The Banished Lycans Chapter 10. Storm on the Horizon

Once those words left Izzy’s mouth, both girls bolted, their feet pounding the dirt like bullets cutting through the air. They stayed in their human forms, but the speed they ran with was almost unnatural—like bats fleeing the fires of hell.

We raced through the town, drawing attention, but that didn’t matter. People stared, likely wondering what the rush was, but none dared approach. We quickly left the town behind and reached the riverbank nearby. Keeping up with the girls was no small feat.

Once we left the town, the air grew thick with humidity, and the sound of rushing water filled my ears. We were close to a river now, following its winding path. The atmosphere was deceptively peaceful, but my instincts screamed at me—this calm wouldn’t last. Hell was about to break loose.

I struggled to keep pace with the girls, my legs burning from the effort. Sure, I could tap into my abilities and close the gap, but I knew better than to waste them now. They were limited, and something told me I’d need every ounce of strength for what was coming.

As if on cue, Izzy shifted, her body morphing into a brown wolf. She dropped onto all fours and darted ahead, her speed increasing dramatically. If this was any indication of the fight ahead, there was no way in hell I could keep up—not unless I was willing to burn through everything I had left.

Izzy was gone, a blur disappearing into the distance, while Sarah stayed close by my side. Something told me she was just being nice, keeping pace to make sure I didn’t fall behind. We pressed on, the river widening as it joined with a lake.

Ahead, a small cabin came into view, nestled in the trees. The air around us seemed unnaturally still, the silence unsettling. Not even the chirp of a single insect broke through the eerie quiet. My instincts were screaming at me now—run like hell and don’t look back. Something was very wrong.

The sun dipped behind the trees, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly, amplifying the tension in the air. Every breath felt labored, each pant making the moment even more nerve-wracking.

Sarah suddenly halted, throwing her arm out in front of me. "Hold on," she whispered. "I smell something."

As if on cue, Izzy appeared behind me, quiet as a ghost. I hadn't even heard her approach, but her low growl confirmed she had sensed it too. She pointed a clawed hand toward the cabin, and for a moment, I couldn’t help but stare.

Those claws. Thick and sharp, like they were meant to tear through anything in their path. I had been on the receiving end of werewolf claws before, but never had I studied them up close like this. Typically, when I killed them, they'd revert back to human form, leaving little evidence of their monstrous power.

But now, fighting alongside them, I was face to face with the reality—these were tools of destruction. Brutal, primal, and right now, they were on my side.

The happy-go-lucky demeanor the girls had earlier melted away, replaced by a grim focus as they got down to business. Something was bothering them, and their unease was starting to creep into me. My heart began to pound faster, the adrenaline surging through my veins making everything around me slow down, sharpening my senses.

The air felt thick with tension, almost suffocating, and every instinct I had screamed at me to be ready. The forest had fallen into an unnatural silence, amplifying the growing dread. Whatever was out there, it was close, and it sure as hell wasn’t friendly.

My instincts screamed at me to draw my Colts, so I did, double-checking they were loaded with silver. The metallic clicks echoed in the heavy silence, and I noticed my hands were shaking slightly. Both girls glanced back at me, their eyes sharp with anticipation. That’s when we heard it—a spine-chilling scream that tore through the stillness.

We sprinted toward the cabin. I’d like to say I was the first one to rush in, but without lycan blood in my veins, there wasn’t a chance in hell of me outrunning them. The girls were a blur of speed, moving so fast it felt like they were ghosts gliding through the trees. I caught a glimpse of Sarah mid-transformation, her form shifting as she sprinted.

They had sensed something—something not human. And I had a damn good idea of what it could be.

The girls moved like they were in sync, communicating telepathically or maybe just instinctively. Izzy circled to the rear of the cabin, while Sarah stayed behind, waiting for me. It was an odd moment of courtesy, but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t about to slow things down.

Another scream rang out, followed by a voice dripping with malice: “You shouldn’t have... you’ll ruin my dinner.” My stomach churned at the tone. Pressing my back against the cabin wall, I used my heel to kick the door wide open.

I was getting too old for this.

