Dirty Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  We turned onto a gravel road, surrounded by thick fir trees on either side. Up ahead, the road curved and I watched as a weathered house came gradually into view. It was two stories, probably painted blue at one time, though now it had faded to a peeling gray. One of the shutters hung crooked, and looked like all it needed was a strong wind to finish it off. Wes pulled the car to a stop directly in front, where the grass edged down to meet the gravel. Leading the way to the door was a path of flat stepping stones, all of them cracked. The grass was yellowed and dead from the season, though I wondered if it would make the house look worse or better, to have a lush green lawn.

  Wes shut off the engine and came around to get my door. I let him open it for me and then fell into step behind him, not wanting to be the first one up the path. Everything was so quiet here, giving the whole place an eeriness to it, even in the cheery sunlight.

  There was no doorbell, only a tarnished brass knocker. Wes rapped twice and then we stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder. I listened for movement on the other side of the door, but heard nothing. A minute passed.

  Maybe nobody’s home.

  “They’re home. Give it a minute,” said Wes, startling me. Had I said that out loud?

  Before I could ask, or wonder further about his strange response, there was the sound of a lock being turned from within and the door was thrown wide open. I balled my hands into fists to resist the urge to reach for a piece of the plunger from my back pocket. At the same time, a strange tingling sensation sent a shiver down my back and over my arms.

  A man stood in the doorway, though he was bigger than any human I’d ever seen. He reminded me of a bear, with his broad chest and huge shoulders. A bushy beard gone gray covered most of his face and the same brown-gray color covered his head in bushy tufts. He took in the two of us and startled me by breaking into a wide smile.

  “Wes, my boy! How the hell are ya?” He grabbed Wes into a hug and patted his back hard enough to rival the Heimlich.

  Wes was smiling as he pulled away. “Could be worse, I guess. And you?”

  “Just relieved it’s you, and not some nosy local. Would’ve hated to have to kill somebody this early in the day.” He smiled again and then his eyes flicked to me. “And who’s this?”

  Wes stepped back so he was standing next to me again. “This is Tara Godfrey. Tara, this is Jack.”

  Jack stuck his hand out and I took it, automatically, still reeling a little from Jack’s comment about killing someone. I was pretty sure he’d been joking but who knew?

  “Pleased to meet you, Tara. Any friend of Wes’s is a friend of mine, even if she is a Hunter,” he added with a wink. “Come on in.” He stepped back to let us enter.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, unsure how to respond. There was that word again, but how did he know? Especially when Wes seemed so confused by it? I glanced at Wes but he wore a hard expression. From his profile, I could see his jaw muscles flex back and forth.

  I wandered farther inside and blinked a few times to let my eyes adjust to the much dimmer lighting. When the room came into focus, I was surprised to see how nice it was. The floors were hardwood, a deep mahogany, and the walls just a shade lighter than that. The end tables and chairs were all varying shades of brown, giving the room an earthy feel. The biggest splash of color was a cherry red couch and matching chairs in the center of the room. The lamps provided soft white light and the roaring fire in the stone fireplace gave off enough heat to make it all cozy. After seeing the rough exterior, this was a pleasant surprise.

  At the sound of hushed voices, I turned. Wes and Jack stood huddled just inside the door, heads together and voices lowered. I caught only pieces of what they said.

  “… confirmed it. She was working for the other side,” Jack was saying.

  “I know. I heard you earlier,” said Wes. “I knew there was something going on with her.” He glanced over at me. I shifted but it was too late; they both realized I’d become aware of them.

  Jack stepped away and strode into the room, his expression transforming to friendly and blank. “Have a seat and then you can tell me what this is all about.”

  I sank down into one of the oversized chairs opposite the sofa and shrugged out of my jacket. Partly because the room was overly warm and partly so I could reach my plunger handles easier if it came to that. What had Wes meant when he said he’d heard Jack earlier? I would’ve assumed it meant a phone call or maybe he’d been here before me, but something about the way he’d said it made me feel as though I’d missed something. Kind of like the way Wes had almost answered my thoughts, out on the porch. And who was working for the other side?

