The Fantastic Eight and Their February Surprise - 3. The Hunter

The following day at camp passed in a blur: hikes, swimming, crafts, and the usual chaos of keeping energetic teens occupied. The campers drifted from activity to activity, their laughter echoing through the pines. Altair, Cane, Raven, and Lee even set up a basketball game that catered to the different age groups.

By sunset, everyone seemed exhausted, but the familiar, restless energy of the younger teens simmered beneath the surface. Once again, night fell far too quickly, and, before Altair realized it, trouble was brewing.

Demon, Erik, Angel, and Win snuck out again during the campfire—this time with less caution, last night’s easy escape emboldening them. A new moon hung in the sky, shrouding the camp in shadows as the air pressed in, thick with anticipation. Altair noticed their absence first, his whistle shrill as he called out to Cane.

“They’re gone again,” Altair hissed.

Together, they dashed into the woods, flashlights cutting through the dark.

They found tracks. The path veered toward the thickest part of the forest. Cane tried to keep the mood light, but Altair’s nerves were frayed. When they heard rustling ahead, Altair surged forward, just in time to see Erik and Demon shift into black and white wolves before diving through the brush.

Altair’s breath caught, horror and disbelief crashing through him. "What the hell?" he gasped, stumbling back.

He spun on Angel and Win, voice razor-sharp. "You knew? You kept this from me? I can’t— I won’t risk everyone for a pair of werewolves! It’s too dangerous. You’re done here. All of you!"

Angel flinched as if slapped, Win’s hands curling into fists, eyes flashing with fury.

Cane stepped between them, voice iron-hard. "You don’t get to cast them out! They’re just kids, Altair. Our kids. You’re supposed to protect them!"

Altair’s fists shook. "They’re werewolves! None of us signed up for this-"

"But you signed up to be a leader! They trusted you!" Cane’s words were a low, furious growl. "And you’re failing them."

Altair’s fists clenched. “I’m responsible for everyone’s safety!”

“And you’re not keeping anyone safe by making these supernatural kids out to be monsters!” Cane shot back as he motioned to the pale teenagers huddling together in fear and clutching one another’s hands.

Before Altair could retort, a sharp, frantic howl echoed from deep in the woods. Angel’s eyes widened, glowing a violet brighter than a phone screen. The scent of blood hit him hard.

“Demi!” Angel shouted, just as a battered, bleeding wolf staggered into the clearing and collapsed. Mud and blood clung to Demon’s black fur, making it nearly unrecognizable. Angel’s eyes blazed violet, rage and fear mixing in their unnatural glow. Altair stepped back, instinctively recoiling from the sight, but there was no time for hesitation.

Angel landed hard at Demi’s side, hands slick with blood as he checked for wounds. Though his thoughts were racing, Demon forced himself to send a dire message through their telepathic connection. “Hunter took Erik… silver.”

“A hunter’s taken Erik?” Angel questioned aloud.

Win’s face went ghostly pale. “We have to move. Now!”

Before anyone could stop him, Win vanished into the trees at a dead sprint. Angel tore after him, a blur of supernatural speed, branches whipping past, the scent of blood and fear driving him on.

Altair froze, caught between his duty and his terror, but Cane’s grip on his shoulder snapped him back. “Go! I’ll take care of Demi!”

Altair’s jaw hardened. He bolted after the others, adrenaline surging, the forest swallowing his footsteps.

Win and Angel tore through the woods, senses sharpened to a razor edge. Branches whipped across their faces, roots threatening to trip them, but panic and fury drove them on. They found the hunter quickly. Erik remained in his wolf form, bound, writhing, and whimpering, silver-threaded rope burning deep red grooves into his four legs.

The hunter, knife glinting in the moonlight, didn’t see them coming. Angel’s voice was a guttural snarl: “Get away from him!” He launched himself at the man with bone-cracking force, fangs bared. The hunter staggered, slashing wildly, but Win crashed into his side, fists flying.

“Don’t touch my family!” Win screamed, landing a punch that sent blood spraying from the hunter’s nose.

“Angel! Go for the rope!” Win shouted, ducking a backhand swing.

Angel tried, but the hunter twisted, grabbing Angel by the hair and yanking him back. Angel hissed, fangs flashing, and bit down hard on the hunter’s arm.

