Chapter 24 - Dylan
The hunting cabin squats in darkness, a hunched predator with amber eyes. Through windows glowing with lamplight, I count six silhouettes moving about inside. More than expected. My truck idles behind me, engine ticking as it cools in the night air.
Mike meets me at the door, rifle slung casually over one shoulder. "Almost thought you weren't coming."
"Traffic," I lie, following him inside. The cabin reeks of gun oil, stale coffee, and male sweat—a testosterone fog so thick it nearly masks the undercurrent of fear beneath.
Donovan stands at a table covered with maps, red markers bleeding across the paper landscape like wounds. He barely glances up as I enter. "Winters. Nice of you to join us."
Around the room, faces turn toward me—Mike, Rick, two others I recognize from previous meetings, and one I don't.
"What'd I miss?" I ask, sliding into casual confidence like a second skin.
"Just getting to the good part," Donovan says, tapping the map. "Tomorrow night's operation."
I move closer, studying the marked territory. My blood runs cold. They've mapped Silvercreek's boundaries with disturbing accuracy—running paths, patrol routes, even the meadow where the pack gathers on full moons.
"Impressive intel," I remark, keeping my tone neutral.
"We've been watching them for months," Carlson says. "Long before you showed up."
Something in his emphasis makes my skin prickle.
Donovan traces a red line through the forest. "Three teams. North, south, and central approach. Silver ammunition, UV lights, sound disruptors." He points to markers representing camps. "We push them from their safe zones, drive them toward the ravine where team two will be waiting."
"Should be quick," Mike adds. "Clean."
"What about civilians?" I ask, testing the waters. "Hikers, campers? There could be—there might be people out there."
Johnson snorts. "At a full moon? Anyone stupid enough to be out there deserves what they get."
The stranger pushes off from the wall, approaching the table. "Of course, we're only targeting confirmed monsters. We're not animals."
Laughter ripples through the room, but there's an edge to it that wasn't there before.
"Speaking of," Donovan says, straightening. "We've got another matter to discuss."
And somehow, that’s the moment I know. The moment it hits me why I was invited here.
"We've been monitoring persons of interest," Donovan continues. "People who might interfere with tomorrow's operation."
I keep my expression perfectly blank as panic claws up my spine. "Smart. Can't be too careful."
"Indeed." Donovan's eyes never leave my face. "Funny thing about outsiders—sometimes they're not what they seem."
The room shifts imperceptibly. The men spread out, casual movements that aren't casual at all.
I've been in enough ambushes to recognize the pattern.
“You think there might be sympathizers in town?” I ask, stalling for time, playing stupid. But they know I’m not stupid.
"Worse." Donovan looks me hard in the eye. "Some might be the very monsters we're hunting."
My wolf surges against my control. I force it down, maintain the mask.
"Interesting theory." I slide my hand casually toward my hip, fingers brushing my concealed knife. "How would you identify traitors like that?"
"The signs are there if you know how to look." The stranger steps forward, too close. "Unusual strength. Enhanced hearing. Resistance to injury. Shady pasts that don’t add up. Asking too many damn questions.”
"My wife and I have nothing to hide," I say, injecting just enough indignation. "We moved here for her job, for a fresh start—"
"Your wife," Mike interrupts, "has been asking too many questions at the clinic. And you..." He tilts his head. "You're never where you say you'll be, Dylan. Always showing up late, disappearing during hunts. You say you’re some programmer, but you hunt better than half our guys.”
"I've been gathering intelligence," I counter. "Learning the woods—"
"We checked," Donovan cuts in. "No Dylan or Sera Winters in the database. No record of your marriage. No social media. Nothing. As far as the human world is concerned, you two don’t exist.”
The trap snaps shut.
Six armed men, one door, two windows. I calculate odds, trajectories, force required.
"You don't understand," I try, backing toward the window, dropping the pretense. They won’t believe a word I say, but that’s not the point. I’m trying desperately to buy time. "They're not what you think. You're killing innocent—"
"There it is," Donovan says softly. "Confirmation."
My back hits the wall. The stranger pulls a pistol, silver gleaming in the barrel. "Show us what you really are."
Time slows, options narrowing.
Fight: six armed men—I’ll likely die, Sera left unprotected.
Run: might escape, warn the pack, find Sera.
Decision made in a heartbeat.
I drive my elbow backward, shattering the window. Glass explodes outward as I dive through the opening, hitting the ground rolling. Gunshots crack behind me, bullets splintering wood where I stood moments before.
I sprint for the treeline, enhanced speed my only advantage. More shots, closer. Pain blazes across my side—a graze, not a direct hit. Keep moving. Keep moving.
Get to Sera.
The forest swallows me, branches whipping my face as I tear through underbrush. Behind me, voices shout, engines roar to life. They'll follow, but I have minutes. Maybe less.
I cut east through dense woods, pushing my body beyond human limits now that concealment doesn't matter. My wolf strength surges through muscles, driving me faster despite the burning in my side.
One thought consumes me as I run: her.
The realization crashes through defenses I've maintained for weeks. She matters. Not the mission, not revenge, not even the pack. Sera, with her stubborn compassion and infuriating idealism. The woman who challenges everything I believe, yet somehow became my anchor in a world of shifting shadows.
I need to tell her tonight—I need to tell her and hold her and never let her go again.
No more pretending this is temporary or unwanted.
The lottery wasn't a mistake—it was the universe's darkest joke that we'd find each other through such randomness, that I'd fight it so hard only to discover she's become essential to my future.
Blood seeps through my shirt, but I don't slow. The pain is nothing compared to the fear driving me forward. Three miles disappear beneath my feet, lungs burning, heart hammering against ribs.
Our cottage appears through the trees, windows dark.
Wrong. Sera always leaves a light on.
"Sera!" I call, bursting through the door.
Silence answers.
The living room is chaos—chairs overturned, papers scattered across the floor. Blood—fresh, hers—smears the doorframe. A struggle.
My wolf howls inside my skull, rage and terror colliding into something primal and unstoppable. The kitchen table lies on its side, one leg shattered. On the floor beside it, her phone—its screen cracked, a missed call notification blinking. Me, calling from the road.
Too late.
I drop to my knees in the wreckage of our temporary home, surrounded by evidence of the life we pretended to have while discovering the one we could. Her scent fills my lungs—lavender and antiseptic mingled with fear and blood.
She's gone.