Page 1 of Red Hood, Bad Wolf

Chapter 1

Moonlight silveredthe forest floor as Rowan tracked her prey. Pine needles cushioned her steps. Magic stirred beneath her skin as she followed the trail of destruction—broken branches, scattered leaves, and the acrid scent of madness that all loup garou left in their wake. Her red cloak, the mark of her order, whispered against the undergrowth.

She paused, lifting her hand. A spell sparked between her fingers, crimson threads that illuminated claw marks scored deep in a nearby trunk. Fresh. She was getting close.

A howl shattered the night's silence—pain and rage twisted into something inhuman. Rowan's heart ached. Once, the wolf had been someone's daughter, someone's friend. Now the moon-madness had taken her, stripped away everything but hunger and fury.

Moving faster, Rowan’s spelled boots carried her silently through the darkness. The forest opened into a moonlit clearing, and there she found her quarry. The crazed werewolf was massive, easily twice the size of a natural wolf. Its yellow eyes were glazed with feral hunger. Foam dripped from its jaws as it circled the remains of a deer—thankfully just a deer.

"Easy now," Rowan murmured, keeping her voice low and steady. Her fingers traced sigils in the air, weaving a containment spell. "Let's see if there's anything left of you to save."

The werewolf's head snapped up. Those mad eyes fixed on Rowan, and a growl rumbled through the clearing. The sound carried no trace of humanity.

Rowan completed her spell just as the loup garou lunged. Red light flared, forming a shimmering cage around the wolf. It slammed against the magical barrier, snarling and snapping.

"I'm sorry," Rowan whispered. She pulled a silver knife from her belt, its blade etched with runes of mercy. Some Red Hoods went straight for the kill, but Rowan always tried first to reach the person trapped within the beast. She began to chant ancient words of power that could sometimes break the moon-madness.

The wolf threw itself against the barrier again and again. Blood began to mat its fur where it had hurt itself in its frenzy. Rowan pushed more power into her spell, sweat beading on her forehead as she tried to reach whatever humanity remained.

For just a moment, the glazed yellow eyes cleared. A flicker of awareness, of despair—and then it was gone, replaced by mindless rage.

Rowan's heart sank. She'd seen that look before. There was nothing left to save.

The knife flew true, guided by magic and mercy. The loup garou collapsed without a sound. As death took it, the wolf's form shimmered, revealing a young woman with tangled dark hair. Peace smoothed her features, free at last from the sickness.

Rowan knelt beside the body, murmuring the traditional blessing. "Find peace in the dark, sister. May your next life be gentler." She closed the woman's eyes and covered her with a magical shroud while she prepared the ceremonial pyre. No loup garou could be left to rise again.

Dawn was breaking when Rowan's communication crystal chimed. She answered it, recognizing the signature of her order's leadership.

"Report," said a clipped voice.

"Target eliminated. She was too far gone for rehabilitation."

"Understood." A pause. "We have another assignment. Multiple disappearances reported in the Black Pine territory. The local alpha is Alder Blackwood. He doesn’t think it’s a loup."

Rowan's spine stiffened. "A pack alpha? The last time we trusted an alpha's word—"

"We remember." The voice softened slightly. "These disappearances match loup garou patterns. Investigate. Determine if someone in his pack has turned. And Rowan? Be careful. Blackwood has a history with our order."

The crystal went dark, leaving Rowan alone with her thoughts and the rising sun. Another pack, another alpha. Her hand drifted to the scar on her side, a reminder of what happened when alphas protected their own at any cost.

She wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

***

ALDER FELT THE YOUNGwolf's distress before he heard the howl. Moon-fever, not moon-madness—there was a crucial difference. He sprinted through the trees, his pack bonds guiding him to where sixteen-year-old Danny struggled with his first transformation.

The boy was halfway between forms, fur sprouting in patches, bones cracking as they tried to reshape themselves. Terror rolled off him in waves that any wolf could scent.

"I can't—" Danny gasped, hands curled into claws. "Alpha, it hurts—"

"Breathe." Alder knelt beside him, projecting calm through their pack bond. "The moon isn't your enemy. She's part of you."

Other pack members melted from the shadows—Danny's parents, his older sister, all watching with worried eyes. Alder waved them back. Too many people would only increase the boy's anxiety.

Danny's body spasmed. "What if I can't control it? What if I hurt someone?"

The words hit too close to home. Alder's mother had asked the same questions, near the end. Before the Red Hoods—

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