Page 1 of Gone Hunting

Chapter One

Her name was Celia. I never saw her coming. I didn’t know I’d needed her. But isn’t that how love is supposed to work?

I hop downstairs. I don’t mean I take the steps one or even three at a time. I mean I hop over the railing and leap from the second floor to the first, landing almost silently in a crouch, the backpack on my shoulders barely brushing against my spine.

I’m awere. A wolf to be exact. I can get away with leaping from landings physically, but not so much with my mother.

“Aric,” she calls, turning away from the stove. “You’re awere, not an animal. Take the stairs.”

Dad looks up from reading his paper and smirks. “Listen to your mother, son.”

I return his smirk and walk toward the kitchen. “Yes, sir. Sorry, Mom.”

All eight burners are going on the stove. The smell of several pounds of bacon and more pounds of eggs stirred my senses when Mom first opened the fridge. Yeah, I’mthatsensitive to smell, sight, sound, taste, and touch. And at fifteen, I’malwayshungry.

I plop down next to my dad, allowing the pack to fall to my side. “Smells good,” I say.

Dad sighs and turns the page. “It always does when your mother’s in there. Not so much when we cook.”

“Nope. We suck,” I agree.

Mom’s laugh draws my smile. My parents are supposed to lay into me and drive me crazy, force me to rebel, and scream at me when I do things they think I shouldn’t. Except, jumping down a flight of stairs and leaving my mostly destroyed clothes on the floor aside, I’m a pretty decent kid with awesome parents.

I reach for the pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, yawning a lot louder than I intend. “Sorry,” I say, yawning a second time when I fill my glass.

My knife slices into the butter the second Mom drops several pancakes on my plate. I’m ready to dig in when the scent of fresh buttercream finds my nose. Instead, I blink several times, trying to brush off my fatigue.

I didn’t sleep much last night. My head spun with weird dreams that didn’t make sense. I was wrenched backward and away from her. No . . . that’s not right.Shewas ripped fromme. They were taking her away from me. Whoevershewas. I frown, remembering how bad it tore me up. I tried to hold on, tried to see her face. All I could make out were her delicate hands in mine. She sobbed, afraid to let go, while my eyes burned with rage-filled tears.

I was pissed and sad and . . .broken, except nothing I felt made sense. I didn’t recognize her and I couldn’t fathom why she meant so much to me.

The only thing I’m sure of is that a part of me left with her. And the way I feel this morning, it’s still missing.

“Are you all right, son?” Dad asks.

I don’t realize how hard I’m gripping my knife until I open my palm and all that’s left is a warped piece of metal. My anger at losing her lingers and I took it out on the stupid knife.

“Sorry. I was . . .” I was what? Angry that I let some girl I didn’t know go? “I didn’t sleep well,” I admit.

Dad folds his paper and places it aside, closely analyzing me. “Did you sleep with the window open?”

I don’t remember leaving it open, but I nod when I remember how the cool spring breeze swept against my back when I stumbled into the bathroom this morning.

“There was a bad windstorm last night,” Dad says, his dark eyebrows furrowing. “Earth’s energy travels in the wind, as well as the memories of those long forgotten.”

“The wind also carries magic,” Mom quietly adds. She leaves the stove, a large pan of eggs gripped in her hand.

“Yes,” Dad agrees. “A great deal of magic.”

Mom scoops eggs onto Dad’s plate, forming a large pile. “In the future, when the wind is that rough, I’d like you to sleep with the window closed.”

The scent of cheese, carefully diced onions, and minced garlic seeps into my nose in a mouth-watering sweep. I dig into my eggs the moment the first scoop lands on my plate.

“Why?” I ask, swallowing quickly.

“You’re different, son,” Dad reminds me.

My chewing slows. It’s the same thing I’ve heard all my life. Yeah, some things come easy for me. I’m stronger than older and largerweres. I’m a better tracker and more agile than anyone around. But I don’t feel different. I’m just me, I guess.

---