The Dread of Damned
Clean

The black wolf twitched once on the forest floor.

Then the change began.

Bones cracked and snapped as its spine elongated, shoulders shifting, limbs straightening in sharp, jerking motions. The snout receded, fangs shrinking back into a mouth reshaped by pain and evolution. Fur retracted like shadow melting into skin. Clawed fingers broke into more delicate hands. A quiet gasp escaped—half-growl, half-cry—as the transformation neared its end.

The red markings that once shrouded its eyes pulled inward, seeping beneath the skin until only a fiery sigil remained—burning like a brand in the center of her forehead.

Before me now lay a girl.

A brown-skinned girl—slender, with full big breasts though not the largest I'd seen; after all, I still had that mother and daughter locked away, and I doubted I'd ever encounter a pair bigger than theirs.

Hers were decent-sized, crowned with wide, dark areolas, her hips thick and strong. But what truly caught my eye was the wild tangle of hair beneath her arms and between her legs—so dense it could rival the mane on most people's heads.

Dirt and grime clung to her body, dulling the rich bronze of her skin.

At first, all I'd wanted was a taste of blood.

Now?

My hunger had shifted.

I stepped forward and closed my hand around her neck—now more slender, more breakable. With no resistance left in her limbs, she rose in my grip like a rag doll, utterly drained.

In an instant, I vanished into the forest, my figure streaking between trees like a silver specter.

George, Vicaris, and the others barely registered the blur as I passed them. They fell in behind, silent and swift.

I returned to the cave and entered without ceremony, tossing the werewolf's limp body against the stone wall with a dull thud. No gentleness. No sympathy.

George followed me in moments later, wide-eyed.

"This is incredible," he breathed, awe creeping into his voice. "A living royal werewolf…"

I didn't look at him.

"Where are we, George?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "We're still in the Forest of Nights."

"And whose territory is that?"

He hesitated for only a moment, then bowed his head. "House Aestherisin."

"Good."

That was all I needed to say. I moved to the stone seat and sank into it, the cold rock fitting me like a throne.

George lingered, his gaze drifting toward the unconscious woman.

"Will you be... bringing her along?" he asked carefully. "It's just—only ten are permitted passage to the Detached Shore."

"Then I'll send someone back," I replied, voice even. "It won't take them long to return. And they'll be compensated."

He stood there for a breath longer before bowing and exiting the cave.

I summoned Vicaris next.

I instructed him to send one of the selected ones back and also told him to clear the stream outside. I wanted no one near the water.

Vicaris nodded and left without a word.

Now alone, I turned my attention to her.

She lay crumpled on the floor, shallow breaths visible in the quiet stillness. The fact she was still breathing after how I'd dragged her—by the throat, through rock and root—was proof of her resilience.

Interesting.

I stood and strode toward her, then crouched and wrapped my fingers in the wild, silky mass of her black hair. With one pull, I lifted her halfway, her bare skin scraping against the stone as I dragged her outside, half-carried.

She whimpered faintly, still lost in the haze of unconsciousness.

I reached the water stream and Without ceremony, I dipped her under—three, four times—rinsing off blood, dirt, and the grime of the chase. Her brown skin gleamed beneath it all, bronzed and unblemished beneath streaks of water.

Shallow wounds and scrapes lined her arms and hips. Nothing deep. Already, they began to close. Werewolves healed slower than us, but on the night of a full moon… even they became something more.

Still, it wasn't impressive. Just functional.

I hoisted her by the neck again and returned to the cave, tossing her onto a clean cloth that had been laid out atop a stone table. Nearby, a bundle of clothing sat folded neatly.

As I sat, a girl entered the chamber—young, lean, with soft features and an expression that danced between fear and obedience.

"Greetings, Your Highness," she said, bowing deeply.

"Trisha, isn't it?" I asked. She was one of the selected ones' on the journey.

There were three other girls selected besides her, all other six were guys. 

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Dress her," I said, gesturing to the bundle. "That's Kasha's clothing. See if it fits. If not, fix it."

She stepped forward hesitantly, catching the clothes as I tossed them her way.

"Y-yes, Your Highness."

I stood, walking past her, then paused.

"And loosen up, would you?" I said quietly. "Or would you prefer I do the honours?"

A deep flush rose up on her pale cheeks, but her fear spoke louder than any blush. I could smell it almost.

I patted her shoulder, smiling faintly. "Relax. When the time comes, I won't be asking."

Then I left, letting her do the work while I made my way to the carriage.

George was waiting near the path.

"We should depart, Your Highness," he said, ever dutiful.

"We will," I replied. "Once she's dressed, we move."

I stepped into the carriage, the scent of blood and river water still clinging to me.

"Oh—and throw that one into my carriage," I added, nodding toward the cave.

George bowed in acknowledgment.

Vicaris closed the door behind me with a click.