“My father?” Callan practically yelled and his head reappeared between the seats. “You can’t take us back! The infected mutts were just near there!”
“I don’t care, we need to know.”
“What coincidences?” she asked.
“People don’t heal that way, that combined with Parker’s mysterious interest in you has me thinking your father might know something he needs to share.”
Callan leaned forward. “What about Mesha…and Jack? They’re on foot.”
“We won’t be far behind.”
“We can’t go back,” Callan muttered. “I’m not on the best terms with my dad, I told you that.”
“That was a long time ago, surely he will be relieved to see you at the very least,” Tyson said.
“Yeah, he’ll be relieved Clara’s with me.” Callan sat back and folded his arms over his chest.
“You aren’t going to lose it are you?” Tyson was watching him closely in the rearview mirror. Callan shook his head.
“No, I think I’m good.”
“You think? You need to be sure.”
“I’m sure,” Callan corrected himself.
“What do you mean when you say lose it? You asked Mesha the same thing,” she wondered.
“We tend to have tempers,” Tyson informed her as he watched Callan off and on. “If we let ourselves get too worked up, the wolf instincts will take over and destruction ensues. It’s especially hard for a pup like your brother to stay in control.”
“A pup?” she twisted in her seat to look at Callan. He gave her a half grin and rolled his eyes.
“That’s what we call the ones who’ve recently become infected and are just learning to control their new werewolf bodies.”
“Callan,” she tried to reassure her twin. “You know dad worried about you, he may have changed, but he still loves you.”
“He said he was worried?” Callan asked pointedly.
“Well, no. He didn’t have to, I could tell.”
He laughed shortly. “Yeah, right.” He stared out the window at the passing trees while his leg bounced up and down irritably. She turned and sat back down, telling herself that when her dad saw Callan, everything would work out.
“How far are we from home?” she asked Tyson.
He glanced at her then to the sky as if trying to determine the time. “It’s hard to say, we might get there in a couple days.”
“Days?” Her jaw dropped. “How far did we travel while you were in your wolf form?”
Callan’s head appeared between the seats. “Wait, wait, wait...let me get this straight. Tyson let you ride on his back?”
“Umm…” she looked to Tyson for an answer.
“Yes, she rode on my back,” he growled.
Callan’s eyebrows lifted so high she thought they were going to shoot right off his face. “You, Clara, my sister, rode a werewolf?”
She started to answer, but Tyson cut her off. “Yes she did, alright? How else were we supposed to get around without being seen?”
A few hoots of laughter erupted from the backseat. “I wish I was there to see that!”
“Is it bad?” she asked as Callan broke into more fits of laughter.
“Bad?” Callan said between laughs. “It’s not bad, it’s just amusing to think of big, tough Tyson letting a mortal ride on his back.”
She saw his point, even if she wasn’t as amused. When in his wolf form, Tyson was a wonder to behold and could strike fear into the heart of anyone who lay eyes on him. Tyson ignored the laughter and kept his eyes on the road. Feeling guilty, she tried to say something in his defense. “I thought it was pretty exciting.”
“I bet it was!” Callan retorted.
“Perhaps you would care to join Jack and Mesha?” Tyson barked. Callan’s laughter died instantaneously.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” she mumbled. A snicker followed before Callan remembered to pipe down.
“It’s not. Your brother is being ridiculous.”
Clara nodded and kept her eyes on her widow, watching as the green scenery passed. She wondered how Callan would react if he knew how Tyson kept her warm that night in the woods.
Chapter 5 - Mark
The day brought nonstop driving and Tyson went as fast as ever. Soon, the nerves of watching someone push a car so fast wore down as Clara got used to the speed and Tyson’s reflexes. He barely stopped for anything more than a bathroom break. That night he showed compassion and found a hotel.
The evening was uneventful. She guessed Tyson had a taste for the finer things as he’d chosen another hotel with only the finest things to offer. Aside from the nightmare that plagued her sleep, she had a regular night. Tyson roused them bright and early. Callan seemed to need more sleep than Tyson and was hard to wake from his place on the second bed. When he did get up, he was groggy and listless until food entered his system.
The most eventful thing that morning was the discovery of a pink rose in a glass vase when she entered the bathroom. It had been situated carefully next to the sink. She took it from the water as she left, unable to leave it behind. Callan waited outside the door. She held the flower for him to see. “These seem to follow me,” she said. “It’s starting to get weird.”
Callan blinked blearily at the rose. “They are still your favorite, aren’t they?”
“They’re still my favorite,” she confirmed.
Callan nodded and stumbled into the bathroom, still half asleep. Her heart compressed with emotion as she held the rose to her nose, touched he remembered her favorite flower. She hoped his finding them for her wasn’t the reason he was so sleepy.
That day, they traveled just as they had before. Nerves claimed her when they finally came to a point that she recognized her surroundings. The closer they were to home, the more edgy she became. Her imagination ran wild thinking of her father and how he would react when he saw them. Truthfully, she was starting to doubt he’d be as relieved and thrilled as she’d told Callan.
