Night Hunter (BL)

I tore through the dense forest, my lungs burning with each relentless stride. The air felt thick, heavy, and it fought me with every gasp I managed to pull in. Time blurred into nothing—just the pounding of my feet and the tangled chaos of trees whipping past. My breath came fast and ragged, loud enough to echo in the stillness around me.

"Even the angels above can hear you breathing like that," my father snapped, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

Before I could react, a blade of light whistled past my shoulder, striking the trunk of a tree ahead. The sound of splintering wood ricocheted through the air. The jagged shards scattered, catching the faint light like fragments of glass. My heart slammed against my ribs. I pushed harder, ignoring the searing ache in my legs.

This was necessary. I had to keep going. I had to be better. Stronger. Faster.

"It doesn't matter if I can't see you," my father called out, "if I can hear you, I'll find you."

Another knife sliced through the air, too close for comfort. I flinched, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The pain was everywhere now, sharp, shooting through my feet with every jagged rock and twisted root I leapt over.

Then his voice changed. It wasn't harsh this time. It wasn't cold.

"Son, stop!" he shouted, the words filled with something I hadn't heard before: panic.

My body reacted before I could think, coming to a halt. My breath caught as the forest fell silent. I strained to hear over the thunder of my own heartbeat.

His footsteps were fast, erratic, and there was something else—another set of footsteps, circling closer.

"Hold on, Blake, I'm coming!" His voice was desperate now.

I clung to those words, trying to draw strength from them. But the fear was stronger, clawing at the edges of my mind. Whatever was out there, it was closing in.

I took slow, deliberate breaths, trying to steady my racing pulse, my mind scrambling for a way to defend myself. If I could hold on for just a minute longer, maybe—just maybe—it would give my father the time he needed to reach me.

But before I could even form a plan, something moved in the shadows. A sharp pain suddenly pierced the back of my neck, claws digging into my skin, pulling me back.

"NOOO, BLAKE!" My father's voice, raw with anguish, echoed through the dense forest.

A surge of magic rippled through me—his magic. I felt it rush in, a protective force desperately trying to reach me, but it wasn't enough.

"Don't kill him. I have a better idea," a deep, menacing voice sneered, sending a chill down my spine.

And then he appeared. The werewolf, massive and terrifying, stepped from the shadows like some nightmare-made flesh.

I couldn't move. The air in my lungs was too thin, too tight with fear. What could possibly be worse than death?

Without warning, my small form was shoved to the ground. The impact jarred me, but before I could recover, I felt the searing agony of razor-sharp teeth sinking into my shoulder.

A scream tore from my throat, but it was immediately smothered. A hand—cold and unforgiving—wrapped around my throat, lifting me off the ground as if I weighed nothing.

In that moment, the pain was so intense, that I almost welcomed the thought of death.

"Curse you and your entire lineage," the wolf snarled, his voice low and full of venom.

I looked into his eyes, feeling the hate, the seething pain inside him. But what had I done to deserve this?

The world around me started to blur. My heartbeat slowed, each thud echoing like a drumbeat in my head. It was painful, but I barely cared anymore.

Maybe death would be a welcome escape, a release from this nightmare. Anything would be better than becoming one of them.

"Blake!" My father's voice full of dread, pierced through the haze of darkness.

His hands were on me, pulling me back, grounding me in the world I was slipping away from. His voice, a desperate plea, slipped into my consciousness as I surrendered to the overwhelming pull of oblivion.

"Blake!"