Ch. 16

“Wraiths of the Night”

I glance back at the creature, narrowing my gaze. My mind races, rifling through fragmented memories and old books I have read. I explore through the corners of my closed mind like flipping through an ancient, dust-covered book with pages ripped out.

As the creature’s name, Samca, emerges from my mind’s depth, a long forgotten memory flickers to life. I can almost feel the cool, drafty air of the Grand Library again, shadows spilling across the rows of towering shelves. Oana, with her sleek black hair glinting with blue, was draped in an oversized cloak that made her appear even more slender and tall than she was. Her icy blue eyes had gleamed with mischief as she leaned close, lowering her voice to a near-whisper, as if the walls themselves might recoil from the tale.

”Samca,” she said, the name lingering in the air like the end of a long sigh. Her fingers brushed across a dusty page, where the creature’s image lay scrawled in faded ink. “They say she shrieks like a soul denied rest, drawn to the scent of blood… or fear.” She paused, her freckles now scrunched slightly, as if savoring the effect her words had on me.

As Oana’s tale slips away, replaced by the harsh reality of the present, the name rings out with an even grimmer weight. Samca. Her shrieks from earlier come back to me with a jolt, and a chill prickles along my spine. I should have anticipated that traveling with a “plumped fowl,” as he so brazenly described himself, would inevitably attract some of the night’s most ravenous creatures. My own scent and power are usually enough to deter most threats, and add Halfy to that — but here, I stand corrected. A low growl escapes me, my fangs dripping with the buck’s lingering blood as the realization solidifies.

“FUCK.” I curse under my breath, which forms a cloud around my muzzle.

Samcas are nightmarish spirits from the underworld, predatory phantoms that emerge to snatch away children and women in their “prime.” This one must have been lurking toward the human village beyond the mountain range, drawn off course by the sickly sweet scent of dried sweat and mint — fucking mint.

I peer up at the sky. The first pale light of sunrise and fading stars are creeping over the mountains, casting faint streaks of amber across the treetops. Why would a Samca risk being out in natural light? Such spirits usually vanish with the sun’s approach, slipping back into the shadows they haunt. But this one lingers, prowling as if driven by a need stronger than survival. Suddenly, Halfy’s howl shatters the stillness, slicing through the air. He must have caught the same bitter, tainted scent of this spirit, too. My pulse quickens, but my thought stall as the Samca’s malevolent energy ripples outward, thick and noxious, curling around me like a poisonous mist.

Her hunger isn’t simply for flesh — it’s for fear, for the chill of terror she instills as she toys with her prey. Her shrieks, designed to torment and weaken, seem to echo through my bones. The thrill of the hunt clings to her as she prowls closer, yet perhaps she has finally met her match. A shiver of anticipation runs through me. I am not the hunted here, nor a mere victim. This Samca may relish the terrors she spreads, but tonight, she has stumbled upon more than just prey.

I am running, and the Samca is advancing toward Halfy’s howl. Terrible mistake, my demon friend. I love a good chase. My paws are pounding against the ground, the leaves, the moss, and the mud. Each movement is stronger than the last. Clumps of dark, sticky earth flying into the air, as I move splattering against the surrounding foliage and creating a chaotic dance of grime and droplets.

I feel the spikes along my back radiate with a ghostly glow. They shift from a blood-red crimson to a vibrant, deep purple that pulses rhythmically with my growing power and need. Each spike seems to breathe with energy, casting ripples of light that move across my fur. My edges blur and waver, dissolving into a misty, ethereal haze.

I finally reach the clearing where we made camp, halting at the tree line to take in the scene. Shadows stretch long and sharp in the faint pre-dawn light, casting twisted shapes over the ground. The fire lies dead and cold, leaving only blackened wood and faint trails of smoke that coil weakly into the still air, as if even the remnants of warmth are reluctant to remain here. The silence feels unnatural, a heavy pause that amplifies each rustle of leaves, each drip of water.

Suddenly, a white flash catches the corner of my eye. I turn sharply to see Halfy poised at the lake’s edge, his fur bristling, his stance tense as he confronts the dark figure across from him. There, in the murky reflection of the lake, the Samca hovers — a dark, moving mass with eyes that gleam like embers. The water, normally so placid at the shore, ripples around her form as if recoiling from her touch. She shrieks into the fading night, a raw, piercing sound that seems to tear the very air apart. Halfy snaps his powerful jaws in her direction, the sharp crack of his teeth echoing like a challenge.

