Gone Hunting - Chapter One
Chapter
One
Gone Hunting
Her name was Celia. I never saw her coming. I didn’t know I’d needed
her. But isn’t that how love is supposed to work?
I hop
downstairs. I don’t mean I take the steps one or even three at a time. I mean I
hop over the railing and leap from the second floor to the first, landing
almost silently in a crouch, the backpack on my shoulders barely brushing
against my spine.
I’m a were. A wolf to be exact. I can get away
with leaping from landings physically, but not so much with my mother.
“Aric,” she
calls, turning away from the stove. “You’re a were, not an animal. Take the stairs.”
Dad looks up
from reading his paper and smirks. “Listen to your mother, son.”
I return his
smirk and walk toward the kitchen. “Yes, sir. Sorry, Mom.”
All eight
burners are going on the stove. The smell of several pounds of bacon and more
pounds of eggs stirred my senses when Mom first opened the fridge. Yeah, I’m that sensitive to smell, sight, sound,
taste, and touch. And at fifteen, I’m always
hungry.
I plop down next
to my dad, allowing the pack to fall to my side. “Smells good,” I say.
Dad sighs and
turns the page. “It always does when your mother’s in there. Not so much when
we cook.”
“Nope. We suck,”
I agree.
Mom’s laugh
draws my smile. My parents are supposed to lay into me and drive me crazy, force
me to rebel, and scream at me when I do things they think I shouldn’t. Except,
jumping down a flight of stairs and leaving my mostly destroyed clothes on the
floor aside, I’m a pretty decent kid with awesome parents.
I reach for the
pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, yawning a lot louder than I intend.
“Sorry,” I say, yawning a second time when I fill my glass.
My knife slices
into the butter the second Mom drops several pancakes on my plate. I’m ready to
dig in when the scent of fresh buttercream finds my nose. Instead, I blink
several times, trying to brush off my fatigue.
I didn’t sleep
much last night. My head spun with weird dreams that didn’t make sense. I was
wrenched backward and away from her. No . . . that’s not right. She was ripped from me. They were taking her away from me. Whoever she was. I frown, remembering how bad it tore me up. I tried to
hold on, tried to see her face. All I could make out were her delicate hands in
mine. She sobbed, afraid to let go, while my eyes burned with rage-filled
tears.
I was pissed and
sad and . . . broken, except nothing
I felt made sense. I didn’t recognize her and I couldn’t fathom why she meant
so much to me.
The only thing
I’m sure of is that a part of me left with her. And the way I feel this
morning, it’s still missing.
“Are you all
right, son?” Dad asks.
I don’t realize
how hard I’m gripping my knife until I open my palm and all that’s left is a
warped piece of metal. My anger at losing her lingers and I took it out on the
stupid knife.
“Sorry. I was .
. .” I was what? Angry that I let some girl I didn’t know go? “I didn’t sleep
well,” I admit.
Dad folds his
paper and places it aside, closely analyzing me. “Did you sleep with the window
open?”
I don’t remember
leaving it open, but I nod when I remember how the cool spring breeze swept
against my back when I stumbled into the bathroom this morning.
“There was a bad
windstorm last night,” Dad says, his dark eyebrows furrowing. “Earth’s energy
travels in the wind, as well as the memories of those long forgotten.”
“The wind also
carries magic,” Mom quietly adds. She leaves the stove, a large pan of eggs
gripped in her hand.
“Yes,” Dad
agrees. “A great deal of magic.”
Mom scoops eggs
onto Dad’s plate, forming a large pile. “In the future, when the wind is that
rough, I’d like you to sleep with the window closed.”
The scent of
cheese, carefully diced onions, and minced garlic seeps into my nose in a
mouth-watering sweep. I dig into my eggs the moment the first scoop lands on my
plate.
“Why?” I ask,
swallowing quickly.
“You’re
different, son,” Dad reminds me.
My chewing
slows. It’s the same thing I’ve heard all my life. Yeah, some things come easy
for me. I’m stronger than older and larger weres.
I’m a better tracker and more agile than anyone around. But I don’t feel
different. I’m just me, I guess.
“I’m serious,
Aric.” Dad tells me. “You achieved your first change before you were two months old. We went to sleep with an
infant between us and woke with a wolf pup. Two
months. I still don’t think you comprehend the significance.”
