For the past five nights, Jayden had been hunting relentlessly in the city's forest—never letting himself rest for more than a few hours at a time. He kept it discreet, slipping in and out of the forest under the cover of darkness. He didn't provoke packs or drag fights out.
No. He hunted like a shadow.
The moment he locked onto a target, it was over before the beast even knew it was being stalked. A flash of claws, a telekinetic slam, a quick puncture to the throat—kill, store, move on.
Swift, clean, and silent.
The fear worked in his favor. Word—or whatever passed for communication between beasts had spread since the time he defeated the winter wolf. The beast's didn't challenge him anymore. Their eyes would widen, they'd hesitate, some even bolted the instant his scent carried on the wind. But those who fled were often the first to die.
He'd learned to capitalize on that fear, striking before they could scatter.
