Page 25 of The Crimson Wolf
“His pack must have moved it. That would explain the storm last night.” He kicks at the ground and walks over to the spot where the body lay yesterday.
“Werewolves can cause storms?” I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind, but it seems so unbelievable.
“Some. They have all types of fucked up powers, and they become even more powerful once they find their mates.”
“Mates? Like their partners?”
“It’s an invisible bond between two werewolves. They’re destined for each other whether they like it or not. Some werewolves don’t ever find their mate, which makes it easier for us, but the ones that do… those are even more dangerous.”
He squats to analyze the ground. “This isn’t good. Werewolves are vengeful creatures. They’re going to come after us.”
“Us? I didn’t kill it.”
“Yeah, but he was tracking you, and now he’s dead. They know a Werewolf Hunter killed him and that youare part Werewolf Hunter. They’ve always viewed you as a threat, and now they have something to pin on you.”
“Well, that’s great.”
He stands, rushing toward me. “You got to get out of here. Get back home to Granny, and I’ll take care of this.” He presses against the small of my back and leads me out of the clearing to my car.
I don’t say anything—my brain jumbles. I still don’t have proof that werewolves exist. Sure, I trust Jack, but the reporter in me can’t just take things for face value. I need proof. I need undeniable evidence. It’s always been my mission when reporting on a story, but I need this more than ever.
This isn’t just a story anymore. This is the mystery of my life.
17
Dark and Dangerous Man
Thank God I have an extra pair of clothes in my car. My hands shake as I pull on a fresh pair of jeans and strategically switch my t-shirt to an old concert shirt from a few years ago. I glance at the clock on my dashboard. It’s not even eight in the morning. The road is desolate, so I don’t worry about anyone getting a free show as I change.
I pull down the visor and run my hands through my hair, examining the damage. Surprisingly, I don’tlook too bad. A shower and a fuck did me good, but even with my improved appearance, there’s no way I can go back to Granny’s. What am I supposed to say to her? “Hey, Granny, are you and my parents part of some mythical werewolf and hunter lore?” If what Jack said is true, she probably won’t remember anything. From my experience bringing up my parents to her, I expect the same glaze to wash over her face and her mind to reset.
I plug my phone into my car charger and drive, planning to clear my head anywhere open this early before giving her a call.
It doesn’t take long for the park to come into view. Cars pack the parking lot, and soccer games are in full swing on the fields. Perfect. I don’t want to be alone right now. I want to be with normal people, living normal lives that have nothing to do with monsters and fairytales. Plus, there’s a coffee stand in the center of the park. What could be more perfect?
I pull in, parking in the farthest spot, and walk over to the stand to grab a black coffee. Kids yell all around me, and I catch the tired expressions of their parents as they do their best to wield their children to their next activity. God, I can’t imagine exuding so much energy so early in the morning, but right now, being exhausted from dealing with normal children seems much better than beingexhausted from werewolf hunting. How did my parents do it?
I walk the edge of one of the fields closest to me, trying to remember everything about my parents as I can. They used to take me to this park. It looked completely different eighteen years ago, but the same large oak trees shaded the park's corners. I remember swinging from them, my dad climbing up after me, pretending that if he caught me, he’d gobble me up. Tears push at the corner of my eye ducts, and I clench my palms, trying to gather my emotions.
I’ve tried my best not to think about my parents much since their death. It’s always been too painful, and once it starts, it leads to a spiral of despair, but now it seems Ineedto think about them—to remember every detail I can to detangle this mess. Sure, I could just go back to New York and put this part of my life behind me, but I’m already in too deep. How can I expect to carry on with all the questions swirling through me?
“Watch out!” someone yells before something bangs against my head.
I fall to the grass, my vision blurry.
“Oh, shit,” a gruff voice whispers angrily as the source gets closer. “Are you okay?”
I sit up, my head still swirling but starting to slow. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, resting my head in my hands to regain my focus. Obviously, I don’t feel great, but I’m tooembarrassed that I just fell on my ass, and now people are probably staring at me. I need to pretend to be fine and get to my car and cry.
Someone crouches in front of me, and I meet their gaze.
“Shit,” he says.
It’s like ice water pours down my back. I know that voice.
“Shit,” I say back, his face finally steadying before me, his pupils dilating and sucking me in like black holes. His eyes are lighter than before. Maybe it’s just because we're out in the sun instead of the dark and rainy forest, but I swear they look as if they hold a glow.
A smile creeps up at the corner of his lips, and he shakes his head before grabbing the soccer ball beside me, standing, and offering me his hand. “Of course, it’s you.” His dark hair is slicked back, and a small strand falls in the middle of his forehead.
