5
Danica
Iheaded to the werewolves’ territory early the next morning. Most of the werewolves lived on the edge of Duke Forest. It was close enough to the city that they could attend their day jobs, yet their territory was vast enough for them to strip off their clothes and howl at the full moon or whatever it was that werewolves did in their free time.
It had taken me twelve minutes to get out here, and I could see the appeal of the area. I’d slid my window down, inhaling the fresh air as I drove, and there was barely anyone on the roads this early in the morning. The sun was rising over the trees, the birds were chattering amongst themselves, and I was clutching a take-out coffee like it was a lifeline.
The wolves were notoriously private. They kept to themselves, and their natural abilities to cut through most magic meant that the vast majority of paranormal creatures in Durham treated them like they were poisonous.
I hadn’t expected to get a meeting with the werewolf alpha, but he’d agreed to talk to me in the interest of ‘helping the demons with their investigation.’
I figured it had more to do with the fact that many werewolves still weren’t out of the closet, and the overprotective alpha was doing what overprotective alphas did best.
When the portals first opened, anyone who carried a particular gene mutation instantly underwent their first werewolf transformation. The resulting carnage it caused was still taught in history classes around the world.
Imagine going about your daily life, when— out of nowhere— you slowly, and painfully, begin transforming into a beast. A beast with claws designed to slash through flesh and teeth, designed to hold their prey in place.
Fear and fury caused similar biological reactions in werewolves, and when their adrenaline spiked without warning, new wolves attacked. A rampaging werewolf could lay waste to a city block within ten minutes. And they did. To say the wolves were out of control is an understatement.
It hadn’t seemed like the werewolf gene was random. Over the years, there had been numerous studies theorizing exactly why people who had been predisposed to dangerous jobs were more likely to become werewolves. There was also the little matter of the lack of female werewolves— they were exceedingly rare.
Some people theorized that those who craved adrenaline were more likely to have the gene mutation. Others figured it was about testosterone levels. Either way, the wolves who raged through the city were the type who would usually be protecting it.
Firefighters, cops, active military personnel— many of the people the citizens had counted on to save the city were instantly one of the biggest threats to their lives.
It wasn’t until a werewolf named Nathaniel managed to regain control, fighting his wolf until his human self could intervene, and forcing the other wolves to fall in line. The alpha had fought to clean up the werewolves’ image, slowly transforming their reputation as rampaging killers, into the people who were called when the shit really hit the fan, and humans needed saving.
There were still plenty of people who despised werewolves. Sure, the other creatures who poured through the portals had been just as bad. But werewolves had been human first. Their inability to control themselves was seen as a betrayal of humankind. Now, most humans lived in fear that they carried the genetic marker, and if bitten, would rampage in the exact same way— even though the alpha had maintained full control of his wolves for decades.
There were a number of cul-de-sacs out here, all surrounded by forest. Nathaniel lived down the end of one of them, and I examined his house as I closed my car door and crossed the street.
I’d expected a mcmansion, but this was the kind of home most people dreamed about buying one day when they retired.
While the house was certainly large, it seemed to melt into the woods behind it. The ranch was clad in wood siding, but most of it was glass— the floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting my body as I walked down the front path. According to my research, Nathaniel’s home boasted thirteen bedrooms. And yet, it almost felt like a deserted cabin in the woods.
I knocked, and a second later, a man dressed in a gray suit opened the door.
I gave him a smile. Always start out with as much charm as you can muster. “I’m here to speak to the alpha.”
The man’s gaze scanned me from head to toe, lingering on the Mistilteinn Dagger beneath my shirt. He could obviously feel it somehow. I shrugged at him. The Dagger of Truth wouldn’t work on the werewolves, in fact when I inched my shield down and poked at it with my magic, it almost seemed like it had gone to sleep.
I pushed away the memory of the Mistilteinn Dagger’s low purr when I’d first found it. There was something very wrong with that knife, and yet I needed it more than anything else.
Story of my life.
“My name is Tobias. Please follow me. He’s expecting you.”
Tobias opened the door wide and waved me into the entranceway. Two sets of stairs wound up either side to a landing and my feet itched to explore. The werewolf alpha didn’t need all this space to himself, right? Did the other werewolves live here too? Or just the ones he couldn’t trust enough to allow them to live alone?
“Right this way.”
I dragged my gaze away from the landing, meeting Tobias’ amused eyes. They were the same color of his suit and they gleamed at me.
“Werewolves are mysterious,” I defended myself. “This may be the closest I ever get to you guys.” I winced, not liking how that sounded. “I didn’t mean–”
“To make it sound like you are visiting a zoo?”
I spun, vaguely aware of Tobias excusing himself behind me. My gaze was stuck on the alpha as he walked in another door behind me, gesturing to the sofa in front of him.