Sarah darted low, moving on her hands and feet for a brief moment before tackling the first guy in her path, pinning him down with a growl. Another tried to make a break for it, but he had no chance. Izzy was already there, waiting like a nightmare come to life, all teeth and claws. She slammed him to the floor with terrifying force, her grip tightening around his neck. With a sickening crunch, his head came clean off as she squeezed.

Sarah looked up, giving me a quick nod. I thought things were under control for a second until Izzy, still in her wolf form, barreled toward me. I barely had time to register what was happening before she slammed into me, pushing me aside. That’s when I saw it—the sharp branch meant for me, now buried in Izzy’s chest.

She grunted, the impact rough, but it hadn't pierced her heart. It wasn’t fatal. But still, it was a close call.

Damn close.

The fool who tried to impale me looked horrified as Izzy simply yanked the branch from her chest and chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. I couldn’t help but think, I knew it—Izzy's the more dangerous one of the two. This idiot was human, and he had the audacity to believe he could take on a lycan in its beast form. Just when I thought I’d seen the limit of stupidity, the guy bolted out of the cabin, with Izzy hot on his heels.

Meanwhile, Sarah wasn’t so lucky. She was grabbed from behind and hurled across the room. It was one of the deserters—one of the men I had personally threatened before. He sneered as he shifted, his features elongating into something monstrous. “What was the last thing you told me? I should get to stepping, wasn’t it?” His voice dripped with mockery as his body transformed.

I didn’t bother giving him a response. My Colts were already drawn, and the moment he rushed at me, I squeezed the triggers. The cabin echoed with deafening bangs, the shots making my ears ring as the bullets ripped through the air. He ran straight into them, as if rushing headlong into his own death. Mid-stride, he stopped, eyes wide, then crumpled to the floor, dead before he even hit the ground.

I rounded the corner where Sarah had been thrown. She was locked in hand-to-hand combat with another lycan, fur flying as they grappled. The moment she saw me, she used the distraction, hurling her opponent through the wall and back into the main room with a sickening crash.

She shifted back to her human form, calm and collected, then strode toward the lycan she’d thrown. He had also shifted back to human, coughing up blood. Without a word, Sarah planted her boot firmly against his throat, holding him down. He spat blood, his lips curling into a sneer. “Looks like the dog’s on a leash now,” he taunted, his voice weak but defiant.

The man had reverted back to his human form, looking disheveled and broken. His arm hung at a grotesque angle, but for lycans, that meant little. He could heal in an instant if given the chance.

Izzy walked back, now in her human form. She was half-naked and covered in blood and viscera, which somehow made her even more terrifying. The image of her, so calm yet so utterly brutal, sent a chill through the room. She crouched beside the man, her face inches from his, her eyes gleaming with a cold fury I hadn’t seen before.

In a voice colder than I thought she was capable of, she whispered, "You’re going to tell Drengr," she pointed a clawed finger toward me, "everything he wants to know, or I will rip you apart. Piece by piece. Just like your familiar outside."

The man’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes flicking between Izzy and me, panic starting to overtake him. I made a mental note to ask her later what she meant by "familiar," but for now, I had to stay focused.

"I thought familiars were just a vampire thing," I muttered to myself.

Turning to Sarah, I said, "Sarah, could you let the man up so he can take a seat?" She grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him to his feet, not exactly gently.

I stood in front of the prisoner, tied securely to the chair, defiance burning in his bloodshot eyes. His lips curled into a sneer as I circled him, the air thick with tension. His cocky demeanor told me he thought his lycan blood would save him from whatever I could do.

“Where are the others?” I asked, my voice low, deliberate. “Are they forming their own pack, or are they going feral?”

He grinned, his eyes gleaming with arrogance. “Why don’t you go and find out yourself, hunter?”

I stepped closer, keeping my temper in check. “You really don’t want to drag this out. Talk now, and it’ll be quick.”

He spat in my face, his sneer unwavering. “I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

I wiped the spit off my face, my patience wearing thin. “You think that’s the worst that’s going to happen here?” I picked up the silver knife from the table, letting the light catch the blade. “Last chance. Where are the others?”

His laugh was guttural, full of bravado. “You think a little silver is gonna make me talk?”