The man howled, dropping Angel. Win kneed him in the gut. They were a blur of fury and desperation, claws and fists, teeth and steel. The hunter fought back, landing a blow that split Win’s lip and nearly drove his knife into Angel’s side.

“More monsters!” he spat, swinging the blade again.

Win staggered but roared, “We’re monsters? You’re the one with a knife!”

Angel was beyond words. He slammed the hunter’s wrist into the dirt, forcing the blade free with a sickening crunch.

“Get off him!” Win yelled, pinning the man’s legs with his full weight.

The fight was savage: snarls, blood, panic, and the hunter’s crazed shouts echoing through the trees.

Altair burst through the brush just as the hunter tried to crawl for his knife. “Not so fast!” Altair snapped, sending the weapon flying with a swift kick.

As soon as Angel and Win got a better hold of the hunter, Altair landed a blow that knocked him unconscious. He then dropped to Erik’s side, voice trembling: “You okay, kid? Talk to me!”

The silver rope hissed against Erik’s skin, but Altair unwound it with shaking hands, grimacing.

The pale wolf keened and whimpered in agony.

“Hang on, I’ve got you,” Altair soothed, then used the rope to bind the hunter’s wrists tightly.

Angel hovered protectively over Erik, voice hoarse: “He can’t hurt you now.” Win wiped blood from his mouth, glaring down at the captive.

“Erik!” Win cried, racing to his friend’s side as Angel hovered, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. “Are you hurt? Can you walk?”

Erik slowly sat up in his wolf form before shifting back into his human form, seated akimbo. Win immediately handed him his sweater to wrap around his waist. The two of them, bound by a familial bond, felt the night's ordeal age them years in mere moments.

“Thanks,” Erik rasped, voice barely holding steady as he glanced from one blood-splattered vampire to the other. “Both of you.”

Altair gripped Erik’s arm, practically hauling him upright. “Can you stand? Lean on me if you have to.” He jerked his chin toward the hunter, eyes still wild from adrenaline. “You two drag that bastard.”

Angel and Win heaved the limp, bloodied hunter, half-carrying, half-dragging his dead weight over roots and rocks. Erik staggered, every step a fight, on Altair’s shoulder. When they finally stumbled back onto the trail, Demon was there waiting. He was barely upright, wearing Cane’s tattered sweats and a hoodie, eyes haunted but burning with fury.

Cane, shivering in nothing but an undershirt and boxers, caught Altair’s grim nod as the blond tossed over his own hoodie. For a beat, no one spoke. Just the harsh sound of their breathing, the scent of blood thick in the air.

Altair’s shoulders finally slumped. Staring at the battered group, he ground out, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. You’re not monsters.” He caught Cane’s gaze and held it. “You just got caught up in something we weren’t prepared for. I won’t breathe a word about you. Neither will Cane.”

Cane nodded, jaw set, pride and relief flickering in his gaze.

Altair nudged the unconscious hunter with his boot, voice ice-cold. “This guy? We’ll call him a cultist freak and will let the cops figure out the rest.”

Sheriff Reader and Constable Graeme stood at the entrance of the campground’s main office, arms folded, expressions somewhere between exhausted and resigned.

The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows across the wood-paneled walls cluttered with faded safety posters and a crooked bulletin board.

Reader rubbed his temple, staring at the trussed-up hunter slumped in a metal folding chair, then back at Demon and Angel standing side by side near the doorway, appearing sheepish.

“Let me guess,” Reader said, voice flat. “You two are involved. Again.”

“Shocking, right?” Graeme muttered, scribbling notes on her pad without even looking up.

Angel shifted his weight, ready to launch into an explanation, but Demon nudged him. “Actually, Sheriff, we didn’t do anything wrong this time. Well, not that wrong.”

“We were attacked,” Angel added, his voice steady. “By him.” He pointed at the hunter, who was starting to stir, groaning through the gag Altair had fashioned from a spare bandana.

Reader sighed, glancing at Altair and Cane, who stood nearby, still with mismatched clothing, and covered in dirt. “And you two can confirm this?”

Altair nodded sharply. “The bastard hunted kids out in the woods. Used this silver rope on one of them. We caught him in the act.”

Graeme finally looked up, her pen pausing mid-stroke. “Silver rope?”

