Banished Lycan 2 Chapter 1 – New Toys and a New Enemy

Banished Lycan 2 Guerra

Chapter 1: Sarah – New Toys and a New Enemy

After months of hunting down some rather interesting creatures, Izzy and I had encountered a few deserters. Strangely enough, they always seemed to vanish just as we were closing in, as if they knew we were after them. It was frustrating, but not surprising. The supernatural world was full of twists like that.

Not long ago, we had to deal with a nasty Gremlin infestation. Nasty little things—small, vicious, and quick. Thankfully, we managed to exterminate the lot of them, though Izzy was still sulking because Drengr had forbidden her from eating one. He claimed it wasn’t safe, and for once, I was inclined to agree with him. No one really knew if they were poisonous or not, and frankly, none of us were willing to find out the hard way.

Then, a few days later, we stumbled upon something a little more unusual—a Minotaur. It wasn’t often you encountered one of those outside the ancient reservations where they still thrived, but this poor guy seemed completely lost. Confused and lumbering about, he almost ran into us. It took us some effort, but we managed to guide him back to safety. Izzy, of course, teased him the whole way, though she never pushed too far. She may have been fierce, but she knew where the line was. Drengr, as usual, kept his watchful eye on us, making sure the situation didn’t spiral out of control.

We had no concrete leads on the whereabouts of the Deserters. Despite our best efforts, it seemed like every trail we followed turned cold, as if they vanished into thin air. Xavier was becoming increasingly insistent that someone else was aiding them, helping them slip through our fingers. It was hard to believe that these weaklings were that good at evading us on their own, but Xavier’s theory started to feel like the only plausible explanation. The frustration was mounting, tensions within our hunting party bubbling just beneath the surface.

And then, out of nowhere, a surprise arrived. The leaders of Garra de la Plaga sent us a care package. At first, we thought it was a mistake, or perhaps some misdelivered supply. But as we opened it, the contents revealed otherwise. A crate full of Winchester Repeaters sat inside, each more impressive than the last. A note accompanied it, stating that these weapons were not yet available on the market.

Separate crates were clearly labeled for Drengr and Xavier, as expected. But the real shock came when Izzy and I found a crate with our names on it. The two of us, supernatural beings who, under different circumstances, Garra de la Plaga would likely have hunted down, were suddenly being armed by their leaders.

Inside, we found custom-made Repeaters, complete with special silver-tipped rounds. Along with them, there were brand-new sidearms, knives, and even matching bandoliers and gun belts. The craftsmanship was exquisite. My Repeater was a deep, dark purple—elegant yet lethal—with a beautifully detailed wolf carving etched into the stock. Izzy’s was just as stunning, made of dark walnut wood and adorned with the same wolf carving. The thoughtfulness of the design struck me, like the leaders knew us better than we realized.

Since joining the hunting party, my proficiency with firearms had improved—especially during that first grueling month of training. But no matter how good I got, there was something about the weight of a blade in my hand, the feel of my own claws slicing through the air, that made me feel more... myself. Now, with two silver blades at my side, the excitement was almost too much to contain. I couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle, imagining all the ways I could use them in the field.

The sound of the blades scraping together must’ve caught Xavier’s attention, because he shot me a look, raising an eyebrow with a half-amused, half-wary expression. “For once, I’m happy you’re on our side, Chica. You look loco doing that and giggling,” he said with a smirk.

I laughed, unable to hold it in. “I know it seems a little crazy, but these blades are going to come in handy. And besides, who says you can’t have a little fun while you work?”

Xavier shook his head, chuckling. “Just don’t get too carried away. We still need you in one piece to take down those damn deserters.”

“Don’t worry,” I said with a grin. “I’ll keep it together—most of the time.”

The next few days were a blur of training and sparring with Izzy, waiting for any leads on the deserters. We took full advantage of the new equipment we’d been gifted, running drills with the repeaters and pistols, though I found I was much more comfortable with the rifle than the smaller firearm. Still, with practice, I could handle both just fine. The Garra de la Plaga had clearly put thought into outfitting us, and I was determined to make the most of the weapons they’d provided.

After days of silence, we finally got the break we were waiting for. Word had spread about a small town, practically in the middle of nowhere, where people had been vanishing mysteriously in the dead of night. The news traveled through a wandering salesman, and anyone who would listen soon knew about the town’s plight. The sheriff, out of options and desperate for answers, had no idea how to stop whatever was taking his people.

Xavier, ever the strategist, was quick to conclude that the deserters we’d been tracking had something to do with it. It was the only logical explanation, and if we didn’t act quickly, things would spiral out of control. We needed to move fast—before the wrong people caught wind of what was happening.

