Pines knew he had to stop. Now. 
Ashe was nearly through their First Tearing. 
He slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed before jerking to a stop. A mass of fur collided with the back of his seat. The impact drove his face into the steering wheel with a crack. Blood spattered the dash as his vision went white-hot for a second.
He wiped his face and shoved at the driver’s side door. Nothing. It wouldn’t budge. 
The last tree he clipped must have bent the frame. He rammed it hard. Once. Twice. It burst open on the third shove with a wrenching screech. 
“I can fix that,” Pines muttered.
Wrecking the kid’s car was not going to build the trust he needed. He grabbed the door and wrenched it shut, hearing a loud pop. 
Glass shattered in the back of the SUV. He could feel the car vibrate under a low, rumbling growl. 
The forest pressed in close; typical Appalachian second-growth with a tangled mix of oaks, pines, and spindly maples. Shrubs and saplings clustered wherever moonlight slipped through the canopy. The air was thick with humidity. Even after midnight, the temperature clung to the high eighties, the heat of the day refusing to let go.
Pines tasted copper in his mouth, wiping more blood away from his nose. The bleeding had slowed, but the blood would make it easy for the werewolf to track him. He needed to mask his scent. 
He reached down, tore off a strip of his shirt already soaked in blood and sweat, and flung it left. Another scrap to the right. Another behind him. Scents meant to confuse the young Lycan, if Pines was lucky. 
Hopefully, I’ve gotten us far enough from civilization.
Behind him, the SUV groaned. Metal popped and tore as Pines turned to see the back door fly off and land thirty yards into a thicket. Then, silence.
Nothing surrounding the SUV dared move. The leaves refused to be swayed by wind. Wildlife froze like statues. Nature held its breath in horrid anticipation.
A howl ripped through the silence. Long, ragged, not quite human. The sound rattled his ribs, made the fillings in his teeth buzz.
I’m not going to make it to cover.
Back in his thirties, he could’ve run a mile in under five minutes, even on terrain like this. Now, he wasn’t sure if he would make it a thousand yards before Ashe caught up to him.
“Shit,” Pines muttered. 
The small, five-foot-seven frame was gone. In its place stood a towering mass of fur and muscle. Seven feet tall, four hundred and fifty pounds of raw instinct and violence emerged from the wrecked back seat with an eerie fluidity. It rose on its hind legs and sniffed the air. Its snout twitched. Then its eyes locked onto Pines.
A thick rope of drool slid from its muzzle. A low, guttural snarl pulsed from deep in its throat. Lips peeled back slowly as if savoring the thought of pursuit.
“Shit, shit, shit,” 
Pines skidded to a stop and turned to face it. This wasn’t just a werewolf. It was something built for carnage. Even raw and untrained, it had enough strength to tear him apart without breaking stride.
Hell, he had hoped for a spiritual change. Rare, but he had seen it. Even with a body shift, he had expected a Veilshaper or a Singer, something he could reason with. What he saw instead was a Warhide, one of the most dangerous forms a Lycan could take.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
If he’d gotten farther. If he’d put another mile between them. Maybe the scent of a deer or a wild turkey would’ve pulled Ashe’s instincts away. But now? Now, he was the only thing moving. The only thing bleeding. The only prey in reach.
Well, if this is how it’s gotta be, then let’s get this over with.
He let the change begin. He didn’t want a Full Tearing, but just enough. He wasn’t letting the wolf all the way in. That kind of surrender could cost Ashe—or both of them—their lives. 
But he needed help. Strength. Speed.
The Grayskin transformation hit slowly, like a fuse burning toward something dangerous. Bones lengthened. Muscle packed on. His skin itched as hair thickened along his arms. He grew six inches and gained a hundred pounds in seconds. Not monstrous but not completely human.
He was still outmatched. A foot shorter and nowhere near as strong. But it might be enough.
The beast howled again, scattering birds in all directions. Then it dropped to all fours and sprinted towards him.



