Chapter 6

Night stretches across the sky, the scent of blood hanging in the damp earth. An unnatural quiet has fallen over the woods, interrupted only by the rustle of the wind through the trees, and the reverberations of the battle still linger in the air. A lone crow caws from a twisted branch above, an omen of the sickly festering just over the horizon. Damien gasps, chest heaving, at the boundary of the wreckage. Something primal, something raw, teeters behind his golden eyes. Veronica is standing before him, their bodies trembling not out of fear but out of something deeper, something electric buzzing between them. She looks at him, her breath catching, heart pounding. The air thick, strangling with unspoken things, unshackled desire. VERONICA (whispers): What now? Damien moves forward, fists clenched at his sides. He's fighting to hold it in, the hunger, the fierce desire raging inside him. But she's so close, within reach, her smell heady, her skin still warm with the battle. He shouldn't crave this. Not now. Not this way. But he does. His control breaks. They burst through the door. Damien's body crashes against Veronica's on the wooden wall; the impact resonates through the very structure of the cabin. His lips crush against hers before she can even breathe, his hands pinning her wrists over her head. She inhales sharply, but that just drives him forward. His tongue thrusts into her mouth, insistent, violent. She bites his lower lip until it bleeds. He growls a low, guttural sound and grinds into her harder, his flesh the sort of hot that isn’t about anger but about conquering. VERONICA (panting): Damien. His name is a plea and a warning, and they don't listen. His mouth travels down her throat, his fangs scraping against her skin, playing. She shudders, her body reacting before her brain has a chance to disagree. His fingers claw at her clothes, fabric tearing under his fingernails, baring her to him. She's naked, bare, and vulnerable, but she doesn't care. Because she wants this as badly as he does. His fingers dig into her thighs, pulling her against him, clasping her legs around his waist. He is hard as stone against her, his hands touching her intimately, the evidence of his hunger like a branding iron. He rocks against her, gasping, aching. And then A sound from outside. Something moves in the trees, traveling quickly, a shadow. Damien freezes, his yellow eyes snapping to the window. His predator instinct kicks in. His grip on Veronica becomes tighter guardedly, body tensed as if against the strain of something intangible. Something is drawn in the shadows. Observing. Waiting. There's a growl low that travels through the trees. Something's wrong. The hunters would have escaped after the fight. But this … this is not one of them. Damien drops Veronica onto the floor, his body still tense with frustrated hunger, but his instincts are louder now. Protect. Defend. He reaches for the knife he wears on his belt, but the door bursts in. A hulking figure charges too quickly to react. Claws rip into Damien's chest, and he's slammed back. Blood spatters the walls, hot and red. Veronica screams. The creature is unlike anything she's ever seen: tall, grotesque, with eyes black as the void. It speaks with unnatural speed, eyes locked on her. It knows her. VERONICA (whispers): No. She steps back, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The beast attacks. And then Damien appears. He plunges into the beast, his body twisting in mid-air. Bones shatter, muscles rip, and hair erupts from his flesh. The change is brutal and quick. A snarling, feral cry bursts from his throat as he sends the beast flying across the room. It crashes through the window, glass a shower of rain. Silence. Veronica's breath is shallow and aching; she shivers. She glances at Damien—at the beast he has become. His golden eyes are feral, his fangs exposed, his claws wet with blood. But he glances at her. And in that instant she knows. She was never meant to leave this town. She was not meant to be free. The truth had been pursuing her all along. Up above, the full moon lights the ancient headstones, draped in moss and ivy. A chill wind stirs through the branches; the shadows dance across the graves. Veronica kneels in front of an ancient headstone, the stone's name worn smooth by the weather. The name that shouldn't be there. The name that will turn everything around. Her breath catches; her mind reels. VERONICA (whispering, to herself): It's impossible. Damien comes up behind her, his battle-torn shirt still shredded, the wounds blossoming from his chest starting to mend. He glances down at the grave, then back at her, his expression inscrutable. DAMIEN (grim) Now you see. There are unshed tears in Veronica’s eyes. The truth is below, buried six feet deep under a mound of lies. And somebody never wanted it found. A far-off howl breaks the stillness, and then another. And another. The noise sends chills up her spine. VERONICA (whispers): They're coming. Damien takes her by the hand, pulling her to stand. DAMIEN (speaking sternly): Then we run. They run out of the graveyard as howls increase and close in. The night is no longer safe. The hunt has commenced again. And this time, there may not be an escape. According to predetermined measures, this version pulls the stakes, tugs the tension, cranks up the action, and rooms up the value add so that this meets your required word count. If you need any further tweaks, do let me know! The howls grow more, closing in, their bone-chilling screams echoing off the tombstones. Veronica and Damien dash through the graveyard, their breath in their chest just as sharp and jagged, the air thick with dread. Branches scrape against them from the weed-lined path, the wet ground giving way beneath their hurried tread. Damien propels her forward, his hold firm, his muscles knotted with tension. VERONICA (gasping, alive): What are they? DAMIEN (low, grim): Not hunters. Worse. A flash of shadow darts past them too quickly, too motionless. Damien suddenly stops, shoving Veronica behind him. The hard manner in which his golden eyes blaze as he moves, body tensed to strike, is unmistakable. A low, guttural snarl cuts the night. Then another. Out of the mist come figures hulking, distorted shapes with long armlike appendages and black reflecting eyes. Their breath is ragged, their mouths curled into gruesome smiles. DAMIEN (tensely, quietly): Hellhounds. VERONICA (stop terrified, whispering) They're real? The behemoth of the beasts approaches you, malice swirling behind its eyes. Its fur is matted with blood, its claws digging into the ground with each step. It cranes its head, sniffing the air even though its eyes fall on Veronica with predatory interest. HELLHOUND LEADER (guttural, menacing): The girl smells… off. Damien growls, obviously too much of a beast himself to let go. DAMIEN (badass, protective) You, touch her? I'll rip you in half. The hounds laugh, a harsh, sick sound. They circle, tightening their snare. HELLHOUND LEADER (sneering) You can't keep her safe. Not from what's coming. Suddenly, one launches. Damien deflects it from the air, their bodies locked in a whirling brawl of claws and jaws. Veronica retires, splattered with blood on the ground, hammering heart. Another creature strides toward her, its eyes on her trembling body. She searches for a weapon, her fingers closing around a piece of broken headstone. As the hellhound rages, she bristles with her blade ready. The rock hits its head, splintering bone and sending the beast sprawling. It snarls in rage, but Veronica does not falter; she pushes the blade's sharp edge into its throat, ending it. Slavering snarl shifts her focus to Damien. He stands over the leader's wracked corpse, slicked with blood that isn't his, gasping hard. VERONICA (low, shaken): Damien… His eyes flash to hers, wild, unfettered. His jaw still snapped, his muscles tense as if he would lunge. For a moment, she asks herself, does he see her or prey? She takes a step forward, uncertain. VERONICA (whispering): Come back to me. A pause. Damien draws a harsh breath and closes his eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, he makes his body turn around. His skin is slick with sweat, his hands trembling as he steadies himself. DAMIEN (gravelly, exhausted): We have to go. Now. More howls cut through the night. They are far from safe.