Chapter Eight: Into the Maw

The creature was on the sheriff in seconds—fur matted, muscles rippling beneath torn flesh, eyes glowing like burning coals.

Caleb froze.

His breath lodged in his throat as the werewolf snarled, raising a clawed hand to strike.

"NO!" Caleb shouted, lunging forward without thinking.

He grabbed a broken metal pipe from the alley wall and swung, the metal colliding with the beast's side. It wasn't much—but it was enough.

The creature let out a guttural growl and turned, yellow eyes locking on Caleb.

Time slowed.

The stench of blood and wet fur. The sheriff coughing behind him. The night pressing in on all sides.

And that thing—its lips curling into something almost like a grin.

"You're one of us," it seemed to say. "Why fight it?"

The beast lunged.

Caleb barely dodged, rolling across the wet pavement. His ribs screamed, and his head swam, but he pushed himself up, pipe in hand.

The werewolf turned again—faster this time. Caleb wouldn't be so lucky twice.

Then—gunfire.

The sheriff had pulled his weapon and fired two shots. They hit the creature in the chest. It staggered back, snarling in rage but not falling.

"No way…" the sheriff muttered, scrambling to his feet. "What the hell is this thing?"

Caleb didn't answer.

Because he already knew.

This was what he was turning into. This was what Ronan had warned about.

The beast roared and turned to flee, leaping onto the side of a building and vanishing into the night with unnatural speed.

Silence followed.

Only the sheriff's ragged breathing and Caleb's racing heart remained.

The older man turned to him, eyes wide. "You saw that, right?"

Caleb nodded slowly, his mind still spinning.

"Jesus Christ…" Sheriff Dawson whispered. "We need to talk."

And Caleb knew—

This was no longer just about surviving.

It was about choosing sides.