Young Writers Society

11. Long Fang

"It had been several months since I sent the New Blood and Izzy off with Drengr Hunten. Why did it have to be him? That hunter always brought more complications than solutions. Their departure left me to deal with tracking down the deserters. The ones foolish enough to stay close to camp thought they could hide, but Izzy, my strongest tracker, would've found them easily—had she not been gone.

Izzy and the New Blood had become nearly inseparable, bonded like sisters. That connection was both their strength and potential downfall. I couldn’t help but worry. The New Blood was reckless, still unafraid of me—a dangerous trait, one that could cause a lot of trouble. She hadn’t learned the weight of fear or respect yet. The truce I struck between factions of the pack was already fragile, and sending away two of my strongest was a gamble, but one I thought necessary.

Now, with nearly a quarter of my pack having deserted, the consequences of that risk were becoming harder to bear. The balance of power was tipping, and I was left to restore order before the cracks deepened further."

Entering the main cavern, the usual murmur of conversation died out, and all eyes turned toward me. I could feel the tension, the unspoken questions hanging in the air as I scanned the faces of my pack. Clearing my throat, I called out with authority, “Charles, Connor, come with me. We are going hunting.”

The familiar weight of my silver Bowie knife hung at my side, its cold steel a reminder of past hunts—hunts where I had taken down my own kind. Traitors needed to die, and today’s hunt would be no different. The deserters had made their choice, and now they would face the consequences.

I sensed Connor’s approach before he even stepped into the room. His presence was hesitant, his heartbeat betraying his anxiety. He stepped closer, eyes uncertain as he spoke, “Fang, what are we hunting? The larder is already full.” His words were measured, but the tremor in his voice and the rapid pulse in his chest revealed his fear of me—fear that I could smell, that I could almost taste.

Turning to face him, I locked eyes with him for a moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough for the tension to sink deeper. His breath caught as he waited for my response. Slowly, I opened my eyes, my voice calm but laced with authority. “We hunt the deserters. They have betrayed the pack, and now they must face the consequences.”

Connor's face paled, but he nodded. The unspoken rule of the pack was clear: betrayal had one price, and I would collect it. As we prepared to leave, the weight of the hunt settled in. Today, it wasn't prey or food we were after—it was justice, and justice would be served cold.

As I stepped out of the cave, Charles and Connor followed closely, their footsteps rustling softly against the underbrush. The thick canopy overhead muted the sunlight, casting long shadows across our path as we made our way toward the village.

Charles was the first to break the silence. "Do you think the villagers will talk this time? They've been jumpy ever since the last time we passed through."

I didn’t turn to face him, just kept my eyes on the trail ahead. "They'll talk if they know what's good for them. They may fear us, but they fear the unknown even more." My voice held a calm edge, the kind that promised trouble if they didn’t cooperate.

Connor, the younger of the two, shifted uneasily behind me. "What if the deserters have already moved on? It’s been months… How can we be sure they’re still near the village?"

I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "They'll stay close," I replied, my hand resting on the hilt of one of the silver knives strapped to my belt. "Deserters don’t stray too far from familiar ground. Fear of what’s out there—hunters, other wolves—it keeps them tethered to places like this. Besides, they know I’m coming. That fear will keep them close."

Charles grunted, his pace steady beside me. "So what’s the plan, Fang? We scare the villagers into talking, or do we try asking nicely first?"

A dark smirk pulled at my lips. "We ask... for now. They’re human, and we need information. But make no mistake, if they hesitate or I even smell a whiff of fear, we won’t waste time being polite."

Connor hesitated, clearly weighing his next words carefully. "And if they haven’t seen anything? What then?"

I stopped and turned, locking eyes with him, letting the weight of my gaze settle on his shoulders. "If they haven’t seen anything," I said, voice low, "then we hunt. Either way, we’re not coming back empty-handed."

Connor swallowed hard, nodding in understanding.

We pressed on, the village coming into view beyond the treeline. I could feel the tension tightening in the air, the weight of the hunt already bearing down on us. Today would bring answers, one way or another.

The forest flew past me in a blur of vibrant greens and browns, shafts of sunlight filtering through the dense canopy above. The earthy scent of damp leaves and soil filled my nostrils as I sprinted through the underbrush, every muscle in my body attuned to the rhythm of the wild. The wind whipped through my fur, cool and invigorating, as the world around me came alive with the sounds of rustling leaves, snapping twigs, and distant birdsong.

Behind me, I could hear the steady thudding of Charles and Connor’s paws, their breath coming in quick, determined puffs. They were keeping pace, just as I knew they would, but I still pressed forward, pushing myself harder, faster. The thrill of the chase ignited something primal in me, something that always lurked just beneath the surface.

