Hunter's Alpha (gxg) ✓

14. Spy

"Mom?" I ask.

Her eyes, the same shade of green as mine, are bright on mine. "What is it, Jude? Ready to get your ass kicked?"

"Mom!" I protest. I am seven years old. The world outside is full of snow. Outside, I hear the sound of gunshots lighting up across the street. But I don't pay any attention to it―hearing the fights are normal.

"Mary," my dad chastises from the kitchen.

"If Mom can say kick ass, why can't I?" Jeremy complains. He is twelve.

My dad pretends to consider this. "When you're a ninth-degree black-belt at karate, you can say ass kicking. How does that sound?"

Jeremy groans. But I know that even though he is grumbling, he's a karate prodigy. The senseis at the studio say they've never seen anyone like him, and just last week, they said I was following in his footsteps.

Mom kissed my head. Although she didn't say it, I could see the pride glowing in her eyes.

Now, I turn to Mom. "Can we be done earlier? Please? Just today?"

I already know the answer will be no before she says it. "You still have three self-defence drills."

"I know, but I don't want to."

Jeremy pops his head in from the kitchen to say, "You whine so much, Jude."

My hands ball into fists.

"Jeremy," my mom says suddenly, and he freezes. It's never a good thing when Mom says your name like that. "How about you do the self-defence drills with Jude?"

"Oh, Mom, don't make me . . ."

But before he can finish slouching over, the window shatters.

Bullets. Raining down on the carpet. Through the living room.

Mom says a curse word much, much worse than kickass.

"Damn Wolves!" my dad barks out.

Wolves? I thought. Wolves don't have guns . . .

"Go upstairs, Jude!" my mom commands. Furious. "I'll handle this."

Clutching the railings, trying to catch a peek of the kitchen, I edge closer down the stairs.

I hear the sound of crying. Low, keeling moans. Real pain, and it sounds familiar.

"They'll pay for this," my dad hisses. "They agreed to protect us."

"No," my mother says. "I handled it."

"Mary . . . I just don't think―"

The sound of the sobbing interrupts them. And I realize it is Jeremy's voice. He is trying to hold back his tears, like the time I hit his windpipe hard enough to rupture it. When he could only half-gasp, half-cry.

What's wrong with him? I don't understand.

"You don't think what, Daren."