Victor Logan's life in recent years had not diverged much from the hardships of his childhood. He had grown into a man of formidable stature, yet his place within the grand estate remained unchanged. Officially, he was the gardener, tending to the sprawling lands of the manor, but his responsibilities extended beyond that—he often found himself working in the stables, his hands as familiar with the rough texture of reins as they were with the soil.
Mr. Howlett had once offered him a different path, something more suited to a man of Victor's strength—perhaps even a role that would allow him to stand guard over the estate. But Victor had refused. He had no desire for status, no longing for wealth. All he wanted was to remain close to James. Mr. Howlett, ever the pragmatic man, did not press the matter. Perhaps he assumed that when his grandson eventually took over, Victor would find his place in the household naturally.
There was, after all, something unspoken between the two young men.
As James's half-brother, Victor's transformation had begun earlier—his awakening had not been a sudden eruption but a slow, inevitable tide rising within him. The changes were subtle at first: the unusual toughness of his nails, the quiet sharpening of his senses, the steady increase in strength that came without training. His wounds, once the marks of his father's drunken rage, had stopped leaving scars. The lashes and bruises faded faster each time, until one day, they no longer remained at all.
It was then that Victor understood—he was different.
And with that realization came something darker, something ancient stirring deep in his marrow. A strange hunger, an instinct that whispered to him in the stillness of the night. It wasn't just the realization of his inhuman nature but the awareness of something primal—something that longed to break free.
James had noticed it, too.
The day he had first looked into Victor's eyes after awakening himself, the bond between them had shifted. It was no longer just the companionship of brothers—it was an understanding that neither of them could explain, as if they were two beasts recognizing one another by scent. It was an unspoken rivalry, a quiet challenge lingering between them, as though nature itself had woven them into the same fate.
James could sense it clearly—the faint, metallic scent of blood that clung to Victor like an aura. His brother was not as placid as he seemed.
---
The Hunt
It was early morning when James realized Victor was missing from his cabin. The estate was still heavy with sleep, the household barely stirring, yet James's senses told him exactly where to go.
A pale yellow scent trail lingered in the air—Victor's scent. James followed it.
The Lager Forest was cloaked in mist, the damp air thick with the musk of damp earth and old pine. Somewhere in the haze, a deep, ragged growl broke the stillness.
James reached the clearing just in time to see it.
A massive brown bear, one of the few true kings of this forest, stood hunched and shaking. It was enormous, towering well over two meters when upright, a beast that had dominated these woods for years. Yet now, it was broken. Its fur was matted with blood and dirt, large patches of flesh torn and hanging loose. Deep gashes stretched across its chest and back, carved by something just as deadly as itself.
Its right eye was gone, a ruined mess of torn muscle and shattered bone.
And standing before it, breathing heavily, was Victor.
His chest rose and fell like a great bellows, his body covered in claw marks so deep they should have left him crippled. Yet even as James watched, the wounds on Victor's skin were closing, knitting themselves together in slow, almost imperceptible motions.
His arms were thick, lined with muscle that twisted like coiled rope beneath his skin. His hands hung at his sides, fingers tipped with claws—longer now, thicker, gleaming with a faint metallic sheen. Blood dripped from the sharpened edges.
His eyes, burning with a wild, unfocused hunger, locked onto the bear's failing form.
The beast gave one final, wheezing growl before collapsing. The light faded from its remaining eye.
Victor took a slow, deep breath, his muscles trembling as the last remnants of battle faded from his limbs. Then—he froze.
A scent. Familiar.
His claws, which had begun to retract, flicked out again with a sharp snikt. His body tensed.
Someone was watching him.
Through the mist, a figure emerged. A familiar silhouette, smaller than Victor but carrying an undeniable presence.
"Come have breakfast, Victor."
James stepped into view, his expression calm, his posture relaxed. He had made no effort to conceal himself, yet Victor had not sensed him until now. That realization sent a sharp jolt through him—how had he not noticed?
"James… you…" Victor hesitated, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. He should have known. His instincts should have told him. And yet, for that brief moment, he hadn't recognized James at all.
Something about that unsettled him.
James merely smiled. "Don't worry. I've always known."
The words made Victor stiffen. His claws remained extended, his breath still heavy from the fight. "What do you mean, you've always known?"
"You think I wouldn't notice?" James stepped closer, casually examining the fallen bear with a mix of curiosity and respect. "I read a book once. It talked about something called atavism—when traits from ancient ancestors reappear in someone. It's not a curse, Victor. You're not possessed. You were simply born with traits from something… older."
Victor's expression flickered with uncertainty. He had questioned his nature for years, but no one had ever given him an answer. The world had no name for what he was—at least, not one that didn't end in superstition or fear.
James continued, his voice steady. "Since we were kids, I noticed your nails. That's dominant atavism. It's rare, but not unheard of. Some people grow tails, some grow longer canines. You? You're just a little further along the spectrum."
Victor was silent for a long moment. He turned, glancing at the bear's corpse before slowly exhaling. His claws retracted with a soft shink.
"What else do you know?"
James met his gaze. "Not much. But if we ever meet someone who truly understands biology, maybe they could explain it better." Then his expression grew serious. "Tell me, Victor—have you ever killed a man?"
Victor hesitated, then shook his head. "No." His voice was quieter now, more controlled. "But I feel it. This… need. I started hunting years ago. First small things—rabbits, deer. I needed to taste it. Needed to know what it felt like."
His eyes drifted back to the bear, and his expression darkened. "I didn't mean to challenge it. But I did."
James nodded. "Good. But listen to me, Victor. Don't let that hunger control you."
Victor was silent for a long moment, then simply turned and retrieved his coat. Without another word, he strode back toward the manor.
James watched him go, then glanced once more at the fallen bear.
Something told him this was only the beginning.
---
The Governor's Dinner
In the grand banquet hall of the Governor's Mansion, golden light flickered off crystal chandeliers. The long dining table was lined with fine silverware, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and aged wine.
Mr. Howlett sat at one end, his ever-loyal butler Wayne standing at his side. Across from him, Governor Smith raised a glass with a smile.
"This," the governor said, "is from my private vineyard. The first glass, of course, is an apology to you."
Mr. Howlett smiled. "Too kind, Governor. But I believe I should be the one apologizing." He lifted his glass and drank.
The governor's smile widened. "Speaking of family… I hear your grandson is quite the young man."
Mr. Howlett's expression did not change.
The game was beginning.