The forest smelled of pine and fresh blood under the fat, glowing moon. Naida Knight moved like a shadow between the trees, her boots silent on the damp earth. The silver dagger in her right hand felt warm from her grip, and the crossbow slung across her back was loaded with wolfsbane-tipped bolts. Her father’s orders had been simple: track the rogue that had been sniffing too close to their cabin and put it down.
She was good at following orders. She had been killing werewolves since she was fourteen.
Her breath came steady as she followed the trail of broken branches and massive paw prints. The beast was big, careless tonight. Stupid. They always got sloppy under the full moon. Naida’s heart beat hard but calm. This was what she lived for—the hunt, the kill, the proof that monsters cou