For the first time, Xavier was going to join us in the field. I had to admit, seeing him prepared for a fight was a little intimidating. His usual casual air was replaced with a focused intensity I hadn’t seen before. As he saddled his horse, Drengr gave him a sidelong look and smirked. “You still remember how to use that thing?” he asked, gesturing toward Xavier’s rifle. Then, switching to Spanish, Drengr teased him further. "Creo que el burro sabe más que tú!" (I think the donkey knows more than you!)

Xavier burst into a hearty laugh, mounting his horse with ease. “Por lo menos no soy tan feo que haga llorar a una cebolla." (At least I’m not so ugly that I make an onion cry.) Drengr’s laughter boomed, echoing through the camp as he rode up beside his cousin.

The playful banter between them was a much-needed break from the tension that had been building over the past weeks. But as we rode toward the town, the reality of what we were up against settled in again. Deserters, disappearances, and now this—something far more sinister was at play. Whatever we were walking into, I had a feeling it was only the beginning of something much bigger.

Xavier glanced at Izzy and me, sizing us up with a grin. "Chicas," he began, "we’ve got two more horses and saddles that wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. Or if you prefer, you could run it in beast form." He paused, his voice more serious now. "But, it’s a three to four-day ride to Whitewood Junction. Your choice."

Izzy's expression tightened with concern. "Do you really want a former slave girl riding a horse through a town? Some people might take issue with that." Her voice held a wary edge, as though the weight of her past was suddenly heavier.

Xavier’s reaction was unexpected. He looked at Izzy for a long moment, as if seeing her in a different light, before bursting into laughter. Then he spoke in Spanish, "Bueno, podrías comértelos, no sería una gran pérdida."

Drengr, barely holding onto his saddle, was laughing so hard he almost fell off his horse. He turned to Izzy, still chuckling, and asked, "Did you really just make a joke?"

Izzy shot Drengr a puzzled look. "What did he say?"

Xavier flashed a wide, toothy grin as Drengr translated, his laughter spilling out between words. "He said, ‘You could just eat them if they give you shit.'"

Izzy’s laughter rang out, breaking the tension that had been lingering in the air. It was infectious, and soon enough, even I couldn’t help but smile.

But Xavier wasn’t finished. Dismounting, he looked at Izzy with a serious expression, the shift in tone immediately sobering the mood. His words were deliberate, knowing his accent could sometimes make his English harder to understand. "Chica," he said, his voice firm, "I don’t give a damn what these fools think of me or my crew. If they have a problem with your skin color or with any of us..." he paused, switching back to Spanish, "a tomar por culo."

Then he gestured towards Izzy and me, his voice rich with conviction. "We have fought and bled together. You are now part of my crew, a member of my pack." He thumped his chest dramatically, his voice filled with pride. "If they have an issue with you," he gestured to the entire hunting party, "then they have an issue with all of us."

For a brief moment, Izzy’s human side surfaced—her cheeks flushed, and a shy smile played on her lips. But she quickly pulled herself together, her expression turning thoughtful. "I think we’ll ride," she said, her tone measured, "but we need to take prescribed turns and let the beast out. If we don’t, the beast will force its way out, and we could lose control."

Xavier nodded, understanding the unspoken challenges of keeping their lycan forms in check for such a long stretch. “Agreed,” he said. “We ride, but the beast will get its time.”

Part 2 Izzy

One of the others brought the horses out, and they whinnied as we approached. It had been years since I had ridden a horse. I had only ridden a few horses while helping out the plantation rancher. He treated me well, but the walking bosses didn't like me riding horses but it made their jobs’ easier. Nonetheless, I still remembered how to ride. On the other hand, Sarah came from a wealthy family and probably had formal riding lessons.

Sarah approached the horse with a calm and steady demeanor, speaking softly as she got closer and took the reins from the handler. The horse immediately sensed the shift and became nervous and skittish, whinnying in fear. But Sarah remained in control, speaking louder and using a soothing tone to calm the animal. It was clear that she had experience handling horses and knew what she was doing.

As my turn came up to mount up, I approached the tan and white grade horse, which appeared apprehensive and stomped its hooves. I tried to encourage the horse to come closer by putting my palms up. The handler signaled me to come closer. The horse reared for a second so I stepped back and The horse whinnied again. The handler Stepped in and callmed the the horse.

After spending some time with the horse and earning its trust, the handler handed me the reins. I gently tugged on the lead to encourage the horse to walk with me, and I walked alongside it. With a few more gentle tugs, the horse began to move with me, and I continued to walk beside it, trying to calm it down and get a feel for its movements. As the horse became more comfortable with me, I felt confident enough to mount up. I swung my leg over the horse's back, settled into the saddle, and felt a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over me. I had successfully mounted and ridden a horse after so many years.