I didn’t waste another second. I slammed the silver blade into his side, deep enough to burn through muscle, watching as his skin sizzled and the scent of burning flesh filled the room. He let out a choked scream, his body thrashing against the restraints.

“Where are they?” I demanded, twisting the knife slightly to make the pain unbearable. “Are they forming their own pack, or just going feral?”

He struggled to catch his breath, the silver slowing his healing and making each second a living hell. “Alright... alright!” he gasped, his face twisted in agony. “Most of ‘em... they’re trying to form their own pack. Holed up in the old strip mine... it’s been abandoned for years.”

I pressed the knife deeper, the silver burning hotter. “And the rest?”

He groaned, the pain breaking through his bravado. “Some... some are just roaming... east of the Mason-Dixon... going into Tennessee. They’re... scattered, feral... picking off anything they can find.”

I withdrew the knife, watching as he slumped back in the chair, defeated and barely able to keep his eyes open.

“You should’ve started with that,” I muttered, wiping the blood and burned flesh off the blade.

I peered into the back room, watching the interaction unfold as Izzy tended to the wounded man. Now I realized he was the town doctor. His voice was strained, the pain evident, but his curiosity seemed to get the better of him. “Why... why are you covered in blood?” he asked, his breathing heavy and labored.

Izzy didn’t look up from her work. Her hands moved steadily, stitching his wounds with practiced ease. “I don’t want to get into that right now,” she replied, her tone flat, almost detached. There was a pause before she added, “One of the guys who attacked you... well, he was eaten alive.”

The doctor’s eyes widened, shock spreading across his face. “Eaten... alive?”

Izzy gave a small nod, her expression grim. “Yeah. We’re the good bad guys now, Doc. So shut up and let me finish this before you bleed out.”

The doctor went silent, swallowing hard as he tried to process what she had just said. Izzy worked quickly, her hands moving with precision, but the tension in the air was thick, heavy with the weight of what had just transpired—things better left unsaid.

Part two Sarah

It was hard to believe this disheveled piece of garbage was ever part of our pack. He lasted a full ten seconds under Drengr's interrogation before cracking. Then again, getting stabbed by a silver blade wasn’t something most could shrug off, and honestly, I couldn’t imagine what that felt like. Lucky for me, I hadn’t experienced it yet.

Izzy, now mostly clean, had slipped back into her clothes, with Doc hobbling beside her. The look of disgust on her face was clear as she glanced at the guy sitting there, barely keeping himself together—though not quite literally.

She broke the silence, her voice dripping with disdain. “Did you get anything useful out of him?”

Drengr, already anticipating what was coming, replied, “Yes.”

Izzy didn’t miss a beat. “Do you still need him?”

I opened my mouth to answer, “Not—” but before I could finish, Doc moved in a flash, seizing Izzy’s gun and pulling the trigger. The shot rang out, and the guy dropped instantly, a bullet right between the eyes.

Blood and bits of skull splattered across the floor, and I blinked, startled by the suddenness of it all.

I shouted, wiping bits of skull and brain matter off my face. “Could have warned me!”

Doc barely glanced my way, spitting on the now-dead werewolf at his feet. His voice, thick with his heavy accent, rumbled, “That thing cut pieces off me. Then him and his friend,” he said, gesturing toward the other corpse on the floor. “They ate them.”

His words hung in the air, the reality of what he had been through sinking in. I felt a mix of disgust and anger, but I swallowed it down. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

Drengr was taken aback by the doctor’s revelation, his expression darkening at the thought of having pieces cut off of him. He pushed aside the grimness—we needed answers.

“Your patients from the ‘bear’ attack,” He asked, knowing full well the locals hadn’t realized the truth yet. They thought a bear was responsible, unaware that werewolves even existed. The ones attacked were bitten, and that changed everything. “Where are they?”

The doctor’s eyes focused for a moment, his face tightening as he recalled the details. “I have no idea,” he admitted, his voice heavy with frustration. “They took them. One died from his wounds a day ago.”

Drengr slapped the table hard. “¡Carajo! Esto es jodidamente perfecto,” he cursed in Spanish, the words translating roughly to, "Fuck! This is fucking perfect."

