Chapter Three: The Hunger
The walk back to town was a blur. Caleb's body felt foreign—too strong, too light, yet too heavy at the same time. His mind was racing, but his instincts were louder, rawer. Every sound around him was sharper. He could hear the distant hoot of an owl, the rustling of small creatures in the underbrush, the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat.
And beneath it all… the hunger.
It wasn't like normal hunger, the kind that gnawed at his stomach when he skipped lunch. This was something deeper, something darker. It coiled inside him, twisting and writhing, demanding something he didn't want to name.
He tried to push it down. He focused on the trees, the feel of dirt beneath his bare feet, the way the cold night air stung his skin. Anything to ground himself.
But then the scent hit him.
Blood.
It was faint, but unmistakable—coppery, rich, alive. Caleb's entire body reacted before he could think. His breath quickened, his pupils dilated, and his muscles tensed. He turned his head sharply toward the scent, his vision sharpening unnaturally.
A deer.
It was wounded, limping through the undergrowth, leaving a thin trail of blood in the fallen leaves. Caleb could hear its struggling breaths, could almost feel the frantic beat of its heart. The hunger inside him roared to life.
His fingers curled, nails lengthening into something sharper. His jaw ached as his teeth pressed painfully against his gums. Every fiber of his being urged him forward—chase it, take it down, feed.
No.
Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his arms to stop himself from moving. His breath was ragged, his body trembling.
"You felt it, didn't you? The power. The hunger. The thrill of the hunt."
Ronan's words echoed in his head. He had mocked Caleb for trying to deny it.
He was right.
The truth was terrifying. Caleb wanted to chase the deer. He wanted to sink his teeth into it, to tear into flesh, to feed.
A branch snapped behind him.
He spun, his senses still heightened, ready to lunge.
Lena stood at the edge of the trees, her wide brown eyes locking onto his.
"Caleb?"
His breath hitched.
She took a step forward, her brows furrowing. "What are you doing out here?"
His pulse hammered in his ears. The scent of blood still clung to the air. The hunger hadn't faded. It was still there, pressing against his ribs, clawing at his throat.
And now—Lena was standing in front of him.
Too close.
Too vulnerable.
He could hear her heartbeat.
Fast. Rhythmic. Tempting.
Caleb staggered back, shaking his head. No. No, no, no.
His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms hard enough to break the skin. He forced himself to breathe, to focus.
Lena tilted her head, concern flashing across her face. "Are you okay?"
He had to get away.
"I—" His voice cracked. His throat burned. His entire body felt like it was on fire.
Lena reached out. "Caleb, what's wrong?"
He stumbled back another step, shaking his head violently. "Don't." His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried an edge of something primal, something dangerous.
Lena hesitated, her hand hovering in the air.
He clenched his jaw. If he stayed here—if she got too close—he didn't know what would happen.
So he did the only thing he could.
He ran.
Not toward home. Not toward town. But away. Away from Lena. Away from the scent of blood. Away from the monster clawing its way to the surface.
Because if he didn't…
He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop it.