Maybe I don’t.
The most powerful weres achieve their
first change at six months of age
following a full moon. The weakest, closer to a year. If you don’t change in the first year, you’re more
human and that’s how you’ll stay. It’s something weres who mate with humans deal with. Not pures like us.
My fork hovers
over my plate as I give Dad’s words some thought. I shove the large helping
quickly into my mouth when I sense him noticing. No were had ever before achieved a change
at younger than six months-old. It makes me uncomfortable to be perceived as
omnipotent. I’m not. Cut my head off or shoot me up with gold bullets, I’m just
as dead as the next were. People
around here forget that. They look at me like I’ll single-handedly save the
world, or some other impossible stunt. They fall all over themselves, cozying
up to me, filling me with compliments they can’t possibly mean. The kissing up,
the bowing, the groveling…I hate it.
“There’s no
telling how strong you’ll become or what powers you may inherit because of it,”
Dad says.
“I had trouble
sleeping,” I mumble. “It’s no big deal.” I don’t want anyone making a big fuss
over me. It bothers me more when my parents do it. Aside from my small and
close-knit circle of friends, they’re the only ones who still see me as Aric,
not the savior others have come to expect.
Mom scoops
another large helping of eggs onto my plate. Tendrils of steam drift from the
pan. “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” she says. “But if you’re this sensitive to what
the wind carries, sleep with the window closed. I don’t want to risk a mental
attack, or worse, while you’re at your most vulnerable.”
I open my mouth
to argue. It’s not that I can’t shut the stupid window or that I need it open.
I suppose I just don’t want to focus on how different I am. I’m already weird
enough.
Mom jerks. I
cringe. My parents sense my discomfort and move on. Not that I like what
they’re up to.
“Aidan, behave,”
Mom whispers.
“What? Can’t a
wolf show his mate a little affection?”
She slaps Dad’s
hand playfully off her backside.
I make a face.
“I’m right here,” I remind them. “Can’t that wait until I’m gone?”
“Not at all,”
Dad replies.
He pulls Mom
onto his lap. If she were human, Mom would have spilled the eggs across the
wooden floor.
“Eat with me,”
Dad tells her. “You’re doing too much.”
Mom kisses his
cheek and places the pan on the table, allowing Dad to feed her. It’s a mate
thing. A protective thing. I’ve been exposed to it a lot in my life. But it
always strikes me as intimate and something I shouldn’t watch. I leave the
table, returning with a large serving tray topped with bacon. I frown when I
find Mom’s arms wrapped securely around Dad’s neck. Her shoulder length, white
hair brushes against his chest with how hard she clutches him.
“You’re going hunting
again, aren’t you?” I ask.
Mom lowers her
eyelids as if in pain. Dad smiles softly at her, stroking her hair until she
opens her eyes. She doesn’t return his smile. It bothers me to see her upset.
“What’s going
on?” I ask.
“There’s a dark
witch causing trouble in Lesotho,” Dad replies, continuing his slow strokes over
Mom’s hair.
I reach for more
bacon and eggs. “Where’s that?” I ask.
“Africa,” Mom
replies. “It’s a territory known for diamond smuggling and dark magic.”
“Cue the witch,”
I guess. Not all witches are dark. Last summer, I met Bellissima, one of the
strongest light witches of her kind, along with her daughter, Guinevere, or was
it Genevieve? It was something like that. They were okay. But dark witches
really suck and give weres plenty of
problems to chase.
As Guardians of
the Earth, it’s our job to protect the unsuspecting human populace from things
that hunt them. Those creatures that go bump in the night? We eat them.
I shove a
forkful of eggs into my mouth and stab a few more pieces of bacon. “How’d you
hear about the witch?” I ask.
“She’s
protecting the diamond smugglers in the area,” Dad explains.
I feel my eyes
darken and a growl build deep within me. “In exchange for what?”
Dad doesn’t
blink. “Sacrifices, mainly human women and children.”
I look to Mom,
not liking where this is headed. “The women are deeply oppressed throughout the
region,” she explains. “When you find women fraught with worries of violence
and struggling to feed their families, they tend to be more pure of heart and
intent, and therefore easier to victimize. The children . . .” Mom straightens,
passing her fingertips along the gray peppering Dad’s temple. “There’s nothing
more sacred than a child’s soul.”
