First Victim

The machete split in Dylan's hands felt like it had lost some of its weight. He could already see his prey torn to shreds, as if some force buried deep within him was urging him to end the beast's life. A simple urge. Primal.

The adrenaline surged. And so did his strength.

He didn't need to draw much from his core of spiritual essence—his body was doing the boosting on its own. His muscles tensed with an intensity he had never known. His steps ripped through the grass, and each stride propelled him faster toward his target.

He charged. And yet, his face stayed blank. Cold. Calculating.

Just before impact, Maggie reentered the beast's line of sight.

The elk's massive eyes locked onto her—its mistake.