After we had been trotting for a while, I moved closer to Sarah who looked very composed on her horse. My curiosity got the better of me and I asked, "So, how did the princess turned lycan turned hunter become such an expert rider?" Sarah snickered and replied, "Well, I knew how to sneak around. My father didn't know everything, and I had some secret forays." Her response left me momentarily stunned, but she quickly added, "Just joking," and gave me a playful wink. "Actually, my mother taught me," she continued, her words carrying a hint of sadness.

Sarah quickly changed the topic, asking me about my own experience with horses. "What about you? You don't seem like a stranger to the saddle," she said, diverting attention from her own mother. I replied, "The rancher the Alsindys hired had me help around the ranch and taught me how to tame horses. I learned how to shoe them, groom them, and do all the necessary things to care for a horse. And of course, he taught me how to ride. That meant occasional rides into town with him, and as he said, 'I would be damned useless if I couldn't ride and keep up.' It was hard work, but I enjoyed it."

Sarah inquired, "You were a slave, right?" my body froze, and my response came out harshly, "Yes, I was a slave." Memories of being whipped as a kid flooded my mind, and I had a sudden moment of anger. Sarah rushed to say something, realizing her mistake. "Izzy, I'm sorry to bring that up," she apologized. "We both have things in our past that haunt us." Her words were comforting, and I felt grateful for her understanding. We rode in silence for a while longer, lost in our own thoughts.

Xavier suddenly slowed his horse and joined in on the conversation, as if appearing out of nowhere. "Hey chicas, you both have your own demonios," he said in a reassuring tone. "But that doesn't define you. Besides, you turn into demonios yourselves," he added, trying to lighten the mood with a small smile.

Sarah and I rode in silence for a while, lost in thought about our pasts and the events that brought us to where we are today. We both recognized that the obstacles we faced and conquered have had a profound impact on our growth and development. We realized that even the hardships and wrongdoings we experienced were necessary for us to become the people we are.

We made camp at sundown near a wooded area, all of us relieved to finally rest after the long day of riding. The tension from holding back our animalistic urges was beginning to surface. I could feel it in my bones, and one look at Sarah told me she was feeling the same way. There was a wildness in her eyes, a restlessness that mirrored my own.

I turned to Xavier, feeling the itch to let the beast out. "We need to go for a run," I said, my voice edged with urgency.

He hesitated, frowning. "You’ve been riding all day. Shouldn’t you—"

But then he saw it—the glint in my eyes, the unspoken hunger. With a sigh, he crossed himself, muttering, "El demonio tiene esas chicas," under his breath. “Take all the time you need, chicas.”

I didn’t bother looking for a secluded spot. At that point, I didn’t care who saw us. The beast inside was clawing its way out, and I needed to shift. Fast. I stripped down to my small clothes, barely managing to yank off my hunters' garb before the transformation took over. My muscles rippled and spasmed, my bones contorting as I let the beast take hold. The change wasn’t painful anymore, not like it used to be. Now, it was exhilarating.

As soon as I hit the ground on all fours, I shot off like a bullet into the woods. The earth pounded beneath my paws, and the wind whipped past my ears, carrying the familiar scent of the forest. The thrill of it surged through me like fire, and the beast within roared with satisfaction.

Sarah wasn’t far behind. I could feel her presence, her excitement at being in her beast form matching mine. We communicated without words, pure animal instinct guiding us as we ran side by side. There was nothing human in this moment, just the hunt—the pursuit of prey.

The scent of deer flooded my senses first, sharp and tantalizing, and I veered toward it. The animal instincts in my head urged me on, telling me to move faster, to take down whatever was foolish enough to cross our path. In this form, we were unstoppable. Fast, deadly, and hungry.

As we slowed down, the scent grew stronger. Two moose stood in a clearing, focused on each other and blissfully unaware of the predators stalking them. Perfect.

I hugged the ground, stalking closer while Sarah circled wide. The thrill of the hunt pulsed through my veins. I crept forward, inching toward the bigger one, my claws digging into the soft dirt. I could feel Sarah’s bloodlust radiating through our bond, a mirror to my own.

With a mental shout of "now," I sprang, lunging onto the moose’s back with a vicious snarl. My claws dug into its thick hide as I bit down hard on its neck. The moose thrashed violently, but I held firm, feeling the power coursing through my muscles as I wrestled the beast to the ground. My jaws found purchase on its throat, and with a savage twist, I tore it out. The fight drained from the moose as the blood spilled onto the earth, and I let out a triumphant growl.

