Page 2 of Gone Hunting

“I’m serious, Aric.” Dad tells me. “You achieved your firstchangebefore you were two months old. We went to sleep with an infant between us and woke with a wolf pup.Two months. I still don’t think you comprehend the significance.”

Maybe I don’t. The most powerfulweresachieve their firstchangeat six months of age following a full moon. The weakest, closer to a year. If you don’tchangein the first year, you’re more human and that’s how you’ll stay. It’s somethingwereswho mate with humans deal with. Not pures like us.

My fork hovers over my plate as I give Dad’s words some thought. I shove the large helping quickly into my mouth when I sense him noticing. Nowerehad ever before achieved achangeat younger than six months-old. It makes me uncomfortable to be perceived as omnipotent. I’m not. Cut my head off or shoot me up with gold bullets, I’m just as dead as the nextwere.People around here forget that. They look at me like I’ll single-handedly save the world, or some other impossible stunt. They fall all over themselves, cozying up to me, filling me with compliments they can’t possibly mean. The kissing up, the bowing, thegroveling…I hate it.

“There’s no telling how strong you’ll become or what powers you may inherit because of it,” Dad says.

“I had trouble sleeping,” I mumble. “It’s no big deal.” I don’t want anyone making a big fuss over me. It bothers me more when my parents do it. Aside from my small and close-knit circle of friends, they’re the only ones who still see me as Aric, not the savior others have come to expect.

Mom scoops another large helping of eggs onto my plate. Tendrils of steam drift from the pan. “Perhaps. Perhaps not,” she says. “But if you’re this sensitive to what the wind carries, sleep with the window closed. I don’t want to risk a mental attack, or worse, while you’re at your most vulnerable.”

I open my mouth to argue. It’s not that I can’t shut the stupid window or that I need it open. I suppose I just don’t want to focus on how different I am. I’m already weird enough.

Mom jerks. I cringe. My parents sense my discomfort and move on. Not that I like what they’re up to.

“Aidan, behave,” Mom whispers.

“What? Can’t a wolf show his mate a little affection?”

She slaps Dad’s hand playfully off her backside.

I make a face. “I’m right here,” I remind them. “Can’t that wait until I’m gone?”

“Not at all,” Dad replies.

He pulls Mom onto his lap. If she were human, Mom would have spilled the eggs across the wooden floor.

“Eat with me,” Dad tells her. “You’re doing too much.”

Mom kisses his cheek and places the pan on the table, allowing Dad to feed her. It’s a mate thing. A protective thing. I’ve been exposed to it a lot in my life. But it always strikes me as intimate and something I shouldn’t watch. I leave the table, returning with a large serving tray topped with bacon. I frown when I find Mom’s arms wrapped securely around Dad’s neck. Her shoulder length, white hair brushes against his chest with how hard she clutches him.

“You’re going hunting again, aren’t you?” I ask.

Mom lowers her eyelids as if in pain. Dad smiles softly at her, stroking her hair until she opens her eyes. She doesn’t return his smile. It bothers me to see her upset.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“There’s a dark witch causing trouble in Lesotho,” Dad replies, continuing his slow strokes over Mom’s hair.

I reach for more bacon and eggs. “Where’s that?” I ask.

“Africa,” Mom replies. “It’s a territory known for diamond smuggling and dark magic.”

“Cue the witch,” I guess. Not all witches are dark. Last summer, I met Bellissima, one of the strongest light witches of her kind, along with her daughter, Guinevere, or was it Genevieve? It was something like that. They were okay. But dark witches really suck and giveweresplenty of problems to chase.

As Guardians of the Earth, it’s our job to protect the unsuspecting human populace from things that hunt them. Those creatures that go bump in the night?Weeatthem.

I shove a forkful of eggs into my mouth and stab a few more pieces of bacon. “How’d you hear about the witch?” I ask.

“She’s protecting the diamond smugglers in the area,” Dad explains.

I feel my eyes darken and a growl build deep within me. “In exchange for what?”

Dad doesn’t blink. “Sacrifices, mainly human women and children.”

I look to Mom, not liking where this is headed. “The women are deeply oppressed throughout the region,” she explains. “When you find women fraught with worries of violence and struggling to feed their families, they tend to be more pure of heart and intent, and therefore easier to victimize. The children . . .” Mom straightens, passing her fingertips along the gray peppering Dad’s temple. “There’s nothing more sacred than a child’s soul.”

“Which makes the blood sacrifices she seeks more valuable. The purer the soul, the more power each kill will grant her,” I finish for her. They nod. “Can I go with you?”

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