14. The Storm

14

The Storm

" T hat's my mom." I don't take my eyes off the picture, and a ringing blares throughout my head. I don't have many pictures of my mom, and she hasn't been alive for so long. Sometimes, she visits me in my dreams, but even that version of her blurs compared to the actual image in my lap. She's young here, maybe nineteen or twenty.

"Your family comes from a long line of Werewolf Hunters, too."

A horrible thought pops into my head. I shoot my gaze to his face and study his features. "Are we related?" My stomach turns sour at the thought. Although we never went very far, it was definitely too close for relatives. We both have the same crimson hair, even if his is more rich than mine, but plenty of people have red hair, right?

"No!" Jack says urgently.

My stomach settles.

"Our families come from very different lines. Your mother's grandparents moved here from Ireland since we have such a large population of werewolves."

The tug of war on my emotions tires me more than I thought possible. I'm unsure if I believe any of this, even if I saw that beast with my own eyes and my mother stares back at me in the "Werewolf Hunter" uniform.

An alarm goes off in my conscious, pieces of the puzzle falling together. I shoot to my feet, the photo album still clasped in my hand. "Jack, does this have to do with my parents' murders?"

He suddenly looks tired and walks toward me. He directs me back into one of the chairs and pulls the other close to mine before sitting. Our knees touch as he takes my hands.

He's quiet for a moment as if gathering the words. "Not all of your blood is of Werewolf Hunters."

"What does that mean?"

"Your father, he was half werewolf."

I almost want to punch him. I know he truly believes what he's telling me, but for him to say that my dead father is some mystical make-believe character makes me sick. "Jack," I say, pulling back. All of this is too much.

He holds my hands tighter. "Red, I know this is hard to hear and even harder to believe, but listen. Your mother fell in love with him even though the hunters urged her not to. The two went above all suggestions. Even Granny was against it, but then you came, and she softened."

"Granny? She knows about this?" If I could have one other person confirm or deny things, maybe this would start to make sense.

He holds my gaze, but I can't help but notice a slight dart in his eyes. "She used to. She was attacked, trying to avenge your parents. She doesn't remember most things. Sometimes, I see her memory of her heritage return in flashes, but it's rare and short-lived."

I think about the look in Granny's eyes this morning. Is this why she always short-circuits whenever I bring up my parents?

"Who killed my parents then?"

"The werewolves. They were even more unhappy about your father being with a Hunter. They feared that if your parents were to have a son, it could be powerful and that it could be swayed to use its powers to kill werewolves."

I knew the murder of my parents seemed suspicious, even from a young age. But this… This is just all too much.

"How do you know that? How do you know what the werewolves wanted or didn't want."

"My father killed the werewolf that killed your parents. He tortured him until he got the truth. My parents were both killed by werewolves—my mother when I was just a child and then my father just a few years ago. I'm the leader of the Hunters now. Even though my father and I never had the best relationship, I'll do anything to avenge my parents. I know you can relate."

My heart aches for Jack, and I bring my hand to his face, sensing the sadness in his eyes. He believes this. I'm unsure if I believe this myself, but this is a source of pain for Jack, and I must hear him out.

I look around the room at the weapons and tools, wondering if torture is used often. It sure seems like they have the equipment to do so. Even with everything Jack tells me, I can't bring myself to hate a whole group of—people, creatures, whatever they are. "But all werewolves can't be bad. Do you kill all of them? Even someone like my father?"

He sighs, looking down at my hands and rubbing his callused fingers over my palms. "There's only one family of werewolves we're unable to kill. It's the only one with a public identity—the rest we must hunt out of hiding. Red, your dad seemed like a good man, but that's because he was half-human. Werewolves eat humans. It's hard to say that any of them are good when it's in their nature to destroy us."

I pull back. "I don't like that sentiment."

He doesn't let me go. "They killed our parents without any mercy. They were going to kill you if you developed any powers. Thankfully, you never showed any sign. They've been watching you, ensuring you haven't grown into them, and now you want to write a story about their attacks. You couldn't put a bigger target on your back."

Maybe it wasn't just a coincidence that werewolves found me in the clearing both times I was there. Maybe they're hunting me.

I lean back in my chair, letting my head fall back. "I don't know, Jack. This is all too much. I don't even know if I still believe it."

He sighs. "I know."

I wrack my brain for a way he can prove this to me. Suddenly, an idea pops into my consciousness. "What about that werewolf you killed in the clearing? Will it change back to a human now that it's dead?" I picture its lifeless body, looking smaller as we walked away.

Jack sits up straight, excitement in his eyes. "Yes, I can show you."

A crack shakes the wooden walls around us. Rain patters against the roof as if it's bullets .

Jack gets up from his chair and charges toward the door, unlocking it and walking down the hallway. I follow him until he reaches the window in his living room. Sheets of rain fall from the sky, making it impossible to see anything outside. It's only mid-day, but it might as well be the middle of the night. As if on cue, the lights give out, enveloping us in total darkness.

Jack goes to the kitchen and rummages around his cabinets, pulling out three candles and lighting them. He sighs and pulls out his phone. "It looks like this storm isn't letting up. It's supposed to be like this until tomorrow morning. You should probably call Granny and make sure she's okay."

He hands me his phone, but the line rings dead. "She can't pick up calls from her landline if she lost power too."

He nods. "Well, it looks like you might be spending the night if it doesn't let up at all."

"Uh."

"If you have to sleep here, I'll take the couch, and you can have the bed." My expression must be obvious even in the dim light of the candles. He looks hurt.

I feel bad and want to reassure him that it's not that I don't want to sleep with him. Even after everything that happened today, god, do I still want to fuck him, but that's the problem. I don't even know if he's crazy or not. We have too much history, and now we're bringing in our literal family history mixed with werewolves and goblins. It's too much for us to try anything.

"I have a generator. I'll turn it on so you can shower and clean up."

I look down at my blood-smeared and tattered clothes. "Right, thanks."

Jack walks back into his shop, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

My blood feels heavy as I stare out the window. I've grown up in Dayton my whole life. I know the storm isn't clearing up anytime soon. I'm staying the night with a Werewolf Hunter.