“Yeah,” Cane said, his voice hard. “Guy’s a total nut job trying to say they were werewolves. He was probably part of some shady cult.”

For once, Angel didn’t even have to tap into his vampiric persuasion. The evidence damned him enough: the hunter’s bag full of silver weapons and the rope. Reader and Graeme exchanged a look, and Angel could see the moment they decided to believe the story.

“Alright,” Reader said, motioning to Graeme. “We’ll take him in. You kids get checked out by the camp nurse. And for the love of—” He paused, looking directly at Demon and Angel. “—try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the summer.”

“No promises,” Demon said with a crooked grin.

Graeme snorted, hauling the hunter to his feet. “Of course not.”

As the officers left, dragging the hunter with them, Altair turned to the younger teens, his expression unreadable. “Back to the cabin. Now.”

The walk back was silent. The scent of damp earth and wood smoke from dying campfires hung in the cool air. Erik limped between Win and Demon, his burns already healing but still raw and angry. Angel hovered close, his protective instincts on high alert.

When they finally reached the cabin, Altair held the door open, his jaw set. The hinges creaked as Cane followed them in, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Warm lamplight spilled across the worn wooden floorboards, illuminating scattered backpacks and discarded hoodies.

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The old cabin settled around them with soft groans, and somewhere outside, crickets chirped their relentless chorus.

Altair crossed his arms, leaning against the wall near a faded camp rules poster. “Sit down. All of you.”

The four younger teens exchanged wary glances but obeyed, sinking onto the bunks with springs that squeaked faintly under their weight. Cane pulled up a wooden chair from the small corner table, its legs scraping against the floor, his gaze flicking between them and Altair.

Altair took a breath, then another, like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he said, “I need you to be honest with Cane and me. About exactly what you are and what you can do.”

Angel stiffened, his instinct to deflect kicking in. “We already told you-”

“No,” Altair interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “I mean everything. No more half-truths. No more hiding. If I’m going to keep you safe, I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

Demon glanced at Angel, then at Erik and Win. The four of them seemed to have a silent conversation, weighing their options.

Finally, Win spoke up, his voice quiet. “My family’s half vampire, half human. I can’t turn into a bat or anything, but I’m stronger than I look. And sunlight? Not a fan.”

Erik nodded. “I’m half werewolf, half human. The full moon forces me to shift, but I can control it most of the time. Silver burns like hell, though.”

Demon cleared his throat. “Angel and I are… different. Our bio parents were a lycan demigod and a vampire. So we’re both.”

“Demigods?” Cane asked, aqua eyes going wide. Demon nodded.

“I’m a touch more werewolf than vamp, Angel’s more vampire than wolf. But we’ve also got this darkness thing. A celestial curse. If we’re not careful, it could take us over.”

Angel’s hands clenched into fists. “We train to keep it under control. But it’s always there. Waiting for us to slip up.”

Altair’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Not fear. Not disgust. Something softer.

“Okay,” he said. “So here’s what we’re going to do.”

He straightened, pulling out a crumpled map of the campgrounds from his back pocket and spreading it across the bunk beside him. His finger traced a winding trail marked in faded green ink. “Erik, Demon—when the full moon hits, we’ll schedule a private hiking path for you. Deep in the woods, away from everyone. No one will see you, and you won’t have to worry about hurting anyone.”

Erik blinked, surprise written all over his face. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah,” Altair said, his tone matter-of-fact. “And Win, Angel—we’ll schedule your activities for after sunset. Or we’ll find shaded areas. Whatever you need.”

Angel stared at him, his violet eyes wide. “You’re… you’re not kicking us out?”

Altair met his gaze, unflinching. “No. You’re my campers. My responsibility. And I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Not hunters, not the darkness, not anyone.”

Cane, who had been silent until now, smiled softly. “We’ve got your backs. All of you.”

Win’s eyes glistened, and he quickly looked away, blinking hard. Erik let out a shaky breath, relief flooding his features. Demon grinned, slinging an arm around Angel’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Coach Bran,” Demon said, his voice thick with emotion.

Angel nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. For the first time in a long time, he felt safe. Accepted. Like he didn’t have to hide.

Altair cleared his throat, looking almost embarrassed. “Yeah, well. Don’t make me regret it.”

But the way he said it, gruff and awkward, with the faintest hint of a smile, made it clear he didn’t regret it at all.