I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Forty-Four: Rot
The sky overhead had faded from the crisp blue of early morning to a dull, oppressive gray, as if a heavy, suffocating blanket of clouds had been draped across the sun. The sunlight was little more than a memory now, its warmth choked out by the thick, unmoving haze. The world felt colder, harsher—like it was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. I could still feel the weight of what I had just learned pressing down on me, settling deep into my bones and refusing to let go. It was a heaviness that made my muscles tense and my skin itch.
My claws hadn't even left my hands yet, but I could feel them just beneath the surface, itching to break free. Every nerve in my body was screaming for release, for action, for violence. The urge to shift, to let the wolf take over, was almost overwhelming. But I held it back, telling myself to stay in control. There would be time for that soon enough.
Emily and I walked out of the supermarket together, our bags swinging from our hands, the plastic handles digging into our fingers. Neither of us spoke as we crossed the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. The silence between us was thick and uneasy, filled with all the things we weren't saying. It wasn't until we reached the car that had seen better days—that Emily finally broke the silence.
While I popped the trunk and began loading the groceries inside, stacking bags of bread and fruit on top of cans and boxes, she leaned against the car and watched me. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant, when she finally spoke.
"So… someone took that woman's child?" she asked, her eyes searching my face for answers. "She didn't look rich. Was it for ransom?"
I slammed the trunk shut with more force than I intended, the sound echoing across the empty lot. I could feel my jaw clench, the anger simmering just beneath my skin.
"Or worse?" Emily pressed, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Worse," I said, my voice flat and cold. I didn't elaborate. I didn't need to. The look on her face told me she understood.
Her jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Do you have the scent?" she asked, her eyes sharp and focused now.
I nodded, pulling my keys from my pocket and tossing them to her. She caught them without hesitation, her movements quick and sure. No questions, no arguments, no wasted time.
"I'll text you the address once I find it," I told her, my voice low and urgent. "Call the cops. Send them there."
She nodded, already climbing into the driver's seat. "Don't take too long," she said, her tone firm.
I didn't answer. I was already moving, already letting the wolf take over as I sprinted away from the car, away from Emily, and toward the scent trail that would lead me to the missing girl.
The trail was foul—so much worse than I'd imagined. It reeked of stale sweat and mold, of garbage and unwashed skin. But beneath all that, there was something even more disturbing: the unmistakable stench of rot. It clung to the air like a disease, thick and suffocating, making my stomach churn. It was as if the soul of whoever had taken that little girl had been rotting away for years, leaving nothing behind but decay and corruption.
With my speed, it took less than ten minutes to reach the outskirts of town. The streets here were cracked and broken, lined with rusting trailers and abandoned cars. The houses sagged under their own weight, their paint peeling and their roofs caving in. Weeds choked the yards, and the only sound was the creak of a rusted swing set swaying in the breeze, its seat long since vanished.
The scent was strongest here, swirling around a house that looked like it might collapse at any moment. The roof was missing shingles, each one peeling away like an old scab. The front yard was a jungle of weeds, and the windows were clouded with grime. The place radiated neglect and misery.
I shifted into my wolf form, feeling my bones stretch and reshape, my senses sharpening to an almost painful degree. My paws were silent on the dirt as I circled the perimeter, searching for any sign of movement. A second-floor window was open—a careless mistake. With a single leap, I soared up and slipped through the opening like a shadow.
Inside, the air was even worse. The stench of rot was overwhelming, thick and cloying, making it hard to breathe. My ears twitched as I picked up the faintest sounds: a slow, steady heartbeat—calm, methodical, not the frantic thumping of a terrified child. This was an adult, somewhere downstairs.
But beneath that, I caught another scent—the faint, lingering trace of Chloe.
I padded through the hallway, each step careful and deliberate, the old wood creaking beneath my weight. I moved down the stairs, every sense alert, every muscle coiled and ready. That's when I saw him.
He was sitting in a battered recliner in the living room, his attention focused on the needle and thread in his hands. He was sewing a small dress—pink, with a delicate lace trim. It was far too clean for a place so filthy, and the sight of it made my blood run cold.
His scent hit me like a physical blow—sickly, like spoiled meat that didn't know it had died. He was humming softly to himself, a tuneless, unsettling melody that made my skin crawl.
And then, beneath that hum—beneath the floorboards—I heard it. A heartbeat. Small. Weak. But alive.
The man stood slowly, folding the little dress with a kind of reverence that made my stomach turn. He turned toward the basement door, his movements slow and deliberate.
That was his last mistake.
With a snarl, I pounced, my claws digging into his chest and pinning him to the filthy carpet. He didn't even have time to scream before my jaws closed around his throat, tearing it open in a spray of blood. His limbs twitched, then went still.
I stood over his corpse, my fur bristling. The scent of blood filled the air, mingling with the rot and making it almost unbearable.
And then, without hesitation, I turned toward the basement. Chloe was down there.