Sarah brought down the other moose with similar ease, and together, we feasted. The taste of fresh meat—wild, raw, and still warm—was all we needed at the moment. It wasn’t just about hunger, though. It was about the hunt, the kill, and the satisfaction that came with it

Afterward, still in our beast forms, we dragged the smaller moose back toward camp. Our fur was matted with blood, our muzzles slick with gore. Anyone stumbling upon us in that state would have seen a terrifying sight—two massive lycans, fresh from a kill, eyes glowing with the remnants of bloodlust. But no one ran. I was fairly certain the only reason we hadn’t been shot on sight was because we were hauling in fresh meat, something far more appealing than dried provisions.

Xavier was the first to approach us, striding up with his usual boldness. The man had guts, I’d give him that. He looked between me and Sarah, both of us still dripping with blood, and didn’t flinch. "Be a dear, sweethearts," he said with a smirk, "and take the kill over there by the fire, will you?" He gestured casually, adding, "And thanks for sharing."

I growled playfully at him, but did as he asked. We dropped the moose near the fire, and I shifted back to my human form. Xavier looked us over, shaking his head with a grin. "If I didn’t know any better," he said, "I’d say you two were born for this."

I wiped the blood from my mouth, a sly grin creeping up my face. "Maybe we were."

I couldn't help but chuckle as Sarah and I dragged the moose carcass to the designated spot. One of the hunters, Manwell, if I remembered his name correctly, had a large hunting knife and a machete at the ready. I could practically smell the enthusiasm radiating from him. With a hint of fear in his voice, he asked, "Did you bleed it yet?" I lifted the moose's head, revealing its removed throat, as a response. I heard the man gulp and say, "Well, that answers that, I guess."

The would-be butcher told us, "Okay, thank you guys. We've got it from here." Sarah still in beast from grunted in acknowledgement and headed back to where we had stashed our gear. Next to our belongings, we found a wash bucket and towels—Xavier was undeniably observant. Sarah reverted to her human forms and proceeded to wash away the carnage from our hunt. For the time being, the beasts within us were appeased.

A short while later, we made our way to the cook fire. Some of the hunters gave us sidelong glances; they must have forgotten what a lycan was capable of, and our little display had served as a reminder If only a small one.

Part 3 Xavier

It wasn't that I was going soft by leaving the girls a wash bucket after their hunt. No, it was simply practical. I couldn’t have them walking into the heart of camp in human form, covered in blood—even if it was just animal blood. Their contribution of fresh moose for dinner gave the group a welcome morale boost, even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. After all, no one truly enjoys endless meals of dried meats, cheese, and salted offal. Fresh meat was a rare treat.

The next day, they decided to spend a few hours in their beast forms, running alongside the horses. I could see the exhilaration in their eyes, the sheer joy of letting their inner wolves run wild. It invigorated them, a boost of energy for the journey ahead. With no one else on the road to witness their transformation, and the horses growing more accustomed to their presence, I thought to myself, "¡Joder! Why not?"

Over time, I began to notice the subtle differences between them in their beast forms. Izzy, the more dangerous of the two, had a brownish-black fur pattern. She was slightly shorter, but her frame was more muscular, tightly coiled and ready to strike at any moment. Her eyes glowed a fierce golden-brown, sharp and always scanning for threats. Sarah, by contrast, had grayish-white fur and a more feminine build, taller and faster. Her violet eyes glowed with an eerie intensity, mesmerizing and hard to look away from.

Despite their considerable size, what struck me most was how silently they moved. There was an elegance to them—each step, each stride, was fluid, as if the ground itself welcomed their presence. Their predatory instincts were undeniable, honed to a level I’d never seen before. And this was coming from someone who had hunted for over a century.

In the three and a half months I’ve spent hunting alongside Izzy and Sarah, I’ve learned more about lycans than I had in the previous hundred years. There was so much more to them than the savagery the Garra de la Plaga had always warned us about. Sure, they were dangerous when provoked, but there was also a grace, a restraint that made me realize not all lycans deserved to be hunted down.

I thought about how I would approach the Garra de la Plaga about reevaluating their treatment of lycans. I wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be easy, but after what I’d witnessed, it was clear that there were some, like Izzy and Sarah, who didn’t belong on the list of those to be exterminated. They were fighters, yes, but they were more than just beasts. They were allies—loyal, intelligent, and fierce in their own right.

As I watched them run ahead of the horses, their forms blending with the surrounding landscape, I couldn’t help but marvel. For all the years I had spent hunting, there was a beauty to their movements, a natural rhythm to the way they glided through the wilderness. Despite their power, they were as silent and deadly as the wind itself. They had a wisdom, born from their animal instincts, that no amount of training could replicate.

And in that moment, I knew that hunting with these two had changed me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

In over a century of hunting, I had learned more from these girls in three and a half months than I

had in all those years combined. It was a humbling realization. I had already started giving them more freedom, but now I knew that I needed to persuade Garra de la Plaga to reassess how they approached lycans. There was so much more to them than I had originally anticipated—something worth preserving, not destroying.