He looked to Izzy and me, then barked, “Chicas, cachorras del infierno,"—girls, hell puppies—"you two—your noses, you can track them, right?”

Izzy perked up, ready to reply, but a resounding crack of thunder echoed through the house, cutting her off. I stepped outside and was greeted by a torrential downpour. Drengr’s shoulders slumped for a moment as he followed behind. He cursed in Spanish, “¡Esto es una maldita mierda!”—This is fucking bullshit—and without missing a beat, walked away, shouting, “I’m going to the tavern!”

Part 3 Izzy

The pain from the fights still lingered on my face. The last people who saw me saw these bruises, and if I wanted to blend in, I couldn’t heal them. It was a necessary disguise.

I trailed behind Drengr, the question escaping before I could stop it. “Did you manage to extract any useful information from the one we left alive... for those extra few minutes before Doc performed his own version of skull surgery?”

Drengr, clearly irritated, still chuckled at the dark humor. “Yes and no. The guy you beheaded? He used to be a member of your pack. He was the brains. The other one was just a stray looking for guidance.”

Drengr cursed the heavens, his voice rising with frustration. “¡Maldita sea! ¡Por qué me castigas así, cielo desgraciado! ¡Mierda de clima! ¿Por qué tiene que llover justo ahora?” His Spanish tirade echoed through the trees, each word heavy with the weight of his misfortune.

The rain had been relentless, turning what was once a solid footpath beside the riverbed into a slick, treacherous mess of mud. Each step became a battle against the earth itself, our boots sinking into the muck, making it harder and harder to walk. The once-clear trail was now a quagmire, rivulets of water running through the path, turning the ground into a thick, soupy sludge. Every movement felt labored, our legs dragging through the mud as it clung to us, unwilling to let go.

I couldn’t help but feel offended by the dog reference, but I understood its meaning. And right now, correcting him might not be the smartest idea for my own health. Drengr looked absolutely miserable, soaked through to the bone. I was too, but my body runs hotter. The cold doesn’t really bother me as much.

Besides, he was right. The stray would have been killed for the good of the pack.

Luckily, we arrived at the tavern, though not without one more outburst from Drengr, who clearly took the rain as some kind of personal insult. His muttered curses were barely audible over the steady downpour, but the way he stomped through the mud made it obvious he wasn’t in the best of moods. To him, it felt like the heavens had conspired against us.

Sarah had stayed back with the doc, leaving just the two of us to seek refuge from the relentless rain. As soon as we stepped inside the tavern, the warmth hit me, a welcome change from the cold, wet world outside. The smell of old wood and strong ale filled the room, and the clatter of mugs and low chatter greeted us.

The barkeep glanced up and immediately recognized me from earlier. His grin widened as he approached. “You’re back! I don’t have any competitors lined up for you this time, or is the battle queen here for some top-shelf drinks?”

The title battle queen made me chuckle. It wasn’t something I was used to being called, but it had a nice ring to it. “No competitions this time,” I replied with a smirk. “Just one of whatever you’ve got on tap, and two shots—for me and my friend.”

We sat down at the bar, the warm atmosphere providing a much-needed respite from the relentless rain outside. The low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses around us created a comforting backdrop. As we sipped our drinks, we exchanged glances, both silently acknowledging the rare moment of calm.

Drengr, his tongue loosened by the alcohol, broke the silence. “I’m sorry I shot you when we first met.”

I chuckled, giving him a playful smile. “Thank you, but I don’t forgive you for that one. Still, I get it. I was planning to kill you, after all.”

He grinned and nodded, taking a long swig of his drink—ale, if I had to guess. The tension that had lingered between us softened. For the next hour, we engaged in small talk, enjoying the chance to let our guard down. It wasn’t often we got to just sit and relax, and for once, the weight of everything outside seemed a little lighter.

As we talked, Drengr grew more inebriated, the alcohol loosening his hold on the memories he usually kept locked away. He began recounting stories from his childhood in Spain, each word weighed down with the past. He told me how his mother was killed by a Wendigo, a tragedy that sparked his obsession with the supernatural. His cousin Xavier had never believed in the supernatural—at least, not until they were both forced to face it head-on.