Each inhale brought the scent of the forest alive—the musk of deer, the sharp tang of pine sap, the faint smell of water trickling somewhere nearby. All these smells were familiar, comforting even, but then... something unexpected hit my senses.

It was faint at first, just a whisper on the wind, but unmistakable—a scent I hadn’t encountered in centuries. My chest tightened as the dark, treacherous aroma filtered through the air. It was old, far older than any human or wolf. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a long-buried memory resurfacing. It was something vile, treacherous, more sinister than anything we hunted in this forest. It reeked of betrayal, of deceit that lingered like a shadow across the centuries.

I hadn’t smelled this... presence since she had betrayed me. The air around me seemed to darken, as if the trees themselves recoiled from the foulness that had entered my territory. My instincts screamed at me, urging caution, but my anger and determination outweighed the warning. The scent was woven with the unmistakable, bitter edge of something far more dangerous than any of the deserters we were tracking.

I came to a screeching halt, my claws digging deep into the dirt, tearing up roots as I took in the scene before me. Two of the deserters—what remained of them, anyway—were strewn across the clearing, their bodies brutally dismembered, their heads mounted grotesquely on pikes like some kind of twisted warning. Blood stained the ground, the scent of iron thick in the air. My stomach twisted in revulsion, but my instincts flared to life. This wasn’t the work of animals, nor the kind of punishment I would deliver. No, this was something far darker.

"What the hell..." Connor’s voice trailed off as he stopped behind me, his breathing ragged as his eyes locked onto the grisly display. Charles came to a stop too, letting out a low growl.

Before either of them could react, a voice, smooth and venomous, slithered through the clearing. "What's wrong, Doggy? No seconds?" The words were mocking, dripping with malice.

I turned slowly, every muscle in my body tensing as I searched for the source. There, perched in the branches of a nearby tree, was a pale, slender man. His long black coat billowed slightly in the breeze, his pale skin gleaming under the patches of sunlight filtering through the canopy. His eyes were sharp, cold, and unnaturally bright. They glinted with amusement, and his lips curled into a wicked smile.

"You and your kind are making waves, Doggy," he taunted, his voice smooth like oil. With an effortless motion, he leapt from the tree and landed in front of me with a heavy thud, the ground sinking beneath him as if the very earth recoiled from his presence. He shouldn’t have been that heavy—not with how lean he appeared—but there was something off, something more about him than met the eye. His weight didn’t match his build, and it set my instincts on high alert.

I felt Connor and Charles stiffen behind me, but they didn’t move. They knew better. We were staring down something far more dangerous than any deserter. This was the scent that had filled my senses, the one I hadn’t encountered in centuries. Something twisted and wrong, a predator that hunted in the dark.

The man straightened up, adjusting his coat with a flick of his wrist, his eyes never leaving mine. He knew exactly who I was. “You’ve been sloppy, Fang,” he said, his tone casual but laced with menace. “Letting your pack run wild like this… It’s almost like you’ve forgotten what lurks in the shadows, waiting for moments like this.”

His presence was suffocating, the very air around him thick with a cold, unnatural energy. My lips curled back in a snarl, baring my teeth. "You’re trespassing."

His laugh was low, mocking. "Am I? Or have you simply forgotten your place, dog?" He stepped closer, his grin widening as he saw my restraint. "The pack's always been so arrogant. Thinking you can control everything, forgetting the rules."

I growled deep in my throat, feeling my packmates tense behind me, waiting for my signal. But I couldn’t just lunge at him—this wasn’t an enemy I could take down with brute force alone. He was something far more sinister.

"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice steady despite the rage boiling inside me.

He smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. "You’ll find out soon enough. But for now..." His eyes flicked toward the dismembered deserters, then back to me, gleaming with dark delight. "Consider this a reminder. Keep your dogs on a leash, Fang. Or someone else will do it for you."

"For now, I'm cleaning up your mess, dog. But I don't mind. I do enjoy the occasional hunt," the vampire's voice slithered through the air like poison, his every word soaked in mockery.

I could smell it now—the unmistakable stench of something ancient, something wrong. Charles and Connor had never faced a vampire before. They were faster than us, more lethal, and the one standing before me? One of the fastest. My hackles raised as I tried to keep my emotions in check, but the weight of his presence bore down on me.

Charles, ever the fool, couldn’t control himself. He bellowed, his chest puffing out with bravado, "I will not sit here and be disrespected!" Before I could stop him, he charged forward, his fury overtaking reason.