It was a relatively nice day, and once again, I found myself impressed by the girls’ sheer endurance. They had been running in their beast forms nearly all day, only stopping when we watered the horses. During these breaks, they briefly reverted to their human forms to drink, then quickly transformed back into their beasts. Watching them, I learned something new—they could shift rapidly between forms, although the process clearly took a toll on their bodies. I could see the pain in their eyes during each shift, but they never complained.

We continued at a steady trot when something changed. Within seconds, the horses began to spook, their hooves stamping the ground nervously as they slowed to a cautious walk. The girls, still in their beast forms, immediately sensed it too. Their ears curled back, bodies tensed as they instinctively took protective positions within the group. A low, rumbling growl escaped from them, a clear warning of danger ahead.

But they didn’t need to warn me—I felt it too.

"Hold!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the trees. The column came to an abrupt halt, and I could hear the creaking of saddles as the others reached for their guns. The air had shifted, growing thick with tension. It wasn’t just the girls or the horses sensing the change. Something was out there, something that didn’t belong.

"Eyes sharp, guns at the ready!" I ordered, scanning the dense forest for any sign of movement. The girls were already positioned on either side of the column, massive forms acting as both a wall of muscle and our last line of defense. Their growls echoed low and steady, cutting through the silence like a warning, as their heightened senses picked up whatever was out there.

I adjusted my grip on the rifle, feeling the cool weight of it, silver rounds chambered and ready. My gaze swept across the group, catching sight of Izzy and Sarah—then something strange caught my attention. Izzy was shifting back into her human form.

"Chica, what the hell are you doing?" I muttered, though more to myself than to her. The transformation from beast to human, especially in front of the men, wasn’t something they were ever prepared for. Even after all this time, the sight of her bones realigning, muscles shrinking—it sent a ripple of unease through the group. The men avoided looking directly at her, some even crossing themselves as if to ward off evil.

But Izzy was unfazed. She moved with purpose, reaching into one of the carts to grab a few items, though what exactly she was after, I couldn't quite see.

"Qué demonios," I whispered, frustrated. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she disappeared behind another cart, her form vanishing from view.

"Stay alert!" I snapped, refocusing my attention on the task at hand. "Whatever’s out there, it’s closing in. Sarah better not be planning something reckless..."

I kept an eye on the tree line, wondering what was about to strike next, and how we’d get out of this alive.

The forest around us fell deathly quiet, an eerie stillness descending over the area. No birds, no rustling leaves—just silence. A cold dread crept down my spine as I realized we weren’t just dealing with an animal. Whatever was out there... it wasn’t natural.

"Stay close," I whispered, gripping my rifle tighter. "This isn’t just a stray animal. It’s something else."

I dropped to the ground, crouching low, and readied my rifle as I walked cautiously towards Sarah. Her powerful senses would have already picked up my approach, so I spoke as quietly as possible, "Sarah, don’t turn back—we need your heightened senses. Just keep looking in the direction you think whatever it is will come from."

Her ears flicked, a subtle signal that she heard me loud and clear. I watched her survey the area, her gaze sweeping across the terrain with methodical precision before finally honing in on our right flank. I began to pull back, preparing to move to another vantage point when she let out a low growl. I turned back to her, and she shifted her focus to the left, her head turning nearly ninety degrees. Then, with a subtle hand movement, she signaled—pointer and thumb curled inward, while the other three fingers extended. Three. Three unknown threats.

That was why they hadn’t charged yet. Whoever or whatever was out there wasn’t alone.

Suddenly, I felt a hand grip my shoulder, and I turned sharply, raising my rifle halfway before realizing it was Izzy. She wore an overcoat and pants, her rifle slung over her shoulder, and her eyes burned with a crimson glow. Her fangs were visible, and her claws had extended. She was ready for a fight.

"We’re being surrounded," she whispered, her voice tight with controlled tension. "I don’t fully recognize the scent, but... I smell vampire blood." Her eyes darted around as her nostrils flared. "We need to keep moving. It doesn’t matter where—just keep moving."

I opened my mouth to ask more, but Izzy cut me off with urgency in her voice. "We don’t have time for this. It’s not just vampires out there."

Without hesitation, I returned to my horse and quietly ordered the column to spur their mounts forward. I leaned in, keeping my voice low as I spoke to the rest of the group. "Izzy picked up the scent of vampires. Stay sharp, but we’re moving."

The tension in the air thickened as we slowly started moving again. I wasn’t sure how Izzy knew the scent of vampire blood, but I wasn’t going to question it now. Whatever was lurking in the darkness, we had no intention of letting it corner us.

The sound of hooves on the dirt trail was all I could hear, but every instinct in me was on high alert. We were being hunted, and whatever it was, it was closing in.

