My Wild Beast
Chapter 57: New Threat or Old Enemy

Chapter 57: New Threat or Old Enemy

Yoa sniffed at the sand, following the pawprints of a large beast that had dragged its victim into the crashing waves. It had struggled for its life, that was clear, but if this manner of creature was the legend, the ancient he thought it might be, then his evenings would be getting busier. The waves were dark, pitch black and not their usual vivid turquoise and clear waters. That meant it was still nearby.

Yoa’s growl rumbled in warning along the shores, the sound causing a rippling effect in the sands circling outwards from where he stood on all fours, glaring into the sea directly where his senses were pointing out where the creature was still lurking and no doubt feasting on its latest victim. The foam from the waves was left bloodied.

Not the colour of red like normal. It was black. The prey it had dragged into the sea was a vampira. The black blood along the foam was evidence enough.

The ancient being Yoa now knew for certain was the Akhlut. Only these creatures turned the waters black upon their approach, shifted between land and sea mammals, and left bloodied foam behind their prey. It was an Apex predator with a nasty bloodlust, almost one as bad as the vampiras.

But those leeches had been dealt with many cycles of the sun and moon ago. The Akhlut hadn’t made itself known since Yoa claimed his right upon his first rite of passage. Still, he’d patrolled the shores of the island once a night since, but it hadn’t appeared.

Not until now.

Yoa’s attention flicked to some of the black furs of the Akhlut’s landform. Something had woken it up, and to make matters worse, it seemed as though it made a statement, a warning to others. It was not a creature to be reckoned with.

There wasn’t an issue with its return. The power lining Yoa’s blood thrummed at the challenge and brought his beast forward. The jaguar in him wanted to chase after the ancient, which was now in its mammal form. Although he was a strong swimmer and liked the water, that was the one place he knew with certainty that the Akhlut had the upper hand.

Yoa paced along the shoreline, the water splashing up his silky black fur, his blood pumping with the feral need to unleash his might on the being that seemed to laugh back at him; the sounds of its pulsing echoes reverberated back to him along the waves before water spurted upwards, out of the sea, indicating its laughter at Yoa.

The Akhlut should only hunt at night — not now, not during the day, and certainly not this far inland. Yoa didn’t know the exact reason it avoided deeper incursions, especially since it had the power to roam the island freely. But for some reason, it never did. Was there a weakness he — and the guardians before him — had overlooked? The Akhlut remained the most reclusive of the ancients, lurking in the sea until it chose to wreak havoc on the island dwellers.

Yoa snarled once more before shifting, bones snapping and reforming as muscle twisted and fur receded. In moments, his jaguar form melted away, revealing the tall, bronze-skinned man beneath — lean, scarred, and soaked in salt and instinct. His eyes, still glowing faintly gold from the shift, narrowed at the spot where the Akhlut had vanished beneath the blackened waves.

The scent of vampira blood still lingered in the air, sharp and bitter like burnt iron. It shouldn’t have been out this close to the sea. But repeatedly stating this didn’t change anything. The Akhlut had attacked during the day and even tracked down the caves the vampiras resided in.

Yoa turned inland, ignoring the stickiness of sand against his bare feet. The island was watching, listening, and somewhere in the shadows, it held answers. The Akhlut’s return didn’t happen in isolation. Something had stirred it, and Yoa would find out what.

His first stop was a dense cluster of palms and tangled vines not far from the coast — a clearing often visited by smaller creatures. The capybaras weren’t shifters, like the dolphins or deers, so he couldn’t speak to them. The rodents scattered at his approaching footsteps anyway.

Yoa’s thick brows were drawn together. The capybaras were near the shorelines, but the Akhlut didn’t fancy snacking on one? Was the attack a show of strength and warning to everyone?