The car slowed to a mortal’s pace in the outskirts of town. The main road took them right by the animal shelter. She couldn’t help but think of Mark as they passed. On inclination, Tyson touched her hand.
“You aren’t worried about Mark waiting around, are you?” he asked her quietly. Callan was asleep in the back.
“The thought crossed my mind, yes,” she admitted as she moved her hand gently away.
“I doubt he’s been able to pick up our trail.” He pretended not to notice her evasive behavior. The closeness the trip forced made it difficult for her to squelch what she felt for him. Her heart wasn’t listening to reason and she found herself stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye because it delighted her to do so.
They passed rows and rows of houses, stores and other residential establishments. She thought it was strange that things could change so erratically after a few short days, yet everything looked the same. She was reminded of Tyson’s previous spying when he didn’t ask or need directions to their house and parked in the driveway as if he’d lived there himself. Callan’s head appeared between them as he stared up at the house. Clara glanced at it, then to her brother. Her twin was fighting an internal demon and kept staring intently at what used to be his home as an unreadable expression crossed his face.
She took a deep breath and found herself inching from him when his eyes changed from emerald green, to a vibrant golden. The change started around his pupil and glowed yellow, much like Mesha’s had. The disturbing effect injected fear into her heart. Tyson gave him a shove like one would to wake someone from a dream. Callan blinked a few times and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered without meeting her shocked look.
“What just happened?” she asked.
He tried to shrug the incident off. “Nothing, it’s not anything to worry about. I almost let myself get angry.”
“Do you think you can do this?” Tyson asked him.
“I�
�m fine, I won’t let myself lose control,” Callan promised. He got out of the car, leaving them no choice but to follow.
On the front doorstep, there was a disorderly little pile of newspapers whose undisturbed presence immediately had Clara concerned. Callan retrieved the spare key from its hiding place under a false stone in the flower garden, which hadn’t been moved since he left.
“Does dad always leave the papers out like this?” Callan asked.
“I don’t know, I usually brought them in,” she answered and stooped to gather them. Callan got the door open and they filed in quietly. The house was so still she was sure her father must be away at work.
The sitting room to the right of the front door was the same as it had been before she left. The hall took them to the dining room which was adjacent to the kitchen. She unloaded the papers on the glossy counter. On the opposite end of the kitchen was the family room. The glow of the TV drew their attention as it flickered silently.
Hopeful to find her dad on the sofa, she edged cautiously toward it. The closer she went, the more a foul stench offended her nose. It became apparent where the smell was coming from when she saw a small mound of wrappers and pizza boxes at the base of the sofa. They were tossed together with empty soda cans and water bottles. A lump in the cushions, half buried in blankets and pillows, told them a person slept beneath. Horror gripped her when Tim grunted and shifted to a more comfortable position. He was only half dressed, wearing a button shirt that hung open and was so stained, it was hard to tell it had once been white. His pants were missing. Luckily, he wore boxers that shielded them from further shame. Thick, peppery stubble dotted his chin and his hair frayed messily. From the looks of it, he’d barely moved in the few days Clara had been gone, except to answer the door for fast food delivery.
Tyson stood rigid, bearing a slight scowl. Callan’s face, however, mirrored the mortification she felt. He nudged his dad with his foot like he was toxic waste. Tim didn’t respond so he did it again. Tim woke with a start, flailing his long arms.
“What happened?” he asked sleepily and looked around, spotting first Callan, then Tyson, and finally Clara. Relief washed over his face, but was gone before she could be sure she’d seen it. “Where have you been?” he bellowed and got to his feet.
“Dad, are you okay?” Clara asked as he shook off the blankets and garbage.
“I don’t know who you think you are, young lady, but you can’t just vanish for days then come back like nothing happened.” He turned his attention to Callan and took him fully in.
“Hi…dad,” Callan said softly.
“Don’t you hi dad me!” Tim pointed a finger in his face. “I should have known better than to trust either one of you. I want you both out of my house, now!”
“Dad, please, if you’d let us explain you might—” Clara tried to say.
“No!” He waved a hand in a way reminiscent of a mad man. “You’re just like your mother!”
“Dad!” Callan said. “Calm down, you haven’t let us say anything!”
“What is there to say? You left just like your mother did! Then you!” He jabbed a finger at Clara. “You left! I thought I could expect more from you!”
She swallowed hard, trying to hide the sting.
“You are just like your mother, the pair of you!” he yelled again and his voice resonated deeper in them. Callan grabbed Tim’s shirt.
“Don’t talk about mom that way! She left because of you!”
Tim pushed Callan off and Clara knew Callan only let go because he chose to. Tim couldn’t know that and his face turned red with anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he yelled, bringing his face within inches of Callan’s. The imaginative image of Callan bursting into wolf made her push herself between them.
“Calm down!” she said. Tim stared down at her.
“I thought you would be different.”
“Dad, you’ve been sulking around the house since Callan left. You know it and I know it. This is your chance to make things right. Mom will never come back, but you still have us. Let us explain things!”
“I won’t hear it!” Tim yelled.
“Then you deserve this!” she shouted back, casting her hand over the mess. “Please, dad, don’t mess things up again.”