Near the end of the Anglo-Spanish War, Drengr, Xavier, and Xavier’s brother were attacked by ghouls while serving. That encounter changed everything. Xavier’s brother didn’t survive, and from that moment on, they both knew the monsters they’d heard about were real. After the war, Garra de la Plaga reached out to the veterans, offering them a new purpose. Xavier’s father had refused. He’d seen enough killing to last a lifetime and wanted nothing more than to live out his days in peace with his wife. But Drengr and Xavier, driven by their losses and their thirst for revenge, joined the group.

For them, the war hadn’t truly ended—it had simply changed its shape. Hunting supernatural threats became their new mission, and over time, they became formidable hunters, well-versed in tracking and killing the creatures that preyed on humanity.

By the time Drengr finished telling his stories, he was a mess, too drunk to stand straight. I paid for a room upstairs and half-carried him up the stairs, his words slurred but still filled with that strange mix of clarity and intoxication. He rambled on about his early life, his voice growing softer with each step.

Once I got him into bed, he asked me to stay a bit longer. I sat in the chair by the window, listening as he continued talking—this time about hunting ghouls and other creatures. His torso, now exposed, was a testament to the life he’d lived. Scars, burns, and old wounds crisscrossed his skin, each mark telling a story of violence and survival. It was hard to look at them without feeling the weight of what we all faced in this line of work.

As his voice began to fade, and sleep started to take hold, he muttered something with a faint smile. “Good night, El Diablo. I promise I won’t tell anyone you’re a softy at heart.”

I smirked at his words. Beneath the hardened exterior, we all had our moments of vulnerability. As I quietly left the room, closing the door behind me, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie with Drengr. We had our differences, but we were bound by the same purpose. In a world filled with monsters, sometimes that was enough to forge a bond stronger than anything else.

I went back downstairs, noticing the tavern was closing up for the night. It struck me as odd—this place had been lively not too long ago. The tavern keeper, the Irishman I’d met earlier, and his sons—or brothers, I couldn’t tell which—were sitting together, their thick Irish accents carrying across the room as they chatted.

One of the sons pulled out a chair for me, and I sat down. The bartender, his eyes sharp and focused, looked me dead in the eyes and, without hesitation, said, “Lass... let me speak clearly. Me and my boys have nothing to do with what’s happening in the woods. We respect the masquerade.”

Dumbfounded, I stared at him, trying to piece together what he was talking about. “What the hell do you mean?” I asked.

Without a word, he bared his fangs, his lips curling back to reveal the unmistakable sharpness of a vampire’s bite. My heart skipped a beat. “Wait... you’re vampires?” I blurted out.

The barkeep smirked. “Aye, you didn’t know? We’ve been hiding in plain sight for a long time. We’re hunters of our own kind, just trying to keep the masquerade intact.”

Still reeling from the revelation, I managed to ask, “You smelled me?”

He chuckled. “Holy shite, lass. I smelled you the second you walked in this morning. We may be vampires, but we’re not involved in the mess out there in the woods. It’s not our fight.”

My mind raced, processing this new information. “We’re hunting other werewolves,” I explained. “The Longfang Pack has broken up, partially.”

The bartender leaned back, clearly relieved. “Good. Means the masquerade is still working.”

One of the boys spoke up, his Irish lilt thick as he leaned in. “What was that big tall broody fella all upset about when ya came back?”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “We were tracking one of my own, and he ran off with the survivors of that so-called ‘bear attack.’ We had his scent, but the damn rain washed it away. Now we’re back to square one.”

One of the sons spoke up, his Irish accent thick. "It's a shame about the Long Fang pack breakin' apart. Back in the day, they kept the fools who didn’t respect the rules of the masquerade in check. Kept everyone safe, y’know?"

He paused, his expression darkening as he leaned in, the weight of his words settling over the room. “But his former lover... now, she’s a real piece of work. Her and her kind... well, our kind. She wanted to break the masquerade, y’see. Garra de la Plaga had to step in.”

I felt a knot form in my gut as his words sank in, the weight of what he was implying making me uneasy. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice, making sure only I could hear. “My grandpa told me about it... way back in 1346.”

I frowned, my mind racing. “What do you mean, former lover?”