Time seemed to slow, and I saw the flash of silver from the vampire's blade—a scimitar, sharp as death itself. The vampire’s pointed-toothed grin widened, enjoying the spectacle, as if Charles were nothing more than a lamb rushing into the slaughter. To him, Charles was moving in slow motion, doomed from the moment his feet left the ground.

"Charles! No!" I roared, but it was already too late.

In one smooth motion, the vampire swung his blade, a diagonal slash so fast I barely caught it. The sickening sound of flesh and bone being sliced through filled the clearing, and Charles was cut clean in two, his body falling apart before he even realized what had happened. Blood splattered across the forest floor, and for a brief, horrifying moment, everything went silent.

The vampire stood there, his scimitar dripping with Charles’s blood. He gave me a sly, twisted smile, raising the blade to his lips and licking it clean, savoring the taste. "A little underwhelming," he mocked, his voice dripping with cruelty. His gaze flicked to Connor, who stood frozen, torn between fear and rage. "He will have to do, I suppose."

Connor’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes wide with shock and fury. But I knew better than to let him act. Not against this. Not yet.

The vampire’s grin widened as he continued to needle us, toying with our rage. "First generations... they taste better, though," he mused, his voice as dark as the night around us. "What do you say, little Doggy? Want to avenge your dunce of a friend?"

I felt my blood boiling, the beast within me roaring to be unleashed, but I held it back. I couldn’t afford to lose control. Not here. Not now. Charles was gone, sliced apart in an instant, but charging in recklessly would only give the vampire what he wanted.

The vampire chuckled, clearly relishing in the tension. "What's the matter? Afraid? Or maybe..." His eyes gleamed with malevolent delight, "...you remember what happens when you face me, Fang."

I stepped forward, my claws extending as I growled low, barely containing the storm brewing inside me. "You're in my territory," I snarled. "And you won’t leave it alive."

The vampire’s smile never faltered. "We'll see, dog. We will see."

I could feel a cold rage building inside me, but I had to act fast before Connor let his anger get the better of him and ended up like Charles. "Connor," I growled, my voice low and urgent, "you haven't faced his kind before." My words were meant to slice through his bravado, but I could see the fire in his eyes—he was too angry, too shaken to think clearly.

Without wasting another second, I grabbed Connor's shoulder, yanking him back. "Listen to me!" I hissed, my growl deepening, making sure he felt the warning in my tone. The feral edge in my voice wasn’t just for Connor—it was for the vampire too. "You are no match for a vampire, you fool." I slapped him across the face, hard enough to jolt him out of his trance, forcing him to focus on me and not the monster standing before us. His eyes widened, and I could feel his pulse racing beneath my fingers.

The stranger closed the distance between us, sheathing his blood-stained scimitar with an almost casual grace. His voice was mocking, dripping with condescension. "Listen, little doggy," he sneered. "Your alpha here—Long Fangy—he’s killed quite a few of my kind." His eyes flicked back to the remains of Charles, and a sick, twisted giggle escaped his lips. "But he’s the only real threat among you. Well... two now."

I finally remembered this psychotic jester’s name—Gabriel, a member of her court. It had been so long, centuries perhaps, but I couldn’t believe this pompous jackass was still alive. Surely, she would have killed him. But no—here he stands, laughing in my face like no time had passed at all. The twisted jester of a long-dead queen, mocking me with every breath he takes.

I stepped forward, positioning myself between Connor and Gabriel, my voice dropping to a menacing calm. "What do you want, Gabriel?"

His eyes sparkled with recognition, a sadistic delight flickering behind them as he chuckled darkly. "Ah, so you do remember me, Fang," he said, his tone light and mocking, but there was nothing casual in the way his presence pressed against my senses—every word from his mouth felt like a cold blade against my throat.

I didn’t waste time playing his games. "What do you want?" I growled, my claws itching to manifest as I took another step forward, tensed like a predator ready to pounce.

Gabriel’s grin widened as his hand rested on the hilt of his scimitar, his fingers tightening like a coiled snake ready to strike. "You want to test me, Fang?" His voice dripped with arrogance, taunting. "Think you can take me... alone?"

A low, threatening growl rumbled from deep in my chest, my claws gleaming in the fading light as they unsheathed, ready for the inevitable bloodshed. "Why are you here?" I asked, my voice dark and dangerous.

Gabriel leaned in just enough to make my blood boil, his grin widening as he whispered, "I’m here because it’s time, Fang. Time for your pack to pay for the blood they spilled. Time for you to answer for the sins you committed centuries ago." His voice was like venom, laced with malice from a time long forgotten by most, but not by me—not by Gabriel.

