the transformed forms of dark witches and warlocks.

Truth be told, no one really knew their true origins, except the creatures themselves.

It was believed that if one were to kill such a beast, the beast would revert to its human form.

They resembled large black wolves but were stronger than both humans and animals alike.

To be bitten or even scratched by one was said to be a curse—a fate Logan's younger sister had recently suffered.

She was never allowed to complete the transformation and was quickly beheaded as soon as she started showing signs of fever.

Long before the death of his sister, the beasts had terrorized his village—killing herds of sheep and leaving them slaughtered in the fields.

At times, even young children had gone missing from their beds.

These attacks happened on nights when the moon was full, when it was said the beasts were at their most powerful.

Fear kept most from entering the forest, the wolves' domain. However, on this day, Logan had ventured into the woods alone, seeking revenge for his sister.

He had failed, and now, standing injured, he felt helpless.

Thick red liquid flowed down between his fingers, and he held his wound tight.

Listening quietly, he could hear nothing but the sound of the stream rushing at his feet.

He gazed toward the trees but saw nothing.

Then, as if to break the near silence, he heard a twig snap behind him.

Turning around quickly, he once again saw nothing.

The noise then came once more, the sound of branches snapping.

Logan pulled out his dagger and held it in front of him.

Its handle had broken off, making it flimsy.

The dagger was small and made of silver—the only metal that could fatally wound the beast if it pierced the heart—though making such a strike was unlikely.

Within the trees, Logan heard a bellowed howl. He turned to see a black shape speeding out of view, disappearing back into the woods.

His body tensed, and he gripped his dagger tighter, his eyes wide.

For a moment, there was more silence, and then as if out of nowhere, Logan's body hit the ground.

He lost his breath, then catching his air, he looked up.

Above him, Logan found himself looking into bright amber eyes—full, like the moon, and more human than animal.

The wolf stared down and bared its teeth, coming within inches of Logan's face—so close, Logan could feel the warmth of its breath.

It gave a low, deep growl, licking its muzzle with hungry satisfaction.

Straining, Logan reached for his dagger, which had been knocked away, and pressed the blade deep into the wolf's shoulder.

The wolf whined in pain, leaping back and sending another shrill cry through the forest.

Logan lifted himself to his feet.

He then stood face to face with the beast.

It circled around him slowly, its hair raised and its massive claws digging deep into the earth.

The wolf's coat was sleek, glowing blue under the rays of moonlight—its massive body thin and muscular, standing as tall as Logan.

From its wound, it was bleeding; the silver blade doing its job and preventing any kind of healing.

It howled once more, then leapt, coming close to mauling Logan's arm.

Logan sliced into its underside.

The wolf cried and then landed on the ground.

Logan felt pain.

He looked down at his leg where a claw had grazed him.

At that moment, a certain fear stirred within him.

By the next full moon, he too would change.

The wolf stood back up, its broad muscles quivering from the pain.

Cautious this time, it once again began to circle.

Logan steadied himself, waiting for the strike.

The wolf lunged forward, managing to sink its teeth deep into Logan's upper shoulder.

Logan screamed loudly from the pain, then shoved the blood-soaked dagger straight into the beast's beating heart.

The wolf fell to the ground.

Exhausted, Logan dropped to his knees.

He knelt down beside the dying wolf, watching as its bright eyes dimmed.

Soon its breathing became labored.

Its shape then began to change, and Logan could hear its bones creaking.

Bloody fur became long raven hair and paws turned into delicate hands.

In place of the wolf, lay a girl, naked, and about the age of seventeen.

She looked up at Logan, her eyes wide and full of terror.

Disgusted with himself, Logan pulled the dagger from her chest.

He tossed it aside and held the girl in his lap, watching as her eyes finally closed.

Logan may have gotten his prize, but it had cost him more than he had bargained for.