Red Vengeance: The Hunt for Gévaudan's Beast

Something monstrous stalks the hills again. With the scent of blood fresh in the air, Jeanne B. Volpe returns to the spot where her old life ended. She knows what it's like to die to the Beast, now, with tooth and cunning, she'll make it pay. But the forest remembers, and not all monsters are what they seem.

Jeanne B. Volpe crouched behind a mossy stump, her breath shallow, eyes locked on a trail of blood in the mud. The woods pressed close, wet with drizzle and the scent of crushed fern. Somewhere ahead, hooves thundered, panic in their rhythm. She pressed a hand to the earth, feeling the faint vibration of pursuit, then rose in one smooth motion, her cloak swirling. Her boots splashed through a shallow stream as she stalked the spoor, amber eyes narrowing. A distant scream echoed, sharp and desperate. Jeanne sprinted, teeth bared, heart pounding with the memory of her own blood on these stones. As she broke through the bracken, the shadows twisted, the forest looming close, and the scent of the Beast hit her, hot, coppery, and all too familiar.

In the remote, mist-choked province of Gévaudan, France, superstition and terror rule the peasantry. Gnarled forests and craggy hills conceal monsters, both natural and supernatural. Nobles squabble behind chateau walls while peasants whisper of 'the Beast.' An uneasy peace is shattered by blood and vengeance.

The world of Gévaudan in 1769 is one of perpetual twilight, with dense woodlands and fogbound valleys pressing in on isolated hamlets. Crooked lanes wind through tangled forests, and every tree seems to lean closer as if eavesdropping on mortal fears. The region is poor, with scattered villages relying on shepherding, hunting, and uneasy barter. Power is divided uneasily between the distant clergy, the suspicious rural gentry, and shadowy forces that older villagers call les anciens, ancient presences of the wild, neither wholly good nor evil.

The greatest terror is the Beast: a monstrous entity said to stalk the countryside, leaving only blood and broken bodies. Some say it is a wolf, others a demon. The authorities, clergy and aristocrats alike, offer coins and prayers but cannot stop the horror. Fear bleeds into every aspect of life. Candlelit chapels are crowded nightly with prayers for mercy, while secret gatherings in the woods seek protection from older spirits.

Amid this, a new kind of hunter has appeared: those who cross the line between natural and supernatural, wielding forbidden powers to battle monsters. Magic is not studied or spoken of openly, but the wilds are thick with old places of power. A pact with one such spirit can grant gifts, at a price. Justice is often personal, as the roads are too dangerous for proper law to reach. Under the looming menace of the Beast, the borders between man, monster, and myth blur, and every shadow might hide a predator. Any stranger may harbor secrets, or claws.