Tim’s bloodshot eyes bulged in anger. “He is not my son…and you are not my daughter!” His body tensed and his arm came up. She realized he was going to slap her. His hand started to swing down and she turned away just as impact should have come, but the slap never was. When she dared to look, Tyson was there with Tim’s arm in his grip. His eyes were smoldering with the golden flame of wild wolf. Tim was frightened into temporary silence. With surprising calm Tyson pushed him backward and released his arm. His eyes slowly returned to their icy blue. Tim’s face paled and he muttered, “Luzy,” under his breath.
“You’ve seen someone like me before?” Tyson asked, his voice thick with anger. Tim fell back onto the sofa, stumbling over the trash, but refusing to answer. Tyson turned to Callan. “Is Luzy your mother?”
“He called her Luzy,” Callan affirmed without taking his eyes off his father.
“Your wife had eyes like mine?” he tried asking, turning to Tim.
“Her bloodline is cursed. I could have lived the rest of my life without seeing another of her kind and now you have brought the curse back!” Tim stood once more. “Have you done this to them? Are you what he is?” He stabbed a finger at Tyson and faced Callan, who squared his shoulders.
“I am.”
“What about you?” he challenged Clara.
“Don’t talk to her!” Tyson snarled, obscuring her from her father. Tim glared at him, unaware of how pathetic his appearance was.
“Why can’t I speak to her under my roof?”
“You’ve caused enough anguish as it is,” Tyson’s voice was full of loathing. Clara could only see his backside and did her best to hide the fact her heart raced in response to his protective nature.
“Ha!” Tim laughed. “Get out of my house! All of you!”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to mom,” Callan said stubbornly.
“How should I know?” Tim shot back. “She left.”
Callan shook his head. “How was she infected then?”
Tim was edgy when he answered. “Didn’t you hear me before? She wasn’t!”
“How could she be a werewolf?” Callan countered.
“It was in her father’s blood and her grandfather’s blood and so on,” Tim crossed his arms over his chest.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Clara asked, moving around Tyson.
“It is my business,” he replied childishly.
“Was your wife being threatened?” Tyson asked.
Tim shook his head and walked away, obviously refusing to speak more.
“Dad,” Callan said to his retreating form. “Clara’s in trouble and we need to know everything we can possibly find out.”
There was no response. They lost sight of him as he stepped into the hall, but could hear him drag his feet all the way to the stairs opposite the front door and proceed up them. Clara thought her heart might break at her father’s second abandonment. She couldn’t believe he would turn his back when told either of his children needed him. Her self-pity was fleeting. With sudden clarity, she remembered the email she’d received and deleted just before Mark had taken her into the wilderness. With all the excitement since, she’d forgotten. Knowing her mother had been a werewolf meant she also knew she would have been immortal, as hard to kill as Tyson or Callan. A great wave of deep, black dread washed over her and she felt lightheaded.
“Clara?” Tyson asked.
“Mom’s nod dead.”
“What?” Callan’s voice was a shocked whisper.
The blood rushed from her face.
“She’s going to faint,” Tyson commented and grabbed her upper arm.
“Put your head between your knees,” Ca
llan encouraged.
She slumped to the floor, kept from flat out falling with Tyson’s help, and did as her brother suggested. With her lower back to the couch, she lowered her head. Tyson kicked aside a small pile of rubbish. Nausea and lightheadedness had her struggling to keep her lunch down. The smell of the surrounding garbage didn’t help either.
“Get her something to drink,” Tyson commanded and Callan went to the kitchen. She could hear him banging around the cupboards. “What did you say?” Tyson asked her gently.
“My mom is not dead,” she mumbled from her knees.
“How do you know?” Callan was suddenly next to her, holding a cup. She accepted the water gratefully and took a sip.
“I received an email.” She scrambled to her feet and the men moved aside. The cup clunked down on the counter as she passed. She rushed to where Callan’s room had once been. They were hot on her heels as she climbed the staircase.
“What are you talking about?” Callan called after her.
She shook her head and pulled the office door open. The computer was off and she stooped to push the power button on the CPU, which was kept on a shelf under the desk.
“What is going on out there?” Tim hollered from his room. “I told you to get out!”
The computer buzzed to life and the welcome screen greeted them.
“What are you doing?” Callan asked as she sat at the office chair. He glanced around the room with a downtrodden expression. “We probably shouldn’t stay here.”
“We’ll go as soon as you see.”
Tyson lingered by the door and cocked his head. Tim appeared in the hall to glare at them. “I’m going to call the police.” Scowling, Tyson shut the door. Tim’s surprised face looked in on them just before the door clicked shut. He made a feeble attempt to open it again. Tyson braced the door with his foot and it could not be moved. The scene might have been humorous if she wasn’t consumed with raw fear for her mother. The computer couldn’t boot fast enough and she tapped the side of the screen as if to encourage it. Finally, she opened the internet and her email. She was about to search the deleted folder when she scanned the list of new emails. Her hand froze. A fresh email had been sent. She recognized the subject line although it was from another email address. “Lucita Rita,” it read, “Your mother.”
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