Dirty Blood (10 page)

In my room, I sat in my desk chair and tried to come
up with something to pass the day. I contemplated the merits of
using the time to finish my English paper that was due in two
weeks. Okay, maybe I wasn’t that desperate yet. I flipped my
computer on and surfed internet news, reading national headlines
first, then local. Near the bottom, one in particular caught my
eye. ‘Animal Attack in Mountainview. Two Dead.’

I clicked on it and scanned the story: ‘Two local
college students were found dead in the woods last night. Their
throats had been ripped open and their bodies covered in cat-like
scratches. No witnesses have been found, and the police have no
leads on a suspect as of yet. Empty beer cans were found scattered
around the scene as well as the remains of a small fire. Police are
assuming the couple had camped out for the night when they were
brutally attacked. Both were students at Frederick Falls Community
College. Their names will be released after the families have been
properly notified.’

I sat back and stared at the screen with a sinking
feeling. Based on the sketchy details, I had a pretty good idea who
– or what – had caused these deaths. For the first time, I felt a
little less guilty over killing Liliana. If her kind did stuff like
this, maybe they deserved it.

“I see you’ve heard.”

I swiveled in my chair, recognizing the voice even
before I turned. Wes stood in my bedroom doorway, leaning against
the frame. His jacket, jeans and boots were of the same variety and
color he always seemed to wear and his hair was just as stylishly
disheveled as usual. Something fluttered in my chest and landed in
my stomach. “You have a knack for the unexpected entrance.”

He shrugged. “It’s a gift.” He nodded to the computer
screen. “You saw the article.”

“It’s awful.” I didn’t follow his glance to the
computer. I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off him. I stared
up at him, trying to somehow read his thoughts through his
expression, and overcome with relief and excitement that he was
actually here. “But what are you doing here?” I blurted.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you made it sound like you’d only be back if
it was an emergency and you didn’t sound thrilled to hear from me
the other night.” I couldn’t help the note of accusation that crept
into my voice.

A look of regret passed over his features. “Sorry
about that. I was involved in something that made it… difficult to
talk on the phone just then. I was glad that you called,
though.”

“Oh,” was all I said. My insides were soaring with
that one single comment, and my brain was already trying to dissect
what it really meant.

He watched my expression for a moment and then
sighed. “Actually, I am here for a reason though. There’s something
I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“That attack, the one you just read about,” he said,
slowly. “There’s something else that wasn’t in the papers.”

Something twisted in my chest. I had a feeling I
wouldn’t like where this was going. “What?”

He hesitated, shooting me a worried look. “There was
a message, of sorts, left at the scene. It was addressed to
you.”

“What do you mean a message? What did it say?”

He handed me a photograph of some words written in
red lettering, painted across some sort of black tarp. A tent,
maybe? It read: ‘Dear Tara, consider this a preview. See you
soon.’

“I took it before I cleaned it up last night. This
was their tent. I disposed of it before the police got there,” he
explained.

“And the red lettering?”

“Blood. Probably theirs.”

I swallowed hard and looked away from the picture. I
could feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing, and my temper flared. “I’m
not going to freak out, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” I
snapped.

“Good.” His expression lightened only barely. “My
memory altering skills are slightly tapped at the moment.”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. No way was I letting him
remove my memories again. I’d been in the dark long enough, and
even if I wasn’t sure where I stood, or if I truly wanted this
life, I’d still rather live with it, than live a lie. “Wait a
second. Last night?”

He nodded.

“So you knew about it when I called and you didn’t
tell me? That’s why you acted so weird on the phone?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to scare you or push you too hard, too
fast. The other day, when I saw how you reacted, I knew telling you
this would only make it worse. It would be better if you stayed
away from it all, anyway.”

His keeping things from me, which I was quickly
learning was his chosen approach with me, was irritating, but I
didn’t want to end what seemed like the most honest conversation
we’d had so far. I tried to keep my emotions out of my voice. “Why?
Why are you even bothering? You don’t even know me.”

“And you don’t know me, but you don’t scream for help
no matter how many times I show up in your bedroom, uninvited.”

He had a point. “That still doesn’t really answer my
question.”

When he answered all traces of humor or sarcasm were
gone, replaced by something that resembled compassion. “Because I
know what it’s like to try and figure out what you are, with
everything coming at you at once. And because no one should have to
do that alone.”

“Thanks,” I said, unsure of how else to respond now
that he wasn’t teasing or dancing around a question. I decided to
take a chance that my luck – and his mood – would hold. “Why did
you have to do it alone? Didn’t you have Jack and Fee?”

“Yes, and they’ve been great, putting up with me when
they shouldn’t, even. I was the one who made it a solitary
experience.”

“Losing your parents made it harder, I’m sure.”

“I don’t remember much about them. I was only two
when it happened.” Despite his words, there was evidence of old
pain in the way he spoke. I decided to let it drop for now,
especially when I knew how much I hated when people asked about my
dad.

“So, you want to help me figure things out?” I asked,
changing directions.

He shrugged. “If I can.”

“Then maybe you can answer some questions for
me.”

He nodded, so I got up and went to my bed, retrieving
the Draven book Fee had give me, and opening to a marked page.
There was a drawing of a Werewolf fighting a Hunter; the Werewolf
lunged with clawed feet and the Hunter wielded a wooden stake.
“I’ve been reading through this book and it just doesn’t make
sense, based on what I’ve seen of you and Jack and Fee. All it
talks about is how much Werewolves and Hunters hate each
other.”

Wes stepped closer and eyed the picture for a brief
moment, before retreating to the desk chair. He settled into it
with the stiff crunch of leather.

“You can take that off, you know,” I said, eyeing his
jacket. He just looked at me and I felt my cheeks heat up as I
realized the invitation he could’ve mistaken it for.