“Which makes the
blood sacrifices she seeks more valuable. The purer the soul, the more power each
kill will grant her,” I finish for her. They nod. “Can I go with you?”
“No,” Mom
answers at the same time Dad says, “Maybe.”
I perk up, my
inner wolf totally losing it. “I can go?”
Mom shoots Dad a
reprimanding look. “Aric is almost of age, Eliza,” Dad gently reminds her.
“He’s far surpassed seasoned weres in
strength, ability, and cunning.”
Mom leaves Dad’s
lap, taking the empty pan with her. “No,” she says.
Dad and I
exchange glances. I know better than to speak up. Mom walks to the large
porcelain sink and dumps the pan, gripping the edge. “Our world isn’t what it
once was,” she says. “It’s changing in ways even the wisest among us never
predicted, Aidan.”
Dad gets up
slowly, briefly pausing behind her before his hands encircle her waist. He
kisses her shoulder. “The world is changing,” he agrees. “But it’s our duty to
maintain it, so good continues to prevail.”
“There are many weres across the globe now,” she reminds
him. “Unlike generations ago, when our kind struggled to breed and flourish.”
She looks up at Dad, her soft brown eyes pleading. “Request that another pack
or Leader go in your place. I hate it when you hunt. I hate it when you leave
me. Please, my love, don’t take our son, too.”
“All right,” he
tells her.
“Wait,” I
interrupt. “Don’t I get a say?” I don’t know who’s more bummed, me or my wolf.
Dad turns
around, keeping Mom against him. “I need you here to protect your mother,” he
says.
I raise my
eyebrows at him. He grins and so does Mom. She’s almost sixty and Dad is
seventy-five. Although they tried, they didn’t have me until late in life. That
doesn’t mean either couldn’t wipe the floor with anyone who messed with them.
And if I wasn’t around, Mom would be the one hunting alongside Dad, just as
they did for years before I came along.
“Aric,” Dad
says. “I’m not yet sure I’m going. There’s already a local pack assigned to
track and kill the witch.” He looks at my mother. “But in the chance I go, I
won’t upset your mother further by taking you along.”
“Nothing’s going
to happen to you,” I insist. “And if I’m with you, nothing will happen to us.”
I mean what I
say. My dad is unstoppable. A king among weres
and my hero.
Dad offers a
lopsided smile. “Aric, your mother is worried enough.”
“I know, but—”
“Especially with all those females
knocking on our door, seeking your company,” he interrupts.
I roll my eyes. The
females I know are annoying at best, looking to get with me for all the wrong
reasons. “I don’t even like them.”
Dad barks out a
laugh. “Not yet. But you will, son. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I just hope
it’s not any time soon,” Mom quietly adds. She’s still upset.
I rise,
recognizing they need time. “Where you off to?” Dad asks.
“Hunting,” I
reply, excited for our plans and that we finally get a few days off from school.
“Liam swears he scented elk near Mount Elbert.”
Dad leads Mom
forward, his fingers threaded in hers. “Is it just you and Liam?” he asks.
“No. Gemini is
coming and so is Koda.”
Mom exchanges a
worried glance with Dad. “How is Miakoda?” she asks.
I shrug. When it
comes to Koda, I walk a fine line between betraying my friend and keeping
things from my parents. For the most part, I’m allowed free rein. They trust me,
and I want to keep things that way. So, I tell them just enough to stay true to
my friend.
“Koda’s all
right. He mostly stays at Liam’s. The other night, he was with Gem.”
Dad’s voice
grows an edge. “Do I need to pay his father a visit?”
My gaze lowers
to the floor to hide my growing resentment of Koda’s father. Except,
resentment, anger, any emotion
carries a scent my folks will recognize as easily as they take their next
breath. It’s the reason weres are so
good at sniffing out lies.
Koda’s relationship with his dad isn’t like mine. Where
I’d take a spray of gold bullets to keep my parents safe, Koda would run the
other way with tears of agony mixed with relief likely streaming down his face.
“Aric,” Dad
says, his tone more severe. “Is Koda’s father hurting him or his mother?”
“No,” I answer truthfully.
But only because Koda hasn’t been around to let him.
