Masked SheWolf
Page 31
My parents were right; I can't ever be myself. What is the point of being a girl if I can't be with him, if the agony of not being with him is this impossible to handle? I'm not stupid enough to think I might move on and find someone else; that doesn't happen with my kind. There's never going to be anyone else.
I have to leave, I decide.
It's impossible to sit idly by while he's happy with someone else. I may have been self-deprecating my whole life, but I'm not a masochist. I will not let myself live in this sort of pain every day, knowing there's not much I can do about it.
My graduation is in four weeks. I'll be eighteen in five. I can hang on until then. I'll avoid him for as long as I can. It shouldn't be too hard; I've spent my whole life shutting people out. I can do it to him, too. Of course, that means I'll have to shut out the entire pack, including the only true friends I've ever had, but that's better than the alternative.
After that, there isn't anything that my parents can say to make me stay. I'll be a legal adult, free to do whatever I want. I can pursue college in Berklee and find a purpose. If that doesn't work, I'll move somewhere far enough away that I won't feel this pull toward him anymore.
I don't care where I'll be or what I'll do. I could be in freaking Mexico begging on the streets, and it would be better than this. That's the depth of how much I have given up; on him, on my parents, on life in general. I'm sick of all of it, and I want out.
It's with a heavy heart that I walk home, my tears mingling with the warm April air.
Chapter 30
Logan
My vacation is cut short when I receive an urgent call. The Carsons have something they need to tell me, and it can't wait until morning. Cade has already left to check on the closer families, so I have to make the overnight drive alone.
The Carsons are a middle aged couple who just had their fourth baby three weeks ago. It's still dark when I get to their house, but the light is on at the front porch. Mr. Carson is sitting alone out there, waiting for me. Next to him, in his crib, his newborn baby is wrapped tightly in a thick blanket. Mr. Carson holds a bottle of milk at level with his son's hungry mouth.
"Thank you for coming," he says as a welcome. "Sorry for the late hour, but I wanted my wife to get some rest. She was in labor for ten hours, and she needs a night off. She still hasn't recovered from that."
"It's not a problem," I assure him.
I couldn't have cared less that he called me at two in the morning, or that it took me three hours to drive here. The mere fact that he said he's ready to talk is enough to make me wide awake and anxious to get here.
"What is it you wanted to talk about?" I ask. "Last time I was here, I was under the impression that you can't talk to me because it would endanger your family."
"I know," he says, sighing with exhaustion. His face shows signs of many sleepless nights, which makes me wonder what his wife must look like. "I've been thinking about this a while, and I think it's best for us to move. The kids are not happy here, and my wife and I are tired of it. We might be better off somewhere else."
This takes me by surprise. "Where will you go?"
"I don't know yet."
I pause. "When are you leaving?"
"I don't know that either."
Now I'm confused. "So why am I here?"
The baby whimpers. Mr. Carson takes the bottle away, puts it aside and reaches for his son. Gently, he lays the baby against his shoulder, a towel under his head, and begins lightly patting and stroking his back.
"I figured since we won't be here anymore, it's safe to tell you part of what I know," he finally says. "I promised your dad never to reveal what my family and I did for him, not even to his family. But you've offered us your protection, something I truly appreciate. Since I can't accept, this is the next best thing I can do to repay you."
It takes a few seconds for it to really sink in. This is really happening. I'm about to get insight into what the list means, what my father was doing. My nervousness mingles with anticipation, as I wait for him to go on.
"Your father was a great man, there's no denying," he begins, indicating a rebuttal. "But not everyone agreed with that. You don't become the man he was without making a few enemies along the way."
The direction of the conversation is not one I expected. I can't tell where he's going with this, and I stay quiet, listening apprehensively.
"A lot of them coveted what he had," Mr. Carson continues. "But he was a very resourceful man and he knew how to protect what he valued. Unfortunately for him, one enemy set his sights on what your father valued the most."
My blood starts pumping faster, as I begin to understand where this is headed. "Who did?" I finally speak.
Mr. Carson shakes his head. "I don't know," he admits. "That's one thing he never told me."
"Well what did they want to take from him?" I amend.
"That's what I can't tell you," he apologetically says. "It's what he asked us to keep secret. But what I can tell you is that he asked us -and I'm guessing the others on the list as well- to hide it. He never kept it in one place for too long, but I know that he started this about fifteen years ago. He came to my family ten years ago and asked us to keep it safe for him. Seven months later, he moved it. We didn't hear from him again until two years ago."
My eyes widen. "He came to see you before he died?"
Mr. Carson nods. "He wanted to warn us not to speak of what we did for him again. At the time, he hadn't told us that he was hiding it from someone; he'd only said he wanted us to guard it for a while. But I pressed him for answers, told him I won't help him unless he explains why he wants us to lie for him. He was so panicked, and I thought he maybe he was did something wrong that put my family in danger. I didn't trust him when he came that second time. Until he explained."
It angers me a little bit that this man thought my dad would do something to intentionally put someone else in harm's way. He wasn't like that, and I want to defend him so badly.
