Muttering to one another, guards crossed their weapons, eyes fixed on the dead beast.
A voice no louder than a whisper spoke up:
"This thing wasn't a wolf…
it was something cursed."
And, true enough, even as they watched, the wolf's body began to shift and contort. The fur receded, the claws shortened, and for one appalling moment, its outline took on a semblance of humanity—before dissolving to ash, whirling away on the wind. John stepped back, chills running down his spine.
"A werewolf…" he whispered.
Kael turned his face away, concealing his eyes. The glow had gone, but John had seen it—the golden fire that shouldn't exist in any ordinary man.
The night was silent again, and yet none of them dared to say anything. It was only the whisper of the wind that moved between them, carrying one thought, dreadful: Something dark was awakening in the jungle… and perhaps inside Kael himself.