I was surprised when Izzy jumped up to join me in tandem riding, settling herself comfortably in the saddle in front of me. With a pointed-tooth grin, she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "That better be your gun poking me," she teased, the words slipping out with an ease that felt almost out of place given the situation.

The fact that she could crack a joke right now left me wondering—was she deflecting the tension with humor, or was she just that confident? Either way, her lightheartedness was a welcome distraction from the unease tightening around us.

"Well, what else would it be?" I shot back, grinning. “¿Qué más esperabas, una espada o una invitación a bailar?” (What else were you expecting, a sword or an invitation to dance?)

Her laughter bubbled up, lightening the tension in the air. Her ability to joke in the face of danger was something I’d come to admire, even if I wasn’t sure whether it was bravery or a carefully crafted coping mechanism. Either way, I appreciated the levity.

"Good to know you’re still sharp under pressure," Izzy replied, leaning back slightly, clearly unbothered by the looming threat. "Just don’t let that sharpness slip, yeah? I’d hate to have to save your ass... again."

"Again?" I raised an eyebrow, keeping the banter alive. "Remind me when that was?"

"Oh, you’ll remember soon enough," she quipped, eyes gleaming with mischief, though a hint of seriousness lingered beneath.

The horses whinnied and hesitated but eventually began to gallop. Sarah, in her beast form, took her place at the rear, her massive form prowling silently as our rear guard. Her growls were low, but I could sense the way her ears twitched, always alert, always ready.

We moved forward as the sun dipped lower, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The road ahead was quiet, but the forest never lies. We were being watched.

Izzy, sitting in front of me in the saddle, twisted her head slightly with a grin. "Xavier, you always this tense, or is that just your natural charm?"

I let out a short laugh, forced, trying to focus. "Chica, not now," I muttered, my eyes scanning the treeline. The edge in my voice was sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. Her jokes had helped earlier, kept me steady. But now, every second that passed felt like it was stretching my nerves too thin.

Izzy, undeterred, smirked. "Come on, jefe. You’re Garra de la Plaga. Thought you could handle a little pressure."

I groaned, slipping into Spanish out of frustration. “¿No ves que estamos rodeados? ¡Este no es momento para bromas!” (Can’t you see we’re surrounded? This isn’t the time for jokes!)

Enrique, riding a few horses behind, chuckled under his breath. "Es su forma de calmarte, jefe." (It’s her way of calming you down, boss.)

"¡Cállate, Enrique!" I snapped, my grip tightening on the reins. "¿Crees que esto es un juego?" (Do you think this is a game?) The irritation bubbling beneath the surface was becoming harder to manage, but the banter—though annoying—kept my mind from spiraling.

Izzy leaned back slightly in the saddle, throwing a wink over her shoulder. “You’re just mad you haven’t killed anything in a while.”

I grit my teeth but couldn’t stop a small smirk from forming. “Maldita sea, Izzy,” I muttered under my breath, “You're lucky I don't throw you off this horse.”

Izzy shot a glance over her shoulder, her mischievous grin widening. “You wouldn't dare, old man,” she teased, but even her playful words were undercut by the tension that hung thick in the air.

Behind us, a low, guttural growl echoed—Sarah’s. Even in her beast form, her instincts were razor-sharp. She couldn’t speak, but her presence always had a way of making things clear without the need for words. Her posture, the way her ears flicked toward the trees—it was a warning. Something was wrong.

I felt it too, the unease crawling under my skin, rippling through the rest of the group as the idle chatter died down. The air felt heavier, as if it were thickening with the unknown threat that lurked just beyond our senses.

And then, just as we tried to settle into the uneasy quiet, the sudden crack of splitting wood shattered it. I whipped my head around in time to see the wagon’s wheel give way, rolling off into the brush. Of course. Because things weren’t cursed enough already.

"¿Me estás jodiendo?" I growled, the frustration biting at my words as we came to a halt. The timing was too perfect—too unlucky.

Everyone dismounted quickly, forming a tight circle around the downed wagon. Weapons were drawn without hesitation, instincts driving us to prepare for whatever was out there. Izzy, predictably, was the first to offer her two cents.

“I was just getting comfortable,” she muttered as she slid down from the horse. There was a sarcastic edge to her words, but I could tell even she was feeling the pressure now.

I shook my head, biting back another curse as I joined the rest of the group on the ground. The screeching that had seemed distant was now getting closer, echoing through the trees. Something was out there, and it was closing in fast.

I rubbed my temples in frustration, trying to keep my thoughts clear despite the growing tension. "¡Qué carajo!" I muttered, throwing a glance at the broken wheel. “No podemos tener un maldito descanso, ¿verdad?” The damn wagon—of all times for it to break down, it had to be now, when danger was on our heels.