  I was still on edge and the weird tingling feeling had intensified since we’d walked inside. It was starting to make me itch; I rubbed absently at my arms. Wes took a spot on the sofa and leaned forward, looking tense and distracted. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  Jack took the other chair, his massive body filling every inch of cushion. “So, what’s this all about?”

  “It’s about Tara,” Wes told him, nodding at me. “She’s the one I told you about last night. I think she could use your help. She’s a Hunter,” he said, though the last part came out more like a question.

  Jack looked over at me with open interest and a gleam in his eye. “She’s the one who killed Liliana?” His voice lowered and became thoughtful. I could practically see the wheels turning in his mind. I just wished I had some idea of what he was thinking.

  “Knocked her head in with a piece of piping from the garbage,” Wes said.

  Darn it, I thought. Could he be any more blunt? I glared at him and prayed Jack and Liliana were not BFFs, because if the gleam in his eye was any indication, Jack was definitely interested in this piece of information. I noticed he didn’t look very sad or put out over the news, though he did shoot a hard look at Wes, who shook his head almost imperceptibly, before turning back to me.

  “Metal?” asked Jack. Wes nodded. “Impressive. Especially for her age. Where did you train?” Jack asked me.

  “I didn’t.”

  Jack blinked at me in confusion. “You’ve never trained?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t know what I was until last night, or I guess, this morning. It just sort of happened.”

  Jack sent Wes a look that I couldn’t read. “Without training, she’s pretty inexperienced to be able to help The Cause.”

  “No,” Wes hissed. “I didn’t bring her here for that. She needs help, someone to explain it to her, and I thought—” He broke off, looking uncertain.

  I was itching to know what “cause” Jack had meant, but I didn’t interrupt.

  Jack’s brows knitted together. “What answers can I give her that you can’t?”

  “Let me ask you something. How did you know she was a Hunter when we walked in?”

  “I felt it, of course.”

  “Huh.” Wes leaned back on the couch, staring at a spot on the floorboard.

  “Why do you ask?” Jack pressed.

  Wes shook himself from his thoughts and looked back at Jack. “Because I can’t sense her, at least not as a Hunter.”

  Jack sat back. “At all?”

  “There’s something … but it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt.”

  “Describe it.”

  Wes paused, obviously concentrating on pinpointing what he wanted to convey. “Well, scientifically speaking, instead of repelling, it sort of attracts, like a magnet.”

  “Really.” Jack rubbed his beard, his eyes glinting with fascination as he looked back and forth between us.

  At Wes’s description, my heart made a couple extra hard thuds in my chest, but I ignored it and told myself that in no way did he mean anything resembling a physical attraction. Still, something about his explanation seemed to fit how I’d felt about him that first moment I’d seen him in my room, and part of it—at least for me—was definitely physical attraction. I noticed the two of them had fallen back into some so
rt of silent eye communication. I thought only girls could do that. “Hello? You guys are talking about me like I’m not even here. Can somebody please fill me in?”

  Both of them glanced at me but Jack was the one who spoke. “Tara, how do you feel right now?”

  “Uh, fine, I guess. Confused.”

  Jack smiled. “I meant physically. Do you feel anything … different happening to your body?”

  “Just a little cold,” I said.

  “Nothing else?”

  “Goosebumps.”

  “Tell me about that.”

  I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “are you sure” and “this is weird” all at once. He just nodded for me to answer. “Um. My skin sort of tingles and itches all at the same time. Like I have ants crawling on me or something.” I shrugged. “It happens sometimes.”

  Jack looked back at Wes who was watching me with narrowed eyes. Then he faced me again. “And when did that start, exactly? When you saw Wes? In the car? At my house?”

  “When we came inside, I think.”

  Jack rubbed his beard. “Have you felt this way any other time?”

  I thought about it. “Yes. Last night with … Liliana.” I had to struggle to say her name out loud. Mostly, I didn’t want to remind Jack of it until I knew for sure that he wasn’t going to try to take a bite out of me in revenge. “And maybe other times. Like I said, I get goosebumps a lot.” I watched him and Wes exchange another cryptic look. “Why? What does it mean?” I glanced at Wes again who was looking less angry and more perplexed by the moment. Jack cleared his throat.

  “The feeling you have right now is something every Hunter feels when a Werewolf is nearby, so you aren’t caught off guard,” Jack explained. “Werewolves have something similar.”