Dad is a
pureblood and Leader, just like Mom and just like me. Dad is also our pack
alpha, the one who oversees weres and
their activity within his territory. As formidable as he is, he’s often tasked with
solving matters outside our region that other weres can’t handle. But his responsibilities are first and foremost
to his pack. The same pack Koda and his family belong to.
“Aric,” Dad
says, this time more gently. “I’m only trying to help Koda and keep him and his
family safe.”
“I know.” I meet
my father square in the eyes, something most weres wouldn’t dare do. “I’ll try to talk to him today and see
where he’s at.”
Dad nods, but he
doesn’t appear any less concerned. I can’t blame him. Not after everything
Koda’s been through.
“Tell Miakoda he
always has a home with us,” Mom says.
“I will. Thanks,
Mom.”
My wolf stiffens
when I bend to hug her. We have company. I release her slowly and turn toward
the front of the house, my excitement building when I hear the voices of my
friends.
“They’re here,”
I say. “Gotta go.”
“Be careful,”
Mom says.
I grin. “I’m
going hunting, Mom. What could happen?”
I glide down the steep incline on
four paws, digging my claws into the thick forest bed to keep my balance. The
weight of my three-hundred-pound wolf form leaves deep indentations in the
soil. There wasn’t just one elk. There was a massive herd. We separated them as
a pack, targeting the eldest and weakest, as nature demands.
The one I’m
chasing stumbles down the ravine, his immense body crashing into the river bank
and sending waves of muddy water to drench my face. I shake off the thick drops
blinding me and hurtle forward. I’m almost on him, my excitement of snapping
his neck and bringing home a feast propelling me faster.
I bare my teeth
at the scent of his fear. Despite his weariness, he’s fighting the kill. I can
respect him as my prey. That doesn’t mean I’ll let him go. My supernatural
strength jets me faster, ghosting over the slippery rocks when the elk
stumbles. He quickly recovers on wobbly limbs. It doesn’t matter. I have him.
My family will have a sweet meal tonight.
We round the
bend as I leap toward his neck. My fangs barely graze his tough pelt before I
crash into what feels like an invisible wall. The force flings me backward,
slamming me into the river bed. I whirl up, wondering what happened, and pissed that it did.
The sound of
beating hooves grows distant as the elk disappears. I ignore his escape and
growl with murderous rage.
Something’s
here. Something different. Something magical.
My paws keep my
footing over the uneven and rocky bank as I stalk forward. I poke at the air
with my nose, trying to sense the wall or whatever it was that caused my fall.
My nose
twitches, latching onto something . . . weird.
It’s not elk, not deer, not even rabbit.
I smell
predator.
A challenging
growl rumbles through my torso and down my legs, causing a ripple across the
water. My eyes sweep my surroundings, up the incline where the woods are
thickest and back down where small, gentle waves splash over the river rocks.
Where are you? I growl again.
I angle my body
to the left and frown. Something like rot permeates from the forest. It reeks
of dead prey and danger, but then it moves further away from me and the
predator I seek.
My eyes round
with surprise when I hone in on a different scent. In the breeze, cascading
along the bank, the fragrance of water misting over roses overtakes the aroma
of pine, rich soil, and thick beds of moss, ensnaring me in its beauty.
An excited chill
runs down my spine, standing my fur on end. I shake my head, trying to clear a
scent that has no business latched to another predator . . . especially one
warning me to keep my distance.
My ears perk up
and my eyes hone in on a thick mound of blackberry brambles a few feet away.
There you are . . .
I prowl forward,
my steps quiet and purposeful and my jaws set to sink into bone.
This isn’t a
cougar. They run from us.
This is hungry.
Dangerous.
Weird.
My body quivers
with growing excitement and my thunderous growls echo. I snap my jaws in
challenge, letting my prey know I sense him.
It’s time to
flee or fight. The choice is his. I’m not going anywhere.
The brush
shifts. Slowly, very slowly, my prey rises. My lips peel back, yet the next
growl dissipates before it can fully form.
Instead of fur, wet,
wavy brown hair with streaks of gold catch the faint sunlight, spilling over
slender shoulders and flawless olive skin, while droplets of river water trickle
around large green eyes and full pink lips.
I stop
breathing.
She’s young.
My age.
And she’s naked.
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