I could hear Sarah's growl from behind, low and menacing. Even in her beast form, she was alert to whatever was creeping closer. The horses were getting spooked, and I knew it wasn’t going to take much more to send them bolting. Izzy, as usual, made some quip, but I barely registered it. All I could think about was the screeching echoing through the trees.

"Stay sharp," I muttered, gripping my rifle tightly as the others circled the wagon. "This isn’t just bad luck... something’s coming."

The wagon driver, James, jumped down, muttering something under his breath as he went to inspect the damage. That’s when I heard it—a sound I couldn’t place. It was this strange mix of throaty laughter and high-pitched screeching, something that set every instinct on edge.

My horse picked up on it too. It started stomping the ground nervously, eyes wide, nostrils flaring as if it could smell the danger lurking just out of sight. Before I could even think, it began bucking, trying to throw me off. I had no choice but to dismount, rifle in hand, as the horse bolted off into the darkness. "¡Carajo!" Xavier cursed again, watching the horse disappear. "This keeps getting better."

I moved cautiously toward the wagon, rifle ready, eyes scanning for the source of that eerie noise. Sarah had her knife drawn, and Izzy stood ready, claws itching for a fight.

James knelt beside the wagon, running his hands over the broken wheel, his face pale with unease. I crouched down beside him and asked, "James, what do you think?"

With a nervous chuckle that was more out of fear than humor, James replied, "We're all dead." His voice cracked, gallows humor barely masking the terror that was creeping into him. I felt it too—the dread crawling up my spine like a cold chill.

"¿Qué demonios es esa cosa? No me gusta ni un poco," I muttered under my breath, scanning the trees with narrowed eyes, hoping something wouldn’t leap out at us from the shadows. James’s eyes darted toward me, wide with unease. "I ain't ever heard that sound before, hermano," he added, his fear palpable.

"Neither have I," I admitted quietly, my grip tightening on my rifle. "But what about the wagon? Can it be fixed?"

James sighed, his eyes moving from the broken wheel to the dense forest beyond. "I can fix it... if whatever’s out there lets me live long enough to do it." His voice was tinged with despair, and I didn’t blame him. The screeching was growing louder, circling us.

"Está jodido por completo," James finally muttered, frustrated as he examined the damage more closely. His tone was resigned, and the tension in the air only worsened.

"Se va a la mierda," I muttered back, feeling the pressure build in my chest. Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal, and it certainly wasn’t going to wait around for us to fix the damn wagon.

Sarah approached in her beast form, her grayish-white fur gleaming faintly in the dimming light. Her glowing violet eyes were locked onto the forest, muscles tensed as she scanned the surroundings, growling low in her throat. She was ready to spring into action at the slightest sign of danger.

Izzy, meanwhile, remained in her semi-transformed state. Her body was mostly human, but her claws had manifested, and fur was spreading across her arms and legs. Her eyes were burning with a vivid brown-gold hue, and her fangs were just visible beneath her lips. She gripped her repeater tightly, her head swiveling slowly, taking in every inch of the forest.

They took defensive stances, their heightened senses attuned to any movement beyond the treeline. I knew we couldn’t leave the equipment behind, not if we wanted to complete the mission. But I also knew that whatever was out there wasn’t going to wait much longer.

The tension hung thick in the air, and every creak of wood, every whisper of wind through the trees felt like a prelude to something far worse.

The screeching noise tore through the quiet, slicing through the trees like something from another world. It was the first time I'd ever heard anything like it—a high-pitched, guttural sound that rattled the air itself. It was primal and unnatural, as if the forest itself recoiled from the noise. I could feel my blood running cold, and judging by the tension rippling through the others, I wasn’t the only one.

It grated against my nerves, crawling under my skin. The horses stomped and whinnied, their panic rising as the screeches drew nearer, echoing through the dense forest. Whatever was making that noise wasn’t something we had encountered before, and that fact alone was enough to set me on edge.

I needed to get a better look. Climbing onto the wagon, I tried to assess the situation, but one of my men grabbed my arm, pulling me back down before I could get a full view. His face was pale, his voice tight with urgency.

“Señor, usted es el Comandante. Si tienen armas a distancia podrían abatirle,” he said, his tone a mix of respect and panic. (Sir, you are the Commander. If they have ranged weapons, they could pick you off.)

Reluctantly, I allowed him to take my place. He clambered onto the wagon, rifle at the ready, eyes darting through the trees. His voice was strained as he relayed what he saw.

“Señor, están corriendo en círculos alrededor de nosotros,” he called out, his voice wavering. (Sir, they’re running circles around us.)

Then, we heard it again—two short screeches, followed by a long, drawn-out one. And that’s when I saw it.