  “So, you’re saying the goosebumps are like an alarm system for Werewolves?” It was an anomaly that I’d always dismissed as a weird personal tic or something. Now Jack was telling me that every time I’d ever felt chilled, there’d been a Werewolf nearby?

  “Yep.” Jack sat back in his chair and propped his feet on the coffee table, completely at ease. He looked like he’d just accomplished a full day’s work, and was happy to be done. But I had even more questions now than when I got here.

  I looked at Wes, the wheels slowly turning, putting things together. “And it’s a big deal to you, because you can’t sense me.”

  “And apparently you can’t sense me, either.” He watched me, and I knew he was waiting for me to disagree, or at least admit I felt the magnet thing with him, too, but I kept my mouth shut. No way was I admitting, out loud, to this boy that I was attracted to him, even if he did think it was scientific. When I didn’t respond, he turned back to Jack. “Have you ever heard of this?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Jack admitted. “Interesting, though …” He hooked his hands behind his head, and then leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “Especially considering you.”

  We all fell silent after that. A thousand thoughts and questions and unbelievable answers flitted through my mind. It seemed the more I learned, the more questions I had. By now I figured it was safe to assume I was definitely a Hunter. And that a Hunter was someone who could kill a Werewolf. Basically with their bare hands. I looked down at my own hands in wonder. It amazed me that inside my tiny, and, shall we say less than athletic, body lay superhuman strength. And what was this deal with Wes and me not sensing each other? Or at least not in the “normal” way, as he put it. It didn’t seem that big a deal to me until Jack said he’d never heard of it before. And apparently I was sensing Jack just fine. I rubbed my arms, trying to lessen the tingles.

  I turned my attention back to Jack and Wes. They were locked in quiet conversation. Wes had scooted over to the far side of the couch and both of them were leaning forward, so their heads were only inches apart. They were whispering pretty low but every once in a while, Wes’s response would turn to more of a hiss. I strained to hear without being obvious that I was paying attention.

  “I could train her,” said Jack. When Wes nodded, he continued, “You know we could use another Hunter, a young one, for our side.”

  “No!” Wes hissed. “I don’t want her dragged into all of our politics. She’s too young and inexperienced. And it’s too dangerous.”

  Jack put a hand up. “All right, calm down, it’ll just be training.” His expression looked thoughtful. “You know as well as I do that once this door is opened, you can’t close it again. More will come for her.”

  “I know.”

  Wes’s whispered reply was grim and his expression matched. Something about it gave me a sinking feeling in my chest, though yet again, I had no idea what half of it meant.

  The parts I did know were the ones that worried me. Like the fact that both of them were convinced my run in with Liliana—a Werewolf—would not be an isolated incident. Despite the fact that it had been seventeen years in the making. With all of the explanations and half answers I’d been given, it felt like I was coming up on the edge of something. I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Their conversation seemed to be over, so I averted my gaze like I hadn’t noticed them. I could feel their eyes on me, so I kept my face down and absently played with a lock of my hair, twirling the brown strands into endless loops. A nervous habit.

  “Tara?” Wes called.

  I glanced up, keeping my expression blank.

  “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  Wes sighed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear us. About training. It would be a good idea to learn how to defend yourself.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look, you need to be prepared for what happened last night to happen again. It will. It’s just a matter of time. So knowing how to properly defend yourself is a good idea. Jack can help you.”

  Before I could answer, the tingling under my skin suddenly intensified. I shivered and looked down. The hair on my arms stood on end. Footsteps approached behind me. I twisted in my chair, knowing what this feeling meant. Another Werewolf was coming. I thought about grabbing for the plunger handles still lodged in my back pockets. My heart pounded with sudden adrenaline and I braced for the threat.

  When the “threat” appeared, I felt my jaw swing open in surprise. A beautiful blond woman stood in the doorway. She carried a pitcher and four glasses on a tray and her hair swung softly around her face as she moved. She was dressed comfortably in jeans and a white sweater, but more than the relaxed look she wore, it was something about her that made me feel instantly at ease.

  “Tara, this is my wife, Fee,” said Jack.

  “Hello, Tara, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, smiling in a way that reached her pale eyes and let you know that she meant it.