“I know,” he said, without removing the jacket. He
cleared his throat before going back to my question. “So the Draven
is right, in that aspect. Weres and Hunters are mortal enemies, as
a general rule. Most will attack each other on sight, while some
are willing to wait until provoked. But mostly, yes, they hate each
other.”

“So, what it says, that Werewolves can’t be trusted
and that a friendship between a Werewolf and a Hunter is basically
unheard of. That’s true?”

“The Draven is old and was written only from a
Hunter’s perspective. Times have changed.”

“So, it’s more common, now?” I asked, confused.

“No, not common, exactly,” he said. He seemed to be
choosing his words carefully. “It’s complicated.”

“Explain it to me then because I don’t understand.
This book tells me that you’re supposed to be my enemy - and I’m
yours.”

“I told you, that book is outdated. It has a narrow
view of things. It doesn’t give you the current … politics of our
world. A lot has happened between the two races since it was
written.”

“Like what?”

He settled back in his chair, like whatever story he
was about to tell was a long one. “Up until about thirty years ago,
the two sides were separate and distinct. Each side saw the other
as an enemy and fought to the death to destroy each other. The
Hunters were aggressive and relentless, sending search parties out;
they made a serious dent in Werewolf population for awhile. All of
this I’m sure you read.” He nodded towards the open book in my lap.
“But then something new began to happen. Werewolves starting
forming groups – combining packs - which was unheard of for our
kind. Before that, they had never been able to exist in packs
larger than three or four without fighting for the alpha spot and
destroying each other in the process. In this case, their common
purpose united them, though, and they began seeking out the Hunter
settlements, ambushing them. They focused mainly on the children,
knowing it would diminish the rising ranks and future generations
of Hunters.”

“Oh my gosh. That’s awful. Children?”

He nodded, grim with some memory that he was too
young to have experienced himself. It made me wonder what he was
leaving unsaid. “After that, the Hunters went into hiding. They
scattered from the settlements - bought houses, got jobs, paid
taxes. They hoped to stay hidden long enough to raise their
children and teach them to fight properly before the packs could
find them again.”

“Did it work?”

“Mostly. They were a lot more secluded from each
other that way, so there wasn’t any real way to know when an attack
might be coming. Because of that, they formed bases – boarding
schools of sorts – for Hunter kids. It provided a safe haven and
the illusion that their numbers really had been depleted. The kids
went to school there and learned to fight from the best Hunter
warriors available. Because of that, the next generation of Hunters
was even more skilled and vicious than the last. It changed the way
the war between the two was fought. Hunters continued to send out
search parties, but they were stealthier, more discreet, and more
successful.

“Some of the new generation of Hunters began
believing times had changed enough to try a new approach. Peace.
They formed a group, calling themselves The Cause, and began
seeking out Weres with the sole purpose of preaching to them. They
fought only when they needed to defend themselves and avoided
killing, only injure and retreat, hoping to win others to their
side.”

“What happened? Did they bring peace?” I leaned
forward, completely wrapped up in his story. There was nothing like
this in the Draven. Between that, and the earnest way Wes spoke, I
knew there was something very important about this particular bit
of history.

He continued, without really answering my question,
as if he’d told this story many times, without deviating from the
script. “There was a man during that time. His name was Sebastian
Saint John and he was a Hunter. He befriended a Werewolf named
Audrey and they formed an alliance. When others of their kind
heard, they were angry, but Sebastian had a way with words and
Aubrey was gentle. They spoke of peace to anyone who would listen.
Many came around to their way of thinking despite their
controversial message and a council was formed - six Werewolves and
six Hunters, to govern relations between the two races and form a
treaty.” He got up and went to the window, no longer facing me as
he went on. I knew without seeing his face that he was somehow no
longer in this room, but far away, wherever this Sebastian was.

“It probably would have worked, but those who didn’t
want it were loud and began recruiting for their side. In the end,
a group of thirty Werewolves came and attacked the council in the
middle of the night. All twelve of the council was killed.
Negotiations fell apart after that. The families and friends of the
dead council members came together, and the Werewolves responsible
for the killings were hunted down and destroyed. That was the last
act performed as a joint effort by the two races.”

He continued to stare out the window when he’d
finished. I wished he’d turn so I could read his expression;
something about his tone suggested that the story he told was more
personal than he let on.

“How did you know them?”

“What?”

“How did you know them?” I repeated. “I can tell this
story means something to you, so how did you know the people that
died?”

It took him a long time to answer. So long that I
wondered if he even remembered the question. Finally, he did, in a
voice so low I almost didn’t hear. “I guess I didn’t. Not
really.”

I waited, but he didn’t say more. I wanted to press
it, but I didn’t. I knew better. There was something else there,
though I didn’t know how it related to now. “But that makes it
sound even more like we shouldn’t be friends,” I said, finally.

“It explains the risk of it, though. Which is
something you should consider before spending more time with me or
Jack or any of us.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the warning
in his words, but it was too late. I was involved in this world, in
a big way, like it or not. And even though I knew next to nothing
about it, I
wanted
to be involved. This ‘Cause’ that Wes
spoke of was a way to be who I was and still do some good. I wanted
that.

He turned from the window, irritation flashing in his
eyes. “I’m serious,” he snapped. “You’re a walking target if you’re
with us.”

“What happened to picking a side?” I shot back. “You
made it sound like it was either you or them. Do you want me to
choose them? Would that be safer?”

He regarded me and then his shoulders deflated almost
imperceptibly. “You’re safer with us,” he agreed quietly.

“Besides, it sounds like someone’s already put me on
their radar, even before I decided whether I was going to use my
powers for good or evil. So, it sounds like I don’t have much of a
choice, except to be good.” I shrugged. “So that’s what The Cause
is for? They want to bring peace?”