Don't get your history twisted, do you?YYour queen betrayed me. Left me for dead.

I lunged at Gabriel, aiming not where he stood but where he would be—I'd fought vampires like him before, and their arrogance made them predictable. My claws slashed through empty air, and before I could recover, I felt the cold bite of silver slice into my abdomen. Gabriel moved fast, faster than I remembered. I leaped back, growling, blood already pooling around the wound.

"Is that all, dog?" Gabriel taunted, twirling his scimitar, a wicked grin spreading across his pale face. "I expected more from the famous Long Fang."

I snarled, circling him, my eyes narrowing. The pain only fueled my rage, and I knew this fight would not be over quickly. We both lunged at the same moment, my claws meeting the silver of his blade. The sound of metal scraping against bone echoed in the forest, and sparks flew between us as we clashed again and again, neither of us giving an inch. I twisted my body, catching his wrist and forcing him back. Gabriel stumbled, his scimitar slipping slightly in his grip, and I saw my chance.

I lashed out with my claws, aiming for his throat, but Gabriel recovered too quickly. He ducked under my strike and drove his blade into my side once more. I roared, the pain blinding for a moment, but I didn’t stop. My claws tore into his shoulder, ripping through cloth and flesh alike. He hissed in pain, his blood splattering the ground as he staggered back.

The forest around us blurred into a whirl of movement, the only constant the deadly dance between predator and prey. Gabriel moved with unnatural grace, every swing of his blade precise and lethal. But I had fought his kind before, and I knew their tricks. I anticipated his moves, narrowly dodging another strike as I countered with a brutal swipe to his chest. My claws dug deep, and for a second, I saw the flicker of fear in his eyes.

But vampires are cunning creatures, and Gabriel wasn’t done yet.

With a flick of his wrist, he drew a hidden dagger, stabbing upward toward my heart. I barely dodged, feeling the blade slice across my chest, but the movement left me open for his next attack. His scimitar came crashing down, aimed at my neck, but I managed to twist just in time, catching the blade between my claws.

Our eyes locked, both of us panting heavily, blood dripping from countless wounds. Gabriel’s smug grin faltered, realizing how close I was to ripping him apart. I tightened my grip on his blade, the muscles in my arms trembling with the effort to hold him off.

"Not so cocky now, are you?" I growled through clenched teeth, pushing against his weight.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed, and he pushed back, our strength matched for the briefest of moments. Then, in a blur of motion, we broke apart, each of us bleeding and battered, but neither willing to back down.

Before either of us could make another move, she arrived.

The voice that haunted my nightmares, that I hadn’t heard in what felt like lifetimes, sliced through the air like a knife. "Although he can be quite vexing," her voice was deceptively sweet, "his services are still useful. Please, Fang, release Gabriel."

The second her words filled the air, I froze. My claws, poised to tear Gabriel’s head from his shoulders, went limp. The fear I had buried deep, the fear I hadn’t felt in millennia, surged to the surface.

Her presence was overwhelming, her power suffocating, and as her long hair flowed in the light breeze, I felt the animal within me cower. Gabriel scrambled away from me, clearly rattled by how close he had come to death, but now emboldened by her arrival.

"Took your sweet time, didn’t you?" Gabriel muttered, brushing himself off, though his voice lacked its usual arrogance.

The Huntress—Keziah Shamir Silas—turned her gaze toward him, her expression still sweet, but her tone firm. "Shut up, Gabriel. You knew who I had you looking for."

Gabriel’s posture deflated, the bravado draining from him as quickly as his blood had moments ago. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, his earlier confidence replaced with embarrassment. The Huntress didn’t even spare him a second glance as she turned her full attention to me.

Connor stood off to the side, his mouth agape, clearly trying to process the sight before him. He couldn’t believe it—his Alpha, the indomitable Long Fang, was afraid. I shot him a warning glance, but the fool still spoke up.

"You... cower before her?!" he shouted, disbelief flooding his voice. "Fang, you're three—four times her size!"

Before I could stop him, the Huntress turned her gaze to Connor, and the mental pressure that had suffocated me lifted—only to crash down on him instead. Connor’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, screaming in agony. Steam rose from his skin, his temperature rising unnaturally as blood bubbled from his mouth and eyes.

The Huntress didn’t say a word as Connor’s screams turned into wet gargles, then silence. His body lay twitching on the ground, steam still rising as blood pooled beneath him.

She walked toward his broken form, her presence radiating power. "I am not a thing," she said, her voice cold and sharp as ice. "I am a highborn vampire, and the reigning matriarch of the Silas Coven. Keziah Shamir Silas."