However, it occurs to me that he did put them in danger, maybe. My dad must have known this enemy would come for whatever possession he wanted to hide. Maybe he just didn't think they would go to such measures to find it.
It's a bit of a relief to finally have a piece of the puzzle, but all it does is bring on more questions. At the same time, I'm not sure how much I believe this man's story. My dad didn't have any attachments to material possessions. What could he possibly have been hiding?
What was my dad up to? I ask myself for the hundredth time.
"When you told us he died," he goes on, "I knew this enemy must have caught up with him. I had to honor his wishes and keep the secret he asked us to keep."
"Did he tell any of the others on the list?" I demand.
"I don't know," Mr. Carson replies. "I don't think we were the only ones who knew that we were guarding something for him for a while. But we might have been the only ones he told about a dangerous enemy coming after it -and him- right before he died. I'm not sure if any of the others wanted an explanation the way I did. They all just took his word for it and blindly did what he asked."
Again, I have to suppress my irritation. He has no right to question my dad's judgment; he didn't even know him.
But did I know him? I suddenly ask myself.
I have no idea what he was up to, or why he would want to hide something from someone. What if I'm the one who is wrong about him, and Mr. Carson was right to be suspicious?
Before I get the chance to ask more questions, my phone suddenly rings. I pull it out of my pocket, about to send whoever it is to voicemail. But then I see the number, and I have to take it.
"Nash?" I pick up. "What happened?"
"You need to come down and see this," he says.
Instantly, I'm on high alert. "Where are you?"
"Mariners' house," he lets me know, right before hanging up.
Hastily, I say goodbye to Mr. Carson and climb into my car. The sun is fully up by the time I pull up in fr
ont of the Mariners' house. Cade is pacing by the front door. I have no idea what to expect.
Dread settles in the pit of my stomach as I walk to meet him. I'm about to understand, but I'm not so sure anymore if I want to know at all. Despite the long drive, I haven't had enough time to make sense of what Mr. Carson divulged, and now I'm about to get even more questions.
There's no need for formalities between us, so I just go straight to the point.
"Where are they?" I demand, unknowingly unleashing my alpha side.
"Inside," he tells me with a mask of composure. It becomes clear just then that something serious has happened. "Brace yourself."
My sense of duty flares up. If the Mariners haven't left their house, there must have been something that kept them here. I had already given them the option of joining us or moving somewhere more remote, so that whoever kidnapped their son the first time would lose them. They had chosen to leave. Last time I contacted them was a couple days ago; they were packing their things and had already found a place.
Why would they change their minds now? I ask myself.
It's only when I step through the front door and see the horrendous sight inside that reality dawns on me. They never left. They didn't have the chance to.
"Oh my God," I whisper, horrified.
The smell hits me first; blood and werewolf scent. Several werewolf scents, all of which are unfamiliar to me. The house and all of its furniture disappear from view until only the bodies remain in my focus. It's a bloody massacre. Mr. and Mrs. Mariner are sprawled in twisted positions on the floor, in a pool of their own blood. Their faces are pressed against the ground, which is almost a relief because I don't see their expressions, but not quite.
A less gory but still horrendous sight is their older son Jake, sitting on the couch with his eyes closed and hands open palms down on his sides. If it weren't for the strangulation marks on his neck and his paleness, I would have thought he's asleep.
They're missing one, I suddenly realize.
Frantically, I search the room for him. I'm not sure whether I'm hoping or dreading finding him there. "Where is Jace?" I frantically look behind and even under the couches. "Where the hell is he?" my voice booms louder than it ever has before.
Cade grabs my arm when I turn to Jace's bedroom door. "He's not there," he tells me morosely. "I checked everywhere. He's gone."
It takes me a moment to process this, but when I do, the unfairness of it all makes my blood boil. My hands begin to shake, and my vision becomes blurry. I can feel the fury rising and threatening to overtake me if I don't externalize it in some way soon. I want to smash the walls in, but Cade holds me back.
He was just twenty months old. Just a few days ago, I was playing with his toy cars with him, and he was laughing like nothing could ever touch the life that flows through him.
"Logan," Cade forcefully says to make me focus and calm down.
Looking away from the mess in the living room, I take deep slow breaths and think of something that would calm the storm raging within me. I try to picture Reena first, but it reminds me of the fight we had last night where I had to interrupt our date so I could come here. I'm glad I didn't bring her with me to face this terrifying sight. So much for taking Michael's advice.
Michael, I remember and focus on that. He always knows what to say.
If he were here now, he would know how to help me out of this attack. I try to imagine him with me, and what he would say to snap me out of it.
It's not your fault, he would say. You did your part, and it was working. You were checking up on them every once in a while, and that's more than enough. How could you have known there was some murderous psycho-killer on the loose?
I can even picture what he would look and sound like; he would try to be serious, but the words coming out of his mouth would just make such a contrast with the seriousness of the conversation that it would have been funny.
I wouldn't have laughed, of course, but it would have calmed me down on the inside. That's exactly what happens now after just that imaginary conversation with him. I'm amazed by how he manages to come through even when we're too far. It's what makes him such a good friend.