  “You too.” I could feel the adrenaline draining out of me. I was really glad I hadn’t gone for the plunger handle. Though the tingling remained, the sense of anxiety and danger had passed as soon as Fee had spoken. She obviously wasn’t a threat and I actually felt guilty for considering a defensive maneuver.

  I watched as she perched on the edge of the couch and poured liquid into each cup. Her movements were fluid and graceful, and something told me she made a beautiful wolf.

  “Tea?” she asked, offering one to Jack. He took a cup and downed it in one long gulp. “Wes.” She handed him a cup. “Nice to see you, as always.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek when he reached for the glass. He smiled affectionately at her. Then she turned to me. “Any friend of Wes’s is a friend of ours. Tea?” she asked, holding it out.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Jack set his empty glass on the table and smacked his lips together, appreciatively. “Tara’s that Hunter, Fee. The one Wes found last night. We were just talking about the possibility of training her. What do you think? Are you up for it?”

  “It’s been a while since we took on a new student,” mused Fee. She turned to me. “Jack’s known for being kind of a hard teacher but I think
we balance each other out. Besides, it’s all just an act with him anyway. He’s really a big softie,” she said with a chuckle. “Oh, and it would be so much fun to have another girl around.”

  Jack stroked his beard again, either ignoring or not disagreeing with her description of him. “It would be a lot of work, of course, but from what I’m hearing, you’ve got enough raw talent that I think we could make up for lost time.”

  “Okay, wait.” I set my glass down and put my hand up. “Slow down. I never agreed to any training.”

  Jack looked surprised. “I assumed that was why Wes brought you here.”

  “It may have been. But I didn’t get a vote in that plan,” I said, throwing a warning look at Wes. “Mainly, I just wanted answers. Which I still don’t feel like I’ve gotten.”

  Fee gave Jack a scolding look and then turned back to me. “Let me guess, he made you tell him everything he wanted to know, and hasn’t offered anything in return.”

  “I was about to,” Jack said, defensively.

  Fee rolled her eyes at him and then turned to me. “Come with me,” she said. She stood up and strode away without waiting for an answer. I glanced at Wes and then got up and hurried after her.

  She led me down the narrow hall and stopped in front of a scarred wooden door with a brass knob. She fished a small key out of her pocket and turned it in the lock and then stepped back to let me enter. I did so cautiously – half expecting to find a torture chamber or something equally horrifying—but stopped after a few steps, relieved and surprised at what I found. The room was old and worn, as was everything in it. It smelled of dust and old paper but no hint of violence or torture jumped out at me. Unless you counted heavy reading as torture, which I didn’t. Bookshelves lined the walls, interrupted only by hefty, ornate wall sconces that served as dim lighting. Antique chairs were scattered around, in front of the bookshelves. In the center of the room sat a wooden table scarred with age and use. The room, and everything in it, was charming in an ancient, classic sort of way; I felt like I’d stepped into a castle.

  Behind me, Fee hit a switch, flooding everything with bright overhead lighting that added a touch of modern, and then went straight to the back wall and retrieved a worn leather-bound book from the middle shelf. She brought it to the table and gestured for me to pull up a chair.

  “This book is called the Draven,” she said, using a hand to wipe the dust from the cover and then wiping her hands on her jeans.

  Dust bunnies flew in every direction, and tiny particles danced in the light above our heads. The book’s cover bore a symbol etched into the leather that I didn’t recognize, even with the dust removed.

  “It contains the history of the Hunter race.” She opened to a bookmarked page, revealing thick cursive. “Hunters begin training usually around age five, just like you would start grade school. It’s mostly informational at that point and a lot of it comes from this book. I won’t bore you by going through it page by page but you should read it in your spare time. It will answer a lot of your questions about where you come from.” She flipped through a few pages and I saw that it was broken down into topics and categories and even had a few rudimentary pictures portraying various weapons and fighting techniques.

  I scanned the pages for a few minutes, taking it all in. “So, if I’d known what I was, I’d be carrying this thing around instead of my world history book?”

  “Well, not this exact one. This one was a gift from a good friend, years ago. It’s an original print. Few Hunter families have an original print anymore.”

