Teen Wolf: Second Howl

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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sparks in the Dark

Lucas's Perspective

Henry moved.

It happened in an instant—a sudden, primal surge, his body a blur slicing through the stale, heavy air of the cave. For a heartbeat, all I saw was the glint of his eyes and the ripple of muscle beneath his skin as he launched himself forward, a predator unleashed.

Instinct took over. My body tensed, every muscle coiling like a spring about to snap. Training flooded my veins—every lesson, every fight. My senses sharpened, the world narrowing to the threat before me.

But then, in that split second, I noticed something. His trajectory was off—just enough to matter, just enough to make my heart stutter in my chest. He wasn't coming for me.

His momentum, though wild and fierce, angled subtly away from me, almost too faint to catch. But I saw it. I felt it in my bones.

He was coming for Richard.

A jolt of terror shot through me. I shouted—a raw, desperate sound that echoed off stone—and hurled myself forward with everything I had. Richard stood unmoving, a silent sentinel in the cave, his silhouette unwavering. He didn't flinch, didn't even raise a hand in defense. He just stood there, calm and resolute, like a mountain bracing for a storm.

And in that moment, I realized—he was trusting me. Trusting that I would protect him. That I wouldn't let him fall.

I crashed into Henry mid-leap, our bodies colliding with a force that rattled my teeth. Claws flashed, teeth bared, snarls tearing from our throats. We tumbled across the rough stone floor, scraping skin, rolling in a tangled blur of violence and fury. Then, just as suddenly, we sprang apart, landing on opposite sides of the cave.

His eyes burned with an unnatural blue fire, cold and hungry. Mine blazed gold, fierce and defiant.

We didn't speak. Words were useless here. Everything we needed to say was written in the tension between us, in the way our bodies moved, in the way our eyes locked.

We lunged at each other again, drawn together like magnets. The cave filled with the music of battle—the crack of bone against bone, the clash of claws like steel on steel, the scuff of feet on stone. Our breaths came sharp and ragged, filling the air with the scent of sweat and blood.

Henry fought like a force of nature, every move fluid and deadly. He was older than me, stronger by far, and his experience showed in the way he anticipated my attacks, countered with brutal efficiency. He was relentless, a storm of muscle and rage.

But I was faster. My reflexes were honed to a razor's edge, my mind a whirl of strategy and instinct. And I knew everything he knew. Every lesson Richard ever taught me was now a weapon I could use against Henry.

I didn't just hold my ground—I pressed him back, step by step. Claw met claw, fist met jaw, and we blurred through the cave like shadows locked in a deadly dance.

At one point, we broke apart, both panting, sweat and blood mingling on our skin. Henry grinned at me, lips curled back to show sharp teeth.

"Where the hell did you find this monster, Richard?" he growled, voice rough with exertion.

Richard didn't answer. He just watched us, eyes steady, face unreadable. But I saw something in his gaze—a flicker of pride, maybe, or hope.

Henry's grin twisted into a sneer as he began to circle me, eyes never leaving mine. "Too bad," he hissed, voice low and venomous. "I'll kill him before he ever gets a chance to grow."

He moved again—a blur, a feint toward Richard just like before. I reacted, lunging to intercept.

It was a trap.

His claws slashed across my side, deep and merciless, tearing through muscle and flesh as like it was paper. Pain exploded in my abdomen, white-hot and blinding. My breath caught in my throat as blood poured down my side, thick and hot, spattering the cave floor.

I staggered, the world tilting. Henry's grin widened, savage and triumphant.

He pressed his advantage, raining blows on me, each one ringing through my bones. I tried to fight back, but the pain slowed me, dulled my reflexes. Every movement was agony.

He drove me back, step by step, until my back hit the cold, unyielding stone of the cave wall. Trapped. Nowhere to go.

Finished.

But then, something shifted inside me. I stopped thinking like a fighter, stopped relying on just the moves Richard had taught me. I reached deeper, into the wild part of myself, the part that was more than human.

As Henry reared back for a final, killing blow, I dropped low, my body shifting in a blur of fur and bone. Paws hit the ground, claws scraping stone. I darted under his swing, moving faster than thought.

And then I bit.

My jaws closed on his side, tearing through flesh and muscle. His howl echoed through the cave, raw and furious. I tasted his blood—hot, bitter, tainted with something foul.

Henry staggered back, clutching his side, blood pouring from the wound. I shifted back and collapsed to my knees, panting, vision swimming. Every heartbeat was a drumbeat of pain.

But then I saw it—the wound on Henry's side knitting itself together, flesh and muscle weaving back as if time itself was reversing. The corruption inside him boiled, healing him faster than any natural werewolf could hope for.

He wasn't even slowed.

He looked at me with eyes full of cold fury, grabbed my head before I could react, and slammed it against the cave wall.

Pain exploded in my skull, white and blinding. I hit the ground, limp and helpless. My ears rang, my vision blurred. Blood still oozed from my side, warm and sluggish. I couldn't move. Could barely think.

Henry loomed over me, a shadow of death.

"Don't worry," he sneered, voice dripping with malice. "You're not dying yet. Not until you watch me rip Richard limb from limb. You'll die after I eat his heart in front of you."

He turned away, stalking toward Richard with slow, deliberate steps.

My breath rasped in my throat. I tried to move, to stand, but my body refused. Pain screamed through every nerve.

I looked at Richard, desperate. He still hadn't moved. Still trusted me, even now.

But I'd failed him.

No. Not yet.

Something flickered inside me—a tiny spark, fragile but real.

I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus. Through the haze of blood and pain, I saw it: faint blue sparks, dancing between my claws, electric and alive. Not the corrupted blue of Henry's eyes—my blue, pure and defiant.

The air around me buzzed, charged with possibility.

And deep inside, something ancient and powerful stirred.

Not yet.

Not while I still had a spark.