I haven't spoken to Michael since he came over last weekend, and I brielfy wonder what he's up to, to distract myself from having an attack. Last I saw him was a shock to me; to see one of my closest friends, who is normally so strong-willed and witty, break down like that... something serious must have happened.
I had my suspicions already that there was something more between him and Sadie. They're together almost all the time. Someone's feelings are bound to stir. But I didn't know he would be so beat up over it. I almost regretted telling him to back off, but he's always honest with me. I owed him at least that much.
That's why I have to tell them everything about my father's project.
But then another missing piece in the puzzle finally makes sense. There is more to the pattern; Jace is the youngest in his family, so were all the other kids who were kidnapped and returned. Michael is the youngest in his family. I may not understand yet why these boys had to be taken by my dad's enemy, and the Connollies may not be on his list of lone family, but I have a terrible feeling that Michael's safety is in jeopardy.
He's a tough guy, I know that, but I still feel compelled to protect him. What if the kidnappings are not entirely about what my dad was doing? The Mariners said there wasn't a werewolf scent when Jace was kidnapped the first time -the others too. There might be others out there. If someone is singling out the youngest son in lone families, Michael could be next.
My anger boils even hotter, until I start to feel like I might lose it if I stay here. What Mr. Carson revealed gave me a lot to consider. What happened to the Mariners makes me want to go out and beat whoever did this to a pulp. But for some reason, thinking that Michael might be in a similar situation hits way closer to home. This is much more personal than the other families, because he's also my best friend.
I need to get back.
"We have to go," I tell Cade in my authoritarian voice.
"Yeah, the cops might get here any minute," he seconds. I don't correct him about the reason why we need to leave, since that's also true.
Without me asking, Nash takes my keys and hops in the driver's side, for which I'm grateful. I don't think I'll be able to drive properly with this worry on my mind. We'll come back for his car later.
I fish out my phone from my pocket and dial Steven's number.
He picks up on the third ring. "Alpha?"
His voice sounds peculiar, like he's frowning. We exchanged numbers as a formality. I don't think he ever expected me to actually call him. It's the first time I do.
"Yeah, it's me," I confirm. "I'm on my way back. I need you and your family to meet me in my office in five hours. It's urgent. There's something you all should know."
There's a pause on his end as he mulls my request over. I didn't use any authoritarian voice with him or anything, but I will if I have to. I've waited too long to inform them of what's been happening, especially since their son might be directly in danger.
"Five hours," he finally agrees.
I hang up.
"You're going to talk to them?" Nash asks, no trace of an objection in his voice.
"It's about time I did," I confirm.
"What exactly are you going to tell them?"
I look out the window, watching the house in the distance. I try not to close my eyes too long; if I do, then I might see them again, slashed open and left in a pool of their own blood.
Jace's face suddenly flashes before my eyes, even though he wasn't there.
I will find you, I promise.
"Everything," I tell Cade.
About the author
Lebanese writer Yara Gharios has been making up stories since she could remember. Now 22, she is a double-major student, having obtained her Bachelor degree in Translation in 2014, and in English in 2015. Under the pen name Sahar Ghay
ar, she wrote several novels in her free time since she was 11, but didn't actively pursue publishing them herself.
After a small publishing house came across one of her stories, written in French intermittently when she was 13 to 15, they signed her for a one-book-deal. She released her first novel at 17 in her home country through traditional publishing. It was only when "Masked SheWolf" garnered some attention at online reading websites that she considered self-publishing.
Sneak peek
Unmasked
Masked SheWolf Trilogy
Book 2
YARA GHARIOS
Preface
Dylan
I'm not such an idiot to think I can take him. I know he's ten times stronger than I am. He'd probably have me on the ground, begging for my life, and stomp on me, before I can even get the chance to lift a finger.
But I'm not planning on taking him down. This monster thinks he can break me before anyone can find me. But he didn't count on me having an advantage. He also didn't count on the fact that I have an entire pack who would literally wipe the floor with him, just because he threatened to hurt me.
If only I could speak, I would tell him to be afraid. Because the one I love is coming for him.
Prologue
Daniel
One of my proudest moments as a child was when I was ten and I learned to spin a basketball on only one of my fingers for fourteen whole seconds. It was childish, I know, but that was when I knew I wanted to have a career in sports. Before I knew it, I was looking up everything I could find about Basketball and practicing with my dad and my brothers to be able to make it on the team.
There's no such thing as 'going easy on someone' in my family, which is a good thing because it toughened up my game, to the point where I could hold my own against any of them by the time I was fourteen.
I've been on the team since then, and we've been going on an undefeated streak this whole time. I'm not going to lie, the popularity is a perk I've enjoyed during all those years. But I love the thrill of the game a whole lot more than what it brings me socially. Playing releases any tension I might be feeling, and replaces it with a glow of freshness, albeit a sweaty one. It helps me clear my head when I have too much thoughts jumping around in there, and it's almost an escape for me now, when life at home or at school becomes too hectic and I need a breather.