The pain hit Caleb Mercer like a freight train.
One moment, he was walking home through the woods, the crisp autumn air biting at his skin. The next, fire tore through his veins, knocking him to the ground. His bones stretched and cracked, twisting in ways they shouldn't. His breath came in ragged gasps as his vision blurred, colors sharpening unnaturally. The scent of damp earth and rotting leaves became overpowering.
Then came the hunger.
It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before—deep, primal, insatiable. It clawed at his insides, demanding release. His hands—no, his claws—dug into the dirt as he let out a strangled scream, but the sound that escaped his throat wasn't human. It was a growl, low and guttural, echoing through the silent forest.
The moon hung full and bright above him, watching.
Something inside him snapped. His thoughts blurred, replaced by instincts far older than himself. He needed to run. To hunt. To tear something apart.
And then—darkness.
When he woke, dawn was creeping over the trees, its soft glow doing little to erase the horrors of the night before. Caleb lay in the middle of the forest, his body sore and aching. His clothes were in tatters, his hands and arms streaked with something dark. He blinked, his mind struggling to piece together fragments of memory—snapping jaws, the rush of the chase, the taste of blood.
His stomach churned.
What had he done?
A rustling noise made him freeze. He wasn't alone.
Slowly, Caleb turned his head. At the edge of the clearing, a figure stood watching him. Tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly still. Even in the dim light, Caleb could see the unnatural glow of golden eyes staring back at him.
The stranger took a step forward, the movement smooth and predatory. Then, in a voice that sent a chill down Caleb's spine, he said—
"Welcome to the hunt."