  “Are you sure you want to loan it out, then?” I asked, worried.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She smiled at me reassuringly, and I was struck again by how open and honest her expression was. It made me trust her on a level I couldn’t really explain, but I decided to go with my gut, mainly because it felt good to trust someone right now.

  “Thank you,” I said. Then Fee’s first comment suddenly dawned on me. “How do the parents know? That their kid is a Hunter, I mean. You said they start training at five, but how do the parents know?”

  Fee hesitated and there was something unreadable in her usually open gaze. “Well, to answer your question simply, it’s in the genes. Your gift is passed down in your blood, as it will be in your children’s blood, also.”

  I blinked. “So, one of my parents was a Hunter?”

  “Yes.” She watched me with a look of understanding and then just waited while I let that sink in.

  My thoughts jumped back and forth, first of my mother. She was the exact opposite of everything I imagined a Hunter to be. (I got my slim, not exactly muscular build from her.) She was the least violent person I’d ever met; she didn’t even like fight scenes in movies, for goodness’ sake. Then I thought of my dad. Maybe it was him. He’d died when I was so young; there was no way I would’ve really known. And what if he’d kept it from my mom, too? She might have no idea, either. Which meant she would never believe me if I told her now.

  “Just read through the book when you get a chance, and we’ll talk more after that,” Fee said finally.

  I nodded, still reeling. Fee started to rise from her chair and that snapped me out of it. There was still so much more I didn’t know. “Wait, I have another question,” I said. “What is the point? I mean, why do Hunters train to fight or even exist for that matter? What’s the purpose?”

  “Well, the quick version is this: Werewolves and Hunters are enemies, and have been for centuries. There are many legends as to how both races came to be, but no one knows for sure anymore. What we do know is that Hunters are here to protect humans from Werewolves. A lot of Werewolves aren’t … friendly to humans. That’s when a Hunter steps in. They train to fight from the time they are very young in order to perfect their speed and strength because without training, and even with a Hunter’s added physical attributes, it’s nearly impossible to win against an angry Were.”

  “You mean like with me and Liliana,” I said.

  Fee nodded. “Yes, you were lucky to have survived. Which is why Jack and I want to help you. Without training, you’re an easy target.”

  “But I’ve never met any other Werewolves. Maybe I won’t.”

  “It’s possible that you’re right—but not likely. The main thing to know, whether you choose to train or not, is that they can sense you. And they will attack if they think they can beat you. Now, as a Hunter, you’ve got extra strength and speed on your side, but you’re also susceptible to their venom.”

  “Werewolves have venom?”

  Fee nodded again and her expression turned serious. “Don’t forget that. It’s the most important part. A Werewolf’s bite is like poison to a Hunter. One bite, if left untreated, can kill you in the span of just a few hours.”

  “What about their nails?” I asked, remembering the scratches hidden under my shirt.

  Fee shook her head. “They’ll burn like crazy at the time, and you’ll feel sore, but they’ll heal on their own. The poison is in their saliva, which is why the bites are dangerous.”

  “So what about humans? Isn’t a Werewolf bite just as dangerous for them?” I asked.

  “Not in the same way. All you need to be infected is their teeth to break your skin. A human is not affected that way. But their bodies are more fragile than ours, and they won’t be a physical match for a Werewolf trying to attack them. Instead, they’ll die from blood loss or organ damage.”

  I shuddered. “Oh.”

  “What I’m trying to say, Tara, is that by choosing not to train, you could be putting yourself in more danger. If they sense you, a Werewolf will attack. And you may or may not be able to fight back.”

  “I did just fine last night,” I said stubbornly.

  “You did,” she agreed. “But are you willing to take that chance the next time?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Training to fight Werewolves? Because of some age-old promise to protect the human race? This was not hap
pening to me. It was ridiculous, and far-fetched, and impossible. And even if I believed it, which I didn’t want to admit that I did, I couldn’t just run off and train for hours each day. I wasn’t the Karate Kid. And my mom and my friends would definitely know something was up—not that I could explain it to them, and not that they would believe me even if I tried. It took seeing it—up close and personal—for me to believe me.

  And even now, there were two thoughts that were so clear, they felt branded into my mind: One, Werewolves do exist, and two, I was born to kill them.

  ~ 6 ~