Besides the chiefs, none of the tribes were aware of the ancients. As protectors of their tribes, they had to have such knowledge in case the guardian fell into one or another threat. Since he was thirteen, Yoa had dealt with the Cihuateteo and the Ichtaca, dissolving any fears he ever had as a child once he faced these creatures. They’d been a constant threat, and a routine had been set to keep their violent urges at bay.

The Cihuateteo required a monthly ritual hunt to appease the spirits and halt them from attacking nearby tribes. He fell too ill once, and the Takaru lost six males overnight. Two offerings were given the following month, halting their descent to kidnap children.

Although Yoa had never faced the Teju Jagua, he still had to leave his scent, creating a border between the creature and the rest of the island regularly. Nobody knew what lurked in the shadows of that side of the jungle, only that something ancient and malevolent pulsed there like a warning. Unfortunately it wasn’t warning enough for some as youngsters used the border as an act of courage.

Sometimes, they never returned, and the stories told were reinforced to spear fear into children’s hearts.

The Ichtaca was just as violent and one of the hardest beings to keep in line. Initially, it only emerged from the shadows when the island was cast in darkness by new moons and solar eclipses. But that was only what Yoa had been told. Moon cycles into his new role as the guardian he had dealt with the creature any time the sky darkened.

If he was not quick enough to perform weekly rituals, the being would transform and enact terror on any nearby.

With one last lingering glare at the waves—already softening into their usual dreamy cerulean glow—Yoa turned inland, eyes scanning for any witnesses who might have seen the ancient. He was their protector, meant to shield them from such nightmares. But it was growing harder to keep these creatures confined to myth, to stop whispered stories around campfires from hardening into truth.

The more Yoa walked through the foliage, the more his scowl deepened with the stiffening forest. Nobody wanted to talk to him. He growled his frustration but it only made the silence that much louder.

Nothing moved.

No rustle of wings. No blinking eyes in the canopy. No nervous twitch of a tail beneath the undergrowth.

He crouched low, fingers outstretched, pressing into the dirt and leaves, scanning the trees. "I’m not here to hunt," he called softly, voice laced with the low rumble of authority. "I need information. The Akhlut has returned."

A bird chirped once, startled, and flitted away into deeper cover. A lizard froze on a branch, watching him with wide, unblinking eyes. But none of them came forward.

He growled low. "I won’t repeat myself."

Still, only silence answered. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. It was the birds, Ixanas and Vulcan’s spies he needed to speak with, but none came forward. For once, those bumbling gossipers had nothing to say. The embers in his eyes sparked in ire as he glowered at them.

They merely ruffled their wings, many flying away in response. Any other creatures sank back into the shadows in fear of him. Most likely, the shock of the Akhlut’s appearance still rippled across them, and they didn’t want to aid Yohuali, the black jaguar that might eat them but would tell the Sky Matron instead.

Yoa tsked and stood tall again. This will cause him more problems with the Silver Feather chief, and he doesn’t want to waste time or energy speaking with her.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Yoa followed the trails of black blood, returning to the caves where the vampiras nested. Most would call him reckless. Foolish, even. The vampiras were ancient parasites — cunning, manipulative, and deadly in numbers. But Yoa’s kind, the guardian, had a history with them. Now, one of their kind had been ripped from their nest, right beneath their noses and dragged to the ocean more ancient than them.

Yoa climbed though the narrowing pass that led into a ravine, the air thickening, the sun becoming less bright here, muted by the overhang of a jagged rock and creeping vines. The sharp, earthy scent of guano and mildew curled into his lungs, followed by something metallic — old blood, dried long ago.

The entrance to the vampira caverns yawned ahead, flanked by obsidian stones carved into rough warnings. Old magic lingered here — protective sigils etched by hands long dead, half-faded but still humming faintly in Yoa’s bones.

He paused just before crossing the threshold. He could still leave. But if he did, the next victim might not be a vampira.

It might be someone from his tribe, another tribe or it could be Nova next.

He stepped forward, and the darkness swallowed him whole.