The Samca’s wail cuts through the clearing, a spine-chilling cry like the agony of a soul dragged from its grave. It’s a sound that claws at reality itself, filling the clearing with a thick, oppressive weight, and it feels as if the trees themselves are shrinking back, their branches shivering despite the stillness. Even the lake, once a calm, mirrored surface, trembles, sending ripples spiraling outward, the reflection of the stars breaking apart in silent protest. It’s as though the night recognizes a threat it cannot contain, an omen it wants no part of.

In seconds, I am there — a blur of movement until I stand beside Halfy, feeling the pulse of adrenaline thrumming in my veins. The cool air brushes against my fur, dark as a midnight sky, contrasts the pure, glowing white of Halfy’s fur, which seems to radiate light even in the dim dawn. The tattooed swirls on my skin — an intricate map of my bond with the beast — stand out vividly against his sleek, smooth, porpoise-like form, telling stories of power and protection etched into my very being.

Halfy’s golden ginger eyes lock onto my lavender-filled ones, and in that moment, a silent understanding passes between us. His gaze holds a fierce determination, a protective instinct that resonates deep within me. The warmth of the presence calms the frantic energy swirling inside, grounding me as we face the encroaching darkness together. Around us, the air is thick with tension, the world holding its breath as if anticipating the clash that looms ahead. I can almost taste the charged electricity in the air, a mixture of fear and excitement, as the shadows begin to close in, urging us to prepare for what is to come.

It has been a while. I say through our bond. 

Halfy howls into the night, his sound carrying off to the lake beside us. I join him with a howl that moves alongside the breeze, rolling through the mountains and echoing back. Mother will soon know where her disobedient child is, or at least the scouts she has sent to patrol the forest. They may know Halfy’s howl, but only a few have ever heard my true voice — the true beast’s howl.

The echoed howl fades, but the Samca lingers, the spirit’s hesitation heavy in the air. The disheveled undead woman seems stuck between fleeing and hunting. Perhaps she is starting to reconsider whether a mint-scented man is worth the trouble. Speaking of which, where is that mortal now — vampire man?

Where is he? I ask Halfy through our bond.

Halfy’s golden ginger eyes flick past me, searching the trees, and I can feel the shift in the air — a weight that draws my attention. I don’t need to turn to know Zanir is lurking in the faint remains of the night, casting shadows among the timbers. His presence wraps around me like a thick fog, saturating the space with an unmistakable intensity. It’s as if the very essence of him clings to the atmosphere, igniting my instincts.

In this beast form, my senses sharpen, and I catch a whiff of his scent — smoky and earthy, mingling with a hint of something wild, and untamed, mint. It pulls at me, igniting a spark that races down my spine. I can almost envision him there, hidden just out of sight, his presence a storm brewing on the horizon.

His eyes, though unseen, feel like twin cerulean pillars, boring into my very soul, fueling a mix of unease and curiosity within me. I know he is aware of my every move, just as I am acutely aware of him. Annoying.

Suddenly, the Samca unleashes another bone-chilling wail, a sound so sharp it almost matches the claws that scrape the inside of my skull. Cutting through the air, each note grating like a sword against a stone. Flames drip from her cracked, dried lips. Our eyes meet — or where her eyes should be if she had any. Madness has no place with me if the lore is correct. I am already mad with a beast inside.

The Samca’s sunken face jerks in my direction, bone popping with sickening cracks as her head tilts — further, until her neck twists unnaturally. A final crack resounds as her jaw slackens, hanging loose, a thick stream of fire oozing past her dislocated jaw. Molten drops, dripping to the ground in a slow, nauseating trail that hisses when it meets the ground. Her body twitching in warped, strange motions. The stench of burning decay gags the freshness of the forest.

“You…” The Samca’s finger bends in different directions as every joint motions toward me. The skin on her hands has long rotted away, leaving jagged, broken bones exposed. Filthy, disjointed fingers move strangely as maggots write between her splintered knuckles, feasting on the last scraps of decaying flesh clinging to her skeleton.

The spikes along my back pulse with dark purple light as I snarl at the Samca. Frost thickens in the air, and my eyes narrow, glinting deviously. My face and fangs remain stained with the bright red blood of the buck, now freezing into droplets that cling to my fur. Each breath I exhale sends a cloud of frost rolling after the Samca, trailing its every step. If it had eyes, I am certain they would be wide with fear — fear of the power surging through me, through this form. I growl, and saliva drips from my fangs, freezing as it touches the ground. Halfy, at my side, snaps at the air near the Samca, edging his every step closer.

Halfy, we cannot let this Samca go. I whispered down our bond. Samcas take innocent children and women, and it is too close to our clan, our friends, and even the human village.

