The Bones We Haunt

Prologue

Mud surged around the hunter’s shoulders, threatening to swallow him up as a great weight bore down on him. The taste of blood gushed across his tongue as he bit into his cheeks, his bottom lip, and he turned his head as the beast once more lunged forward with an audible snap of its jaws.

The hunter meant for this to be a swift kill, one done with a single shot.

The sooner this hunt was over, the sooner he could revel in the guilt that would haunt him afterward.

But the hesitation that caused his grip to shake and aim to lower resulted in the bullet lodging in the beast’s shoulder, angering it instead of killing.

He barely had time to load another bullet before the beast burst from the fringes of the nearby forest—the glow of its yellow eyes and hunch of its back were unmistakable—and charged at him. Claws tore through mud, a maw was set on tasting vengeance.

It tackled him to the ground just as his thumb tapped the hammer. The force of monstrous paws suddenly upon his chest and the onslaught of rain from the heavens robbed him of his breath. The rifle was thrust upward to parry gnashing, starved teeth before they had a chance to taste his skin.

A full moon hung high above them, peering through the thick overcast to outline the beast in an unholy halo of light. Drool and blood leaked from its huffing mouth as teeth scraped against gunmetal and the hunter’s raw knuckles.

Strength was beginning to bleed from the hunter’s arms and he felt as though he were drowning, beneath the beast, mud, rain, and blood.

It would be easy to let such happen: to forgo what had been requested of him to end this monster’s misery.

But the guilt of leaving a task incomplete and the guilt of committing murder were so similar that he couldn’t decide which he’d rather live with.

His body seemingly made the decision for him when the muscles in his thighs bunched and he kicked until his boots met the beast’s groin.

The beast choked on the air forced from its lungs with a choked squeal. It flinched back but failed to relent.

The hunter sucked in a breath the moment his cheeks no longer sweated beneath the blood-soaked stank of its breath and grunted as he heaved the beast back with another kick.

He didn’t need an escape, he just needed enough space to pull that trigger…

The ground shuddered when the beast fell, showering the hunter in a spray of mud, blood, and rain.

Blood leaking from its shoulder, the beast wheezed.

The vapor of its breath clouded its stained jaws and the bristle of its mane was made silver by the moon’s waning light.

Between its awful sounds, it let out what may have been a mewling whine.

It was a sight equal parts pathetic and horrifying, though the hunter felt neither sympathy nor fear. Only the dread of duty.

The hunter raised the rifle until it nestled comfortably against his shoulder.

The beast whined as it looked at him with those sickly yellow eyes, and flashed its even yellower teeth. A challenge. A plea.

The hunter swallowed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he uttered—and pulled the trigger.