Chapter 66 – Pheremones

  The fire in the hearth was still crackling low when Ezra returned to the inn. He pushed through the creaky door and shook the damp from his cloak, drawing a look from the elderly innkeeper behind the front desk. Marcel was already seated in the corner of the small dining area, hunched over a half-eaten loaf of bread and a chipped bowl full of broth, staring out the fogged window with glazed eyes.

  He looked up when Ezra approached but didn’t speak right away. His face was drawn, tired in a way that went deeper than sleeplessness.

  “Anything?” Ezra asked, lowering himself into the seat across from him.

  Marcel shook his head and pushed the bread around his plate. “Nah. Asked around at the taverns, tried a few stores, even spoke to a few town guards, but no one knew anything. None of ‘em were at the logging site, and I couldn’t find anyone who was.”

  Ezra didn’t answer at first. He glanced around the room, empty but for the innkeeper, who had her nose buried in a threadbare book.

  Quietly, he leaned in. “I talked to a couple of the injured loggers. Got something.”

  Marcel perked up slightly. “Yeah?”

  Ezra nodded. “They said it came through the trees, quiet at first, but fast. Tore through part of the site. Gerrin—one of the men—was near the shelter when it happened. Saw the creature break into it and drag a man out.”

  Marcel froze, bread halfway to his mouth. “Wait, what?”

  Ezra lowered his voice. “Lenny. Big guy. Gerrin said he saw the creature tear through the wall, pull him out, and vanish.”

  A grim expression overtook Marcel’s face. “That explains the mess you saw. Damn. I thought maybe it was just a hiding spot.”

  “I think it was more than that.” Ezra paused, then added, “Remember those tracks I mentioned I saw near the back wall? Deep grooves in the mud, something being dragged?”

  “You didn’t say anything about that,” Marcel said with a narrowed glance.

  Ezra offered a guilty shrug. “Oh... I guess I didn’t want to jump to conclusions before I knew more. But after hearing Gerrin describe what happened… I’m pretty sure that’s where it took him. And I think it left a trail.”

  Marcel’s spoon dropped into the bowl with a dull clink. “You wanna follow it.”

  Ezra didn’t answer.

  “You’re serious,” Marcel said, then sighed and sat back. “Of course you’re serious.”

  Ezra pushed his chair back and stood. “We might not get another lead. If we wait too long, the trail could vanish.”

  Marcel gave him a long look. Then he stood as well. “Alright. Grab your things. But next time, trust me. You need to say something. If you had died, the lead would’ve been lost with you.”

  ***

  By the time they returned to the edge of the logging site, the clouds had begun to break above, letting in narrow shafts of pale grey light. The rain had stopped, but water still clung to every branch and blade of grass, making the forest shimmer faintly like it had been dipped in silver.

  The remains of the shelter loomed like a skeleton against the clearing, broken, bent boards jutting from the walls, half-sunk in the mud. The ground was littered with debris: splinters, bits of roofing, torn cloth. The air was still, but not peaceful. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made your skin crawl.

  Ezra crouched near the rear wall, his fingers brushing over the dried grooves he’d noticed before, ruts carved deep into the mud, irregular and wide, the kind that could only be made by something heavy being dragged away from the shack. They were accompanied by footprints, larger than his entire face.

  “There,” he said, motioning.

  Marcel stepped beside him and knelt to take a closer look. “Damn. These are deeper than I thought. Lenny must’ve been one big guy”

  “They start here and run east,” Ezra said, already stepping carefully along the edge of the gouged trail. “Try not to disturb the ground. If we lose the marks, we might not find them again.”

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  They moved quietly, slipping between trees, the forest growing denser with every step. The tracks wove a winding path, sometimes faint, other times unmistakable. Ezra kept his gaze low, checking the crushed undergrowth and faint impressions in the mud. Marcel scanned the tree line, hand resting on the hilt of his blade.

  Neither of them spoke much. The woods swallowed sound. Even the birds seemed to avoid this stretch.

  After maybe half an hour, the trail veered down a slope, following a narrow runoff stream. Water trickled faintly in the ditch beside them, flowing around stones and broken branches. The air smelled damp and earthy, but they stayed alert, and refused to succumb to the calming allure of the forest.

  And then, suddenly, the trail stopped.

  He halted mid-step, blinking in confusion. The last gouge in the dirt ended at a patch of mossy ground, and beyond it, nothing. No crushed plants. No upturned mud. No trail.

  Ezra took a few slow steps forward, eyes scanning.

  “No way,” he murmured. “This doesn’t make sense.”