Prey, the Wolf Spirit whispered.
The voice was seductive, as were the feelings of bloodlust and superiority. Ashe was an apex predator. No one could bully them, and no one could escape them. Part of that didn’t feel right, but Ashe shoved the doubt aside.
The beast stared at the figure ahead. It wasn’t a person. Just movement. Heat. Blood beneath skin. The scent was strong, rich with fear and pain. This was the one who’d dragged them from the street. Maybe even the one who made them like this.
A reason for vengeance, but it didn’t matter. What did was this thing was alive. It could be torn. It could scream.
Muscles coiled. Jaws parted. A string of drool stretched from tooth to earth. 
They continued to sprint toward the old man, unrelenting, even as his body began to twist and swell. Muscles packed on with unnatural speed. It didn’t matter how much stronger the stranger got. This wasn’t going to be a fight. This was a hunt. 
Claw. Bite. Feast. The voice cooed. 
They covered one hundred yards in seconds and swiped at the old man’s head. 
He was surprisingly quick for his age. He ducked the blow, catching a small scratch on his back. The stranger then turned the duck into a dive between Ashe’s legs. 
The fresh smell of blood welling up on the man’s back only excited Ashe more. It was a perfume sweeter than honeysuckle, drowning out every other thought. They turned, arm extended to take another swipe. This time they would aim for the chest. It would make it more difficult for the quick little prey to dodge. 
They searched for the prey when their snout met wood. The large branch shattered on the Lycan’s nose with a crack. A short yelp escaped their mouth before they could control it, angry at themself for showing weakness.
The pain faded quickly. They could already feel the torn skin and broken cartilage repairing. The bright white and yellow spots dimmed. Something that would have put them in the hospital in the past was now only a minor inconvenience.  
This is great! Nothing can stop me! Ashe thought, reveling in their power. 
The voice of reason cried from somewhere deep in their mind.
What are you doing? 
Ashe tried to shake the voice off. They didn’t want to think; they wanted to act. Thankfully, the small voice was easy to ignore, but it didn’t go away. 
Hunt, the beast commanded.
Ashe dropped to all fours and began sniffing the ground. The old man had used the moment of confusion to escape. Ashe could detect multiple scent tracks, but one was larger. Leading deeper into the woods.
A savage grin tore across their face. Lips pulled tight over glinting, razor-sharp canines. Without a second’s hesitation, Ashe sprang forward. Claws dug into the earth as they tore through the shadows, closing in fast on their prey.
Hunt. Fight. Kill.



Pines figured the scent distraction wouldn’t work. 
But he had hoped that it would at least slow the beast down. He was nearly out of shirt as he had ripped off another piece, wiped blood and sweat onto it, and tossed it away. His heart thundered in his ears as he ran.
It wasn’t only his heart thundering.
Ashe was not trying to hide their pursuit. Footfalls thudded. Limbs snapped. Pines could hear the quick, sharp breaths of the predator. The Warhide was gaining. He was losing ground, tripping over brush and loose rock.
Still running, Pines closed his eyes, focusing his other senses on the surrounding terrain. 
He pivoted hard. The shift in the air was his only warning. 
Something moved behind him. Fangs snapped shut where his neck had just been. A sharp click of teeth closing on empty air sent a cold shiver up his spine. He’d dodged the lunge, but his quick turn became a stumble. Then he rolled down a short hill into thorny brush.  
Not the night I’d imagined, he thought, brushing grass and dirt from his face.
He needed to refocus. Keep moving. If the Warhide made a mistake, it would only slow them, but if he made a mistake…
Standing, Pines did a quick check. Nothing broken, and the scratches, like his face from earlier, would heal quickly. His clothing was shredded. He considered stripping the rest off and going full birthday suit. But he couldn’t bring himself to get caught running nude through the woods. Again. 
Last time, there were pictures. He didn’t need a repeat of other packs commenting on how cold it must be in Alabama summers.
A howl at the top of the hill could be heard for miles. The Warhide stood above him. Eager. Hungry.
“Welp, hopefully no one calls 911 to report coyotes,” Pines muttered. If the cops came, bullets would only make things worse.
“Let’s see if I can beat you to the creek,” he yelled. To keep it focused on him, he flipped the beast off. 
“Here’s two fingers for ya.” 
Then he ran off in the direction of running water, with the beast in quick pursuit.



Break him, the seductive voice murmured. 
Ashe had to admit it. The old man had caught them off guard. Twice. And now, somehow they had lost him. They’d been distracted by several rabbits scattering into the underbrush, each thinking itself the target. The small prey had tempted them for far too long. They had finally decided to ignore them. The wolf wanted a bigger prize.
The moon had dropped; the light of the sun was only hours away. Ashe finally picked up a lingering scent again. This was their prey. The wolf agreed.
Ashe took off through the creek and up a nearby hill into denser woodland. This time, they moved a little slower. Focused. The old man wouldn’t trick the hunter again.