The Good Wolves

Chapter 7

Knowing I couldn't attack Jake for no reason, I dug up dirt on the internet to confirm that he was a werewolf. Through Instagram, I found that he enjoyed doing tricks, like flips on a trampoline. I watched every video he had ever posted in search of nonhuman qualities, which presented itself in a video from about two years ago.

In the video, Jake flipped off a seven foot building and landed on a mat below. It wasn't his feat that clued me in to his supernatural being. It was eyes.

Werewolves eyes change color for a number of reasons. They change when they transform, when they fight, when they show dominance, or when they feel adrenaline. And when Jake flipped off that building, his eyes glowed bright yellow.

When I arrived at school Thursday morning, I found Jake Kremisky in the parking lot. He shook hands with a shady looking kid, climbed in his car, and began pulling out of the parking lot.

"Dammit," I cursed as he started driving away. I whipped out my phone and called Lupe, asking her to call me in sick for school.

As Jake left in his white Lexus, I began to sprint through the parking lot. If I wanted to catch Jake before another "animal attack", I was going to have to follow him.

Luckily for me, Jake's destination wasn't far from the school. Less than five minutes after he had left, Jake pulled into the driveway of a house in the neighborhood next to the school.

I wasn't used to hunting in a place that could be filled with witnesses, so I had to think fast. There was no way to shoot him without attracting the neighbors, but that didn't mean I couldn't use the gun to scare him. I didn't have any way to take him hostage. I had no car, and we were on his turf.

I placed my backpack on the ground across the street, removed my knife and gun, and ran across the street to meet Jake. He saw me immediately, but failed to notice my weapons.

"Can I help you?" He grumbled.

"I hope so," I said softly, approaching him. Before he could say anything else, I pulled out my gun and held it to his stomach.

"You're a hunter?" He raised his eyebrows. "I figured there would be more, but I never thought it would be you."

"How do you know me?" I asked.

"You're new in town and immediately become friends with the popular crowd," Jake said. "Everyone knows who you are."

I hadn't thought of them as popular until that moment. Does that mean I'm popular?

I shook my head and pressed the gun right up against his shirt. "You said there was another hunter. What happened to them?"

"You're trying to get information out of me?" He smirked. "I don't have to tell you anything."

"If you don't, I'll kill you," I said.

"You're not going to shoot me in the middle of the day," he said confidently.

"But I might cut your throat open," I took out my knife and held it to his throat. He raised his head in discomfort.

"A hunter came in here a couple months ago. He tracked down my pack, and we tore him apart. The police decided it was an animal attack," he spilled.

"You have a pack? Give me names."

He was silent. I pressed the knife lightly into his neck, drawing a droplet of blood. "Talk," I said.

"I'd die before I betray my pack," he glared at me.

"Fine," I sighed, stabbing him through the neck.

He fell to the ground with his hands on his neck. Blood poured through the wound, and strange choking noises escaped his throat. I looked around to make sure no one was watching, and when I looked back at Jake, he was dead. Triumphant, I kicked his dead body under the car and took off sprinting.

I ran across the street, shoved my weapons back in my backpack, and ran towards the school. However, I knew I couldn't go back there. I had blood on my hands.

There was an arcade just across the street from the school. No one would be suspicious of a teenager, even during school hours. I doubted they cared if students skipped school. It was good for business. They would have a bathroom I could sneak into and wash up in.

I jogged across the street and into the arcade. It was dark, and there was hardly anyone inside. I saw a few families as I walked around the perimeter in search of a bathroom, but other than that the place was empty.

I found the bathroom in the corner of the building. It had one toilet, and the walls were a dirt brown color. I locked the door, and began washing the blood off my hands. I scrubbed and scrubbed, but a faint red still remained.

Unable to clean the blood off my hands, I leaned over the toilet bowl and barfed.

Jake was the first wolf I had ever killed who I hadn't witnessed murdering someone. For all I knew, he could have been innocent.

The vomit burned my throat and brought tears to my eyes. I finished coughing, and washed my face in the sink.

I tried to wash my hands again, and my guilt evaporated as I remembered my mother's words. They're all killers.