Brewing Them

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I went straight to the source.

It took me a while to find him, Dion, especially since it was early in the morning. But one thing I learned from being a werewolf's daughter and it was that werewolves always ran in the mornings.

My insides were still sore as I paved my way through the woods in hopes to find him. It was a rather dull day with the sun hidden behind the heavy clouds and the fog that had collected across the grounds.

Callan had given me no answers, nothing about the mark, but I knew Dion would. He was more vulnerable, maybe even a bit timid than him.

I found his wolf. His dark brown eyes twinkled at me and I smiled before he began to shift back.

It was better to swallow my fear than let it linger over me for the rest of my life.

Father was dead and he wasn't coming back.

Ever.

"What are you doing here at this time?" He asked, breathing heavily.

I turned away from him as he wore his clothes. The vision I had seen yesterday was still vivid in my head. How could I have possibly seen it? Especially when it was Callan filling me up.

I shook my head, brushing away the thoughts while my shoulders eased. "Just taking a walk," I replied, but it wasn't the truth. I came here to find him. For different reasons. When I heard the sound of his zipper going up, I turned. He was still shirtless, with his arms bare. My gaze clicked right over the mark before running elsewhere. "If you don't mind, where did you get that mark?" I asked, hoping I'd get a better answer than what Callan had given me.

His attention diverted to his wrist and he glanced at the mark before looking at me with his brow cocked.

"I got it some time ago. You curious?"

I nodded, "Yes, Callan has the same one. Did you two get it together? Is it like a tattoo—"

"It's not a tattoo," He gave his head a shake while slipping on his shirt and buttoning it up. "It was given to us a hundred years ago. I never understood why or when it happened, but it just did. There were more, four of us and the mark came at the same time."

A hundred years.

That was a very long time for a werewolf to live. They weren't immortal beings, not like night-eaters.

"What happened then?"

Dion shrugged, closing his last few buttons, "It appeared on my wrist on the same night it appears on Callan's and the other's. We were at court during that time. By next morning, we all had scattered. I returned only to court a decade ago, only because there wasn't anyone next in line for becoming the Alpha of my pack. I had to step in and take the duties of becoming a one." He explained, sounding a bit sad.

"What happened to your family? Werewolves don't live for—"

"Yes," He gave me a nod. "They all are dead while I outlived them."

"How?"

It couldn't be possible.

A werewolf had a small life span, they were meant to die from old age, diseases, or infection. A lot of them were killed in battles and duels. The stronger ones lived, but even then, not for long.

"I suppose it was the mark. It gave me immortality and strength that no one in my pack had ever heard or seen of. But I don't want to live anymore. I've spent years and years in this world, and there's nothing more left for me. Everyone I knew is dead." He continued with sorrow lingering in the back of his voice.