A grotesque figure emerged from the forest’s edge, moving in a disjointed, jerking manner that set my teeth on edge. Its pale skin was stretched taut over a skeletal frame, gaunt and twisted, like something caught between man and beast. Its eyes—if they could be called that—were hollow sockets, black pits where there should have been sight, its uneven hair clumped and patchy, sticking to its scalp in damp strands.

Its hands were the worst part. They weren’t hands at all, but long, bony claws, more akin to talons than anything human. It moved with purpose, the screeches echoing through the trees again, and I realized with a sickening clarity that they weren’t just noises—they were how it “saw.” The creature was blind, but the sound was how it mapped its surroundings. It used the screeches to paint a picture of the world around it, each noise sending ripples through the air, bouncing back to guide it.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine. This thing was not human. It was something far worse. The moment our eyes—or rather, its hollow pits—locked onto me, I felt a cold, primal fear grip me. This wasn’t just some mindless beast; it had intent. Purpose. It was hunting us.

I remembered what Izzy had said earlier about the scent of vampire blood, and everything clicked into place. Vampires. But these were no ordinary vampires. No, these were something more twisted, something degraded—ghouls, perhaps. Whatever they were, they could mess with your mind, twist your thoughts if you let them in.

"¡No miren a sus ojos!" I shouted. "Don’t look into their eyes!"

Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure it mattered. Those things didn’t need sight. They could find us just fine without it. The screeching continued, and more of them stepped out from the shadows, each more grotesque than the last. They were surrounding us, and the worst part was, we had no idea just how many were lurking in the darkness.

More of the creatures shuffled forward, their screeches piercing through the tense air, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. It felt like a bad omen—a warning of something far worse to come. And then, through the grotesque figures, a man stepped forward. He stood too tall, his skin so pale it was almost translucent, making the veins beneath his skin all too visible. He had the build of a laborer, his muscles thick and strong, but his appearance was unsettling. His eyes scanned each of us with an eerie calmness, lingering for a moment on Izzy before settling on Sarah.

When he spoke, his voice was thick with a French accent, his words dripping with thinly veiled malice. His English was polished, almost unnervingly so, which only added to the sense of wrongness about him.

“The hounds known as Sarah and Isabel,” he began, his tone sending a chill through the group, “have a message for you. The esteemed Duchess Keziah Shamir Silas has agreed to spare your lives... as long as you abandon the hunter group known as Garra de la Plaga. If you quit the field now, no harm will come to you.” His eyes scanned over us once more, his gaze like ice. “If not, I will hunt you down like the dogs you are.”

The way he spoke, so calm, so certain of our fear—it grated against me. His voice carried a weight of finality, as though the decision had already been made for us.

He paused, letting the tension settle before continuing. “At this time, by the authority granted to me by my matriarch, the Silas Coven hereby declares war on the Garra de la Plaga. No quarter will be given. No surrender will be accepted. We will slaughter you all. If you know what is good for you, dogs, you will leave this field now.”

I could feel the heat rising in my chest, anger bubbling up. But before I could react, Izzy stepped forward, her small frame somehow commanding the entire space, her eyes burning with defiance.

“There is a truce between Garra de la Plaga and the Long Fang Clan,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the thick tension like a blade. “If you’re declaring war on them, then you’re declaring war on us as well.” She squared her shoulders, her posture daring him to respond. “Are you sure you want to do that, mosquito?”

The vampire's face twitched at the insult, his expression darkening ever so slightly, though he maintained his cold, superior air. He gave a slow, deliberate smile, revealing sharp, blood-stained fangs.

“Ah, little firecracker,” he hissed, his voice oozing condescension. “The Long Fang Clan? Is that who you’re still clinging to? Your precious Alpha, Long Fang, is no more. That pack has been... dealt with.”

Izzy’s body tensed beside me, her fists clenching as her mind processed his words. I saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes for just a moment before she growled, her voice laced with fury. “Lies. You don’t know what you’re talking about, leech.”

The vampire’s smile grew wider, his arrogance palpable. “Oh, I know more than you think, little wolf. Your beloved Fang is fighting for his life right now, and your pack is scattered to the wind. The truce you speak of was made in error. But...” He paused, his smile twisting into something darker. “The choice is yours. Leave now, or die like the rest.”

Izzy took a step forward, her eyes blazing with defiance. “You think we’re afraid of you? Of your coven?” She spat the word like it left a bad taste in her mouth. “We’ve faced worse than you and your twisted kind. So if you want a war, mosquito, we’ll give you one.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed, the superior air slipping for just a moment. “You don’t know what you’re inviting, wolf,” he sneered. “But no matter. This discourse... ends now.”

His words hung in the air like a noose tightening around our necks. Every muscle in my body screamed to react, to fight, but I forced myself to hold back. This wasn’t just about survival—this was war, and it was about to get a whole lot worse.