  Marcel stepped up beside him, frowning. “What the hell? You’re sure this is the trail?”

  Ezra nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line.

  “It just… ends.”

  “We must’ve gone at least a kilometre, right?” Marcel muttered at one point, glancing behind them.

  Ezra didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on the earth ahead.

  ***

  The rain had settled into a quiet mist, barely more than a veil across the sky, which was a faded tapestry of grey and lavender. The forest ahead stretched still and silent, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the heavy foliage. Marcel crouched near the edge of an animal trail, the damp cloak clinging to his skin. The trail behind them had led to this point and no further, gouges deep in the earth with no trace of where they’d continued.

  Ezra crouched beside one of the fresh impressions, fingers hovering above the mud. The earth was slick, still marked by the weight of something large that had passed through. There was no sign of departure, no disturbed undergrowth, no hint of blood. Just quiet.

  “This is it,” Ezra muttered, rising slowly. He brushed the dirt from his fingertips, glancing around the still forest. “The tracks end here.”

  Marcel furrowed his brow, lips pressing tight. “Doesn’t make sense. It didn’t just vanish.”

  Ezra took a slow turn, scanning the thick treeline. The trees here were ancient and dense, their roots twisting above the wet soil like knuckles on gnarled hands. Moss hung heavy, making the ground slick with decay, and shadows pooled in the spaces between the trunks.

  “This might be a good place to set the bait,” Ezra said, his voice low but deliberate.

  Marcel gave him a side glance, considering. “You sure about this?”

  Ezra nodded slowly, his eyes still scanning the forest. “If it’s still close, this could bring it out.”

  A long silence stretched between them. Marcel’s gaze lingered on the quiet woods before he nodded in agreement. “Alright. But I’ll move out farther, get some elevation. You set the bait. I’ll be ready to cover you.”

  Ezra smirked faintly. “Thanks.”

  Without another word, Marcel adjusted the longbow strapped across his back, turning and melting into the underbrush with practiced ease. Ezra remained, letting the stillness swallow him once more, broken only by the soft rustle of the mist-drenched leaves.

  He stepped away from the trail, his feet sinking softly into the wet earth as he moved toward a cluster of jagged stones half-buried in the ground. Their pale, weathered surfaces seemed almost like gravestones, rising sharp against the dark soil. Kneeling, Ezra cleared a patch of wet leaves and twigs, his hands moving with deliberate care.

  He pulled a small, silver box from his backpack. The pheromone bait.

  Warm to the touch, the box pulsed faintly in his grip, a sickening scent already beginning to rise from it. Ezra could almost taste it in the back of his throat, thick, musky, invasive. The bartender’s warning echoed in his mind: mating season. This was designed to attract Shadowmanes.

  His thoughts flashed briefly to the mutilated bodies they had discovered in the shack, the savage destruction, the ritualistic mutilation. Not hunger. Not instinct. This was something else entirely. It was almost like it just did it for fun.

  Ezra’s jaw tightened as he considered the creature. Smarter. More dangerous. He couldn’t afford to underestimate it.

  He sat down on the nearest stone, turning the box in his hands, his mind running through the plan again. He’d be the bait, which wasn’t his preferred role. But they had no choice. If they didn’t lure the creature in close, this would all be for nothing. Marcel would be the one to get the shot, perched somewhere in the trees. It would only take a moment for the creature to get too close, but in that moment, Ezra would have to keep its attention.

  He exhaled, then carefully opened the box. The stench hit him like a punch, sharp and metallic, tinged with something rotten. His stomach lurched as the scent invaded his senses.

  “Damn,” he muttered, stumbling back slightly, his hand covering his mouth. “That’s… foul.”

  He found a crack between two moss-covered rocks and wedged the bait into the gap. The scent began to fill the air, thick and pervasive, clouding the space around him. Stepping back, Ezra moved deeper into the brush, ducking low, cloak pulled tight.

  And then he waited.

  Minutes passed in absolute stillness. The mist swirled, curling through the trees like phantom fingers. Every sound seemed magnified, the drip of water from a leaf, the rustle of distant creatures moving through the underbrush. Ezra’s heart hammered in his chest, a low hum of tension vibrating through his bones.

  He reached for the dagger at his belt, his fingers tightening around the familiar hilt, just to remind himself that he was prepared, at least, he hoped he was.

  It was then that something shifted. The wind, barely noticeable, changed direction. A faint, musky scent, different from the pheromones, caught his attention. Not the bait.

  Ezra’s eyes narrowed, his muscles tensing in preparation.

  It’s here.