My Enemy

Chapter 6

POV – Jayden

Breakfast in a werewolf kitchen was not what some might imagine. It’s certainly not what a necromancer might imagine. There were no animal heads hanging from the walls, no scent of pine and fresh air or of paintings of wild animals. The walls were a sunny yellow; the furniture was the light russet colour of walnut. The breakfast table had a surface of black marble, supported by mahogany legs and surrounded by chairs of the samey type, with leather seats. Several wide windows let in the early morning light and showed a view of buildings, cars and busses. The woods in the background were barely visible.

I looked thoughtfully at my bacon, thinking about the challenge. Of course I did the right thing when I challenged that necro, but it was still risky. How to explain my absence? I wouldn’t be able to tell them I was going to a club, maybe I could tell them I needed to train on my own?

You’re thinking too much. They won’t notice your absence, the wolf part of myself muttered, mentally rolling his eyes. We werewolves don’t give names to our wolf-halves, they are as much part of us as an arm or a leg, giving them names would be weird, like giving each of our hairs an individual name: useless. The wolf half is part of our conscious and subconscious, it is not its own personality. I snort, that would be like multiple personality disorder. I wonder what a necro would think of that?

Hearing me snort, my father raises an eyebrow.

“Care to share the joke?”

“It’s nothing, I was just wondering what a necromancer would think of our wolf-halves.” I wince, realizing I used the “N” word.

“Jayden,” my mother scolds, “don’t swear at the table.”

“So,” I hastily change the subject, “how’s the pack doing?”

“It’s fine,” dad said coolly, obviously not fooled, “We will be hosting a tournament with the Blood Moon Pack next month. It’s been a long time since the Moon Paw Pack has hosted an event. You’ll be participating of course?”

I grinned, “Of course.”

“Then we’d better start practicing,” Clyde smirked, giving me a brotherly punch on the shoulder.

“You think you can beat me?”

“I know I can.”

“You’re on.”

Dad had an approving look on his face, but mom rolled her eyes and remarked teasingly, “ Do it in the back yard, please. I’ve lost enough furniture to lest me a month.”

We all chuckled.

I rotated my shoulders and planted my feet firmly in the ground. Clyde just grinned, as we faced of.

A slight breeze played with the short green grass on the lawn and brought little ripples to the surface small pond at the base of the hill our house was built on. The woods formed a dense line a bit further behind the pond and the remaining space was speckled with small shrubbery and some wild flowers. The only thing that brought a trace of order to the yard was a small path of white stones that connected the house to a pair of swings and the garage.

“Are you ready little brother?” Clyde asked, “or would you rather spend the rest of the day daydreaming?”

I shook my head lightly and refocused on the challenge at hand.

“Of course I am,” I said, and lunged.

Taken by surprise, he staggered back a step, but recovered quickly. I swung for his face, but he blocked it and retaliated with a punch of his own which I only partially blocked and sent me reeling backwards.