Metamorphosis (Breaking Free, book 2)

Chapter 11-Owen

The woman, she had introduced herself as Dana, handed me a steaming cup of coffee. She peeled her fingers back when she handed it to me as if she didn't want to touch me, and I smiled at her through my teeth. 

I glanced down at it, watching the steam rise gently from the dark green mug, warming my fingers. I chewed on my lip. Dana looked me up and down, squinting her eyes and holding herself straight as a rod, her arms akimbo. I fought the urge to squirm under her wary gaze, feeling fully like a bug underneath the microscope of a watchful and slightly less-than sane scientist.

"Drink." She said, placing her hand on her hip and glaring at me. I didn't make the mistake of believing it was a suggestion. "Lord knows no one will be getting any sleep thanks to you." Her lips curled on the word 'you' and she scoffed, shaking her head. 

Quickly turning on her heel, she left towards what I assumed was the kitchen, her nose turned up and her lips pressed into a thin line. I glanced down at the mug of coffee slowly warming my hands and took a gentle sip, wincing when it burnt my tongue. 

"I'm sorry about her," Michael said, leaning onto his elbows and staring holes into the floor. I placed my mug onto the glass coffee table in front of me and fixed him with a stare. Shifting his gaze around the room, he squirmed just slightly, enough that I almost would've missed it if he hadn't cleared his throat, before staring at the floor, avoiding my gaze. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, then apparently thought better of it, promptly shutting it. 

 A gust of wind rattled the house and I hugged the blanket they had given me, tighter to myself. It was a thin little thing and it didn't do much to help, but at least it was something. The house groaned and creaked under the stress of the storm. It was jarring compared to the thick silence that carried between the two of us.

"We haven't done this in a while." He said, gesturing between the two of us. I had no idea what he was talking about. When it was clear I wasn't going to speak, he let his hand drop into his lap, dejected. "It's just that I saw you go down. Dana thought we should leave well enough alone, but I couldn't do that. I never could, and she's always hated that about me." He said, sighing heavily and pulling on his fingers. 

He said that he had seen me go down, but if I was correct, this place was far, far away from anywhere I had been in town. It was far from anywhere I'd been flying. This man was hiding something, and secrets were dangerous in the homes of strangers. Schooling my features, I faced him, my body straight as a rod and my face devoid of any emotion. The blanket fell off my shoulders and pooled at my waist. I fought back a shiver. 

"How?" I said, keeping my voice neutral and sharp. He blanched at my tone, and I could see him leaning just slightly towards the left, his fingers inching towards the hem of his shirt. A barely visible lump lay beneath it, and I squared my jaw. Taking in a deep breath, I searched for the smell of a weapon. The smell of danger. 

For a moment there was nothing but gingerbread and cinnamon from whatever was baked in the kitchen last. It lingered in the air, heavy and warm and deceivingly welcoming. Vaguely, I remembered the story of Hansel and Gretel, and I knew this must have been how they felt. But, just on the edge, barely there at all, was the notably metallic scent of a gun. My vision flashed red. Danger.

Leaping forward, I pinned Michael to the couch in one fail swoop. Pressing my elbow deep into his throat, he coughed. He flailed his arms around in a desperate attempt to push me off. I snarled at him. His face grew pale and he went limp. Releasing the pressure, I fixed him with a glare. He shook, his eyes wide and panicked as he wheezed. 

"Scream and I will kill you in an instant." I felt all the muscles within me tense, prepared to kill at a moment's notice. I was trained for this. I grew up in a war. I was a soldier and a spy. I knew what I was doing, and this man was at my mercy. 

Despite how cold I had trained myself to feel, I couldn't help but wonder who I was to think I could take a life so easily. Life was precious, and I hated killing more than I hated almost anything. It was second only to the war that had stolen my parents from me and taken the soul of the boy I loved most.

Michael nodded and I leaned back, keeping my elbow on his throat threateningly. 

"How did you know where I was?" I hissed, and Michael flinched away from me. I shifted, my heart pulling on my conscience just a little bit. But not enough. If this man was a threat, if he was going to try to keep me from Milo and from my people, who needed me more than words could explain, then I would kill him without a second thought.

"What the fuck?!" Dana cried out, and a plate shattered against the floor, three pieces of toast falling with it. In two seconds flat she had a small gun pointed straight at my head. Acting on instinct, I snatched Michaels's gun from beneath his shirt and pointed it straight at her, blowing a small curl out of my eyes and staring her down.  

A door creaked just to the left and a large, brown boxer scurried out from a room, quickly gulping up the fallen pieces of toast. A girl followed him, a large bruise forming on her face. She was short and had dark, unruly curls springing from her head. Dragging a blanket behind her, she rubbed her eyes blearily. She couldn't have been older than 14 or 15. Freezing, she took in the scene around her, her brown eyes widening.

"What the fuck?!" She screamed, glancing at me, a stranger, straddling her father and pointing a gun at her mother, who was staring me down and pointing her own gun in my direction.

"Get off of my husband." She hissed and I cocked my head at her thumbing the safety. Michael coughed and I tensed, pressing my elbow further into his throat. "I won't ask twice." The girl scurried to the corner, cowering and whimpering. She clutched her dog to her chest, sobbing.

"Tell me how you knew where I would be." I retorted. Dana glared at me, and I more than willingly returned it. "Are you spies?" I asked, hissing the words out between my teeth. "Are you Hunters?" Dana's hand shook and her face fell, almost seeming hurt at the suggestion. "Answer me!" I cried out, and she raised the gun, her expression a perfect mask once more.

"I can explain everything. Just get off of my husband." She said, her voice cold and strong. I glanced at the girl in the corner and she whimpered, the dog giving her a long kiss on the cheek for comfort. I bit my lip. 

Michael squirmed beneath me, and I tried to remember his kindness. I tried to remind myself that these people had a life. They had people they loved and people they wanted to live for. They had helped me out of the kindness of their hearts, they had bandaged me up and given me a place to rest for the night. That wasn't like any hunter that I knew of.

Slowly, tensed and ready to run, I climbed off of Michael, pulling my elbow out at a painstaking pace. Coughing, he gulped in air desperately. Inching towards me,  Dana kept her gun pointed firmly between my eyes.

"Now put down the gun." She enunciated each word carefully, gritting her teeth and clenching the gun with white knuckles. The girl let out a sob and something about her reminded me of Milo. Milo when he cried at night, clutching my shirt desperately and begging me never to leave him. Milo when he stressed over the dangerous work his father did. Distraught, grieving Milo. 

And she reminded me of me. Alone at 12 with no one but Tom, Sera, and Mogli to call family. I cried myself to sleep every night, laying in their empty bed in our empty home. I couldn't do that to this family. I wasn't that person. I couldn't be that person.

My knees shook and a mangled, inhuman noise escaped my throat. Crumpling to the floor, I slid the gun to where she stood. Dropping my head into my hands, I cried. 

I cried for Milo who was all alone without me, who was struggling without me. I cried for his dad, wherever he was if he was still alive. I cried for Sera, who couldn't wake up at night without screaming, and Mogli who hurt alongside her. I cried for Tom, who had lost his fiance to the war. But for the first time in much too long, I cried for me. For who this war had turned me into. For who I had let myself become.

 I was the monster that everyone warned their children about. And I cried because all of a sudden I was remembering that I was a child myself. I was only seventeen and I was about to kill a man in front of his wife and daughter. I was a monster. And I cried for that, too.

"It's ok, son," Michael said, placing a gentle, calloused hand on my shoulder. I choked on my tears and snot and it was then that I missed my own dad more than anything. And I clung to his pants, feeling very much like a child.