I scattered Dad's journals that I had bought from my old home in Barnsley. I laid them over the table and went through them one by one. I needed something, I wanted to know what happened to my parents and I wanted to know if it was connected to me.
The last few days had been hell and I didn't want to stay in hell any longer.
My eyes were puffy and swollen, the longer I stayed awake, the more they burned.
I moved slowly between the pages, reading everything between the lines. Dad had kept an account of everything that happened in Barnsley. He mentioned the wolves, the packs, and the Alpha that ruled the town, then.
It was true.
He was a werewolf.
He had mentioned himself turning into one when he was only seven years old and believed it was a blessing. He mentioned his strength and the great power he possessed that made him different from humans. He enjoyed being different and a werewolf.
A part of his life was recorded in his journals, it was the few years before he was killed.
It bought me a little comfort when I read about his marriage with Mom and how much he had loved her. As he mentioned, his love for her was like peace, an eternity of peace. They had a beautiful life together and they had me as well.
Most of his writings were about his family, Mom, and I. I was barely a teenager then and he mentioned me as the spoiled, bratty child that wanted everything she could get.
When I further into the later years, the truth began unfolding. My Mom wasn't a werewolf, she wasn't from a werewolf family neither she had any werewolf blood in her system. Dad, with a help of a family witch, helped her to become one so they could be together, forever.
He turned her into the same animal she was and she was happy about it. There was no grief or sadness mentioned anywhere in the journals, only happiness.
I tore my gaze away from the journal for a minute and glanced over at Arnold who had woken up and was now standing next to me.
"I thought you were going to sleep for a good ten hours." I said, closing the journal and tucking it over the rest of them.
"I worry you are not well."
"I'm well. I was just going through my Dad's journal." I sighed and replied to him.
King wasn't awake to worry me. It had just been a few hours since he had slept. I knew he wasn't going to wake up until dawn but he surely kept someone out to keep an eye on me, Arnold.
"Well, what did you find?" He asked, sitting down on the couch next to mine.
"Just that my mother wasn't a werewolf—or at least it wasn't in her genes. With the help of a witch, my father helped my mother to turn into one." I explained, recalling the words I had just read. My mind was jumbled up from various thoughts. "Is that even possible?"
"It is. A witch has the gift to do anything impossible." Arnold nodded.
"That's all for now."
"Did you find out who was behind them?" He asked, out of curiosity.
I narrowed my eyes. "Not yet. I haven't gone that far."
"Shouldn't you get some sleep?"
"No, I'm not going to sleep until I have answers." I picked the journal back from the stack and resumed to the page I was reading. A slow smile worked up on my face before I stretched my hand and grabbed another journal. "Maybe you can help me." I offered the journal to Arnold who began reading it.
I sped through the one I was reading, finding nothing new except for the transformation of my mother and the revelation of my werewolf genes. Dad mentioned that one day I would have to do the same, shift, and become one of them.
My werewolf genes came from my Dad, not my Mom.
"There is a number on here—" Arnold paused and showed me the number on one of my Dad's journals. "Do you recognize it?" Just beside the number, there was one word.
Church.
Could it be? Could it be the woman from the church that I had met?
I grabbed my phone and added her number to my contacts but didn't call her just yet. It was too early in the morning to ring up anyone.
We continued with reading the journals and speeding through the years. A couple months before my parents were killed, Dad wrote about a lot of things. The changes in the town, the strange deaths of werewolves, and the hunters.
He hadn't given any name to the hunters but he mentioned them as vile and cruel that wanted to end the werewolves entirely. They used different tactics to kill them—venom, bullets and plants.
He drew random signs and objects on the pages he wrote and one of the symbols were the same as the one carved in the bullets.
"Is that the same symbol?" I asked Arnold who was as interested as I was in these journals.
"Yes."
"Oh..." I returned my gaze to the symbol, staring at it closely while a thought ran through my head. "Wow." My fingers ran over the page as I forced myself to remember where I had seen the same symbol.
It was there—somewhere and it wasn't on a bullet.
I had seen it somewhere else, on someone but I didn't remember who or when or what. I closed the journal and paced around the room, trying hard to think where I had seen the symbol but nothing crossed my head.
"Your Dad says it's the hunter's symbol and they are marked with it. Their bullets, their weapons, their toxins, it's all marked with the same symbol that represents the hunters and their family." Arnold said as he read the rest of the page. "It seems like your Dad might have been a Sherlock."
My mouth opened wide in shock. "Were the same bullets found in King carved with the same symbol?" I asked, raising a tensed brow at him.
"Yes."
"I think I know who it is." I said in disbelief.
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The Billionaire's Pup
Werewolf"I won't be able to control it then, Eos. Once I'm inside you, there is no going back." He had secrets. I had mine. All was well until he returned. The dark billionaire who made himself out of nothing, the mysterious handsome man that held deep, evi...
