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Little did it know I was the hunter, best on the fucking continent. I was what it turned me into.

It growled louder now, lowering onto its haunches before sprinting forward.

But it didn’t run into the traps I’d laid around the camp—pure silver snares designed to trap it by its legs, sink into the skin, and cripple it before I came to put it down.

Not humane. Which was fine, because this was a monster. It was an animal.

But it avoided the traps I’d laid, as if it knew they were there. Impossible, unless it sensed them in some way.

Wolves were weakened and could be killed by pure silver. Maybe they’d evolved to have an awareness of it, could scent it somehow.

Disappointed at not having a little bit of an upper hand, I didn’t move from where I was standing. I raised my gun to let off two bullets that should’ve gone right into its heart—kill shots.

But the beast moved at a speed that wasn’t natural, even for an unearthly entity. My bullets went wide, grazing the hide of the wolf but not eliciting as much as a yelp.

Realizing I was about to get snapped by the jaw of a feral werewolf, I dove to the side. I hit the ground hard, rolling to a crouch as I whirled toward the werewolf tangled in my tent. A coppery twang filled my mouth as my teeth sank into my tongue at the impact. The pain was a distant, abstract thing.

Squinting, I angled my gun in the direction of the tent and the roaring beast shredding it with its claws and teeth. Again, I fired three shots off—not as precisely this time since I was targeting a writhing mess in a tent, but it was a pretty large surface area, and I was a fucking good shot.

One yelp was a sign that I got at least one bullet in. But they all should’ve hit. All of them. Center mass. Maybe not the heart, not a kill shot, but enough to weaken the beast, lay it prone.

I didn’t have time to think about why they weren’t hitting, though I suspected it had something to do with its witchy sidekick—a theory to explore if I made it out of here alive.

The werewolf stood on two legs again, my decimated tent surrounding him, its eyes fixed on me. Being a bit closer now, its size was astounding. As was the sentience in its yellow eyes, the bloodlust.

There was only one thing worse than a bloodthirsty monster… a smart, bloodthirsty monster. None I’d encountered possessed a true kind of intelligence. The human brain was the one upper-hand hunters had over the years of fighting creatures.

My mouth went dry with fear, true fear, as I gazed upon a beast I’d underestimated. I’d expected it to charge like a wild animal, but it stood, staring, assessing. My stomach roiled at the intelligence behind that gaze.

Werewolves, when fully turned, were supposed to be devoid of their human side, driven only by animalistic impulses. But the stare was human, cruel, cold, familiar.

I could’ve sworn it recognized me, even though that should’ve been impossible. Not just because wolves didn’t have the capacity for that kind of memory but also because of the many victims it had claimed over the years. How would I have stood out?

Though anxiety was threatening to constrict my esophagus, I didn’t let an ounce of fear show on my face, in my stance. I kept my muscles taut but without so much as a quiver. This thing would not scent my unease. I tilted my chin upward, staring it square in the face.

“Remember me?” I leveled my gun at center mass. “A little less pink and screaming this time, and a little more of you fucking dying.”

The wolf let out a faint growl and advanced. I instantly emptied the clip, but all my shots went wide.

“Fuck!” I hurled the gun to the side, grabbing my second.

The wolf was seconds away from me as I dropped down onto my back, right as it leaped, firing the gun upward into its torso.

My mouth stretched into a grin as I finally got a pained yelp for my trouble, rolling in the fallen leaves before crouching again.

Unfortunately, I had only served to piss off the werewolf, not incapacitate it. It had rolled on the remains of my tent, not staying there as it should have. It turned back on its haunches, barreling toward me.

I ran. No, it wasn’t my finest moment, but I needed higher ground for my silver bullet to hopefully do its work. It should’ve severely injured the wolf instantly. But maybe that didn’t happen because it was older, or maybe because it was somehow connected to a demon-blessed witch who was giving it some kind of protection.

I felt a smidge of regret at not doing more research, literally going in guns blazing.

I pumped my legs into a full sprint, avoiding rocks and fallen logs. Leaves crackled as feral growls sounded from behind me. Hot breath—rancid and reeking of carrion—threatened to empty my stomach. I had a couple of seconds, maybe a little more, before I was getting clawed down the back. I launched myself at the closest tree, hands fastening around a branch, hauling myself upward. The effort it took to climb ripped apart blisters in my palms, and I sank my teeth into my tongue to restrain the scream of pain that wanted to erupt.

The wolf slammed into the trunk, shaking the entire tree as if it were in the middle of a hurricane. My lungs burning, I pulled myself up, letting out a grunt as white-hot pain erupted in my calf. My eyes darted down to where the wolf was hoisting itself upward.

I was just out of reach of its jaws but not from a swipe of claws. Warm blood spilled down my leg, dripping into the eyes of the wolf. I didn’t have time to assess the damage, though it hurt like a motherfucker. I wrenched myself up onto a thicker branch, balancing on my feet before walking outward from the trunk.

Blood poured from my calf as agony shot through every one of my nerve endings. I told myself not to think about it, focusing on the snarling werewolf just below me. Palming my gun and gritting my teeth, I waited for the moment it turned then flung myself downward. Branches scraped at my cheeks, then I slammed into mottled fur. I’d expected it to smell of rot and dead things, but it was earthy, pine-scented with a faint whiff of blood—presumably from wherever I had skimmed it. Something licked at the back of my mind, something half remembered, but it was not the time for trying to search the recesses of my mind.