I have never encountered a Samca before now, and I’m grateful for it. Mother has brought me many creatures, but the undead were never on the list. I need no more creatures or people haunting my nightmares. Although I can’t help but wonder why this Samca is acting like she knows who I am, and why was she out so close to sunrise.

As these thoughts churn in my mind, Halfy closes in on the Samca and lunges, his fangs grazing what remains of the clothing on the Samca and it stumbles backward. The Samca collapses to the ground, and I am on it within seconds, moving like a blur on the breeze. My impact is swift and precise, a grim smile stretching across my lips as my fangs are bared. Dark purple clouds rise from the spikes along my back, engulfing both the Samca and me. The swirling mist shields us, but not from the beast just past a wooden door that I slowly push up.

Oh, what a delight this is… Kiza purrs through my skull. 

I flood into the Samca, immersing myself in its thoughts, memories, and spirit. I am overwhelmed by visions of terrified children, their screams carrying as the Samca’s long bony hands grab and drag them from their homes into the dark expanse of the Endless Forest into mystery entrances that lead to the underworld. I see their utter fear, their unrelenting terror, and their visceral blood stain the ground as they struggle beneath the Samca’s claws. Each image is a tormenting reminder of the horror the Samca has inflicted.

I snarl, any trace of guilt vanishing in an instant. I lunge for the Samca’s throat — the only part of its body with any formed decaying skin left. Power surges off me, careening against the protective shield surrounding us. The spikes along my back glow brighter, stronger. In one swift motion, I tear through the Samca’s throat. Fire and ice flow from my fangs, flooding the creature as my power shreds through it. My abilities can harm and purge spirits, creatures, even beings that barely exist. Few things can harm or kill something like a Samca—bound weapons, rare banes, and me, this power, this beast. Mother made me practice, over and over, tell I got it right.

Dark blood sprays across my face, thick and hot, reeking of decay. Through the Samca’s hollow eyes sockets, I see myself — a reflection twisted by the Samca’s true sight. Beneath my beast form’s muzzle, I glimpse the dark blood dripping from my stained fangs, rage burning in my lavender eyes. The lump of rotting flesh falls and I watch it hit the ground with a wet thud.

The Samca’s vision flickers, edges narrowing as true death creeps in. Obscurity consumes its vision, but not completely. A memory bleeds through the blackness. A boy, young, and terrified, his screams tearing through the air. The Samca’s uneven, rotting fingers wrap around his arm like a vice, pulling him closer. She drags him into the forest. Then, a flash — searing and blinding — knocks the Samca back.

The boy claws at the dirt, desperate, sobbing as he scrambles away from the creature behind him. The area dims, revealing a girl. Her black hair shimmers with hints of purples, her lavender eyes glowing in the night. Slowly, they vanish, leaving nothing behind.

What the fuck… I think or say, I am not sure. 

I can’t remember most of my childhood — blurred faces, scattered moments, a childhood of blank spaces. I would be damned if I forgot seeing a Samca before…and that boy — something about him haunts me. His face feels like a part of a dream I can’t quite grasp. It’s maddening, the way he looks so familiar, like I should know him, yet I don’t. I try to pull the pieces together, but it is like reaching for mist. Was he part of my past, one of the memories I have lost? Or is it just the Samca’s twisted mind playing tricks on me?

More blood stains the black and purple fur around my muzzle, dark red mixed with rotting black. I look down at the Samca beneath me, lifeless — as much as a dark spirit can be. On its left arm, on a sliver of decaying flesh, just before her long clawed hand, I notice a rune etched into some exposed bones.

A binding rune.

Different from bonds and bargains, binds are enforced by absolute power. My protective shield evaporates into a thin mist, leaving the air heavy and foggy. I scan the area for Halfy, who is still in the same spot where he lunged at the Samca. Our eyes meet.

It was bound. I whisper through our bond.

Halfy’s eyes move past me and mine follow his. To the trees, trees that cover every space in this Endless Forest.

My thoughts race as my eyes move through the timbers. This Samca was bound to someone or something — that must be why it was out so close to sunrise. Normally, sunlight would turn a Samca to ash, but it was being controlled. But why? And why does this Samca know me? Does whoever or whatever bound it know me as well? My head pounds just as fast as my now-pounding heart.

Get rid of it. Please. Now. I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing when its master comes looking for it. I snarl through clenched fangs.

I shift aside as Halfy seizes the tattered drapes clinging to the Samca’s twisted form. With effortless strength, he drags the spirit creature toward the lake. His powerful jaws handle the Samca as if it were nothing more than a mere rag. Within moments, both melt beneath the water’s surface, sinking into the lake’s depths.