Dirty Blood (7 page)

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 underneath the knob 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. The walls were lined with bookshelves, interrupted
only by heavy, ornate wall sconces that served as dim lighting.
Antique looking chairs were scattered around, in front of the
bookshelves. In the center of the room was a wooden table that was
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 was bound
in heavy leather and there was a symbol etched into it 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 heavy cursive script.
“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 were jumping back and forth. My first
thought was 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 under my shirt.

Fee shook her head. “They’ll burn like crazy at the
time, 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
match, physically, for a Werewolf trying to attack them. They’ll
die from blood loss or organ damage, instead.”

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 ago-old promise to protect the human
race? This was not happening 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, or something. 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. 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 ~

I looked back at Fee, apologetically. “Look I
appreciate the offer but I need some time. This is all a little too
much too fast. Sorry.”

“I understand,” Fee assured me. And I could tell by
the way she looked at me, that she really did. “Let’s get back out
there, shall we?”

I hefted the book up and tucked it underneath my arm
as I followed her out. Fee locked the room again behind me and we
made our way back to the living room.

“Well?” Jack boomed.

Fee answered for me. “She needs time.”

Jack nodded but I could see his disappointment. “Of
course.”

Wes just shook his head, like he’d given up
arguing.

I gathered my jacket around me, preparing to leave. I
still needed to make it back before my mom.

Fee stopped me at the door and squeezed my arm. “Take
some time and let it all sink in. Even if you decide not to train,
Jack and I are here if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” I said, managing a smile.

“They were really nice,” I said, when Wes and I were
in the car. He didn’t answer but I purposely ignored his lack of
response; I told myself it was just normal behavior for him and I
pressed on. “I’m surprised though. Fee made it sound like all
Werewolves are bloodthirsty killers and will attack me on sight.
Yet, you three haven’t tried to hurt me at all. If anything, you’ve
helped more than you needed to.”

“Not all Werewolves are like us,” he said.

Not as detailed an explanation as I’d been hoping for
but better than nothing. I pressed on. “How do you know them?”

“They raised me after my parents died.”

“Oh. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. How did they die?”

He hesitated. “Werewolves.”

His lips pressed into a hard line and a muscle in his
jaw flexed. There was malice in that one word, and disgust, and I
finally understood his earlier comment. “That’s what you meant by
different sides?”

“Yes.”

Finally, I felt like I was getting somewhere with
him. “Does this have anything to do with that cause Jack
mentioned?”

“Forget about that okay. It’s not for you.”

“Shouldn’t that be up to me, just like choosing
whichever side I want to be on?”

He gave me a hard look. “No.”

I huffed in frustration. The boy was a walking
contradiction. I tried another tactic. “What’s your favorite
color?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Why?”

“Because you want me to choose a side but you still
haven’t told me enough to make me decide whether I can trust
you.”

“I’ve told you plenty.”

I shook my head. “No, Jack and Fee told me plenty.
You’ve told me nothing.” I saw he was about to argue and continued.
“Giving me my memories back doesn’t count. They were already
mine.”

“Okay, but how does knowing my favorite color help
you trust me?”

“You can tell a lot by a person’s favorite color,” I
insisted. “For instance, mine is blue because I love the ocean and
the sky.”

“Okay, then, green.” He raised a brow. “What do you
get from that?”

“Well, could be for money, but I don’t think so,” I
mused. “The forest, I think.”

“Could be for envy, too, you know,” he said, his
voice taking on a teasing quality that surprised and confused me.
Just moments ago he’d been clipped and silent, to the point of
rude.

“You seem in a better mood,” I said, carefully.

Wes made the turn into my neighborhood and paused at
the stop sign before answering. “Tara, it’s impossible to be in a
bad mood around you.”

I looked back at him in surprise, unsure of what to
say to that. It was easily the nicest thing he’d said to me, since
we’d met. “Thanks?” His lips twitched, making me wish I knew the
meaning behind his cryptic compliment. “Are you always so hard to
read?” I asked, finally.

“Are you always this difficult about taking
compliments?”

“I’m still trying to figure out if it was one.”

“It was.”

Something about the way he said those two words made
my face and arms heat. The air in the car thickened into something
almost tangible and I remembered what he’d said to Jack, about the
magnet. It was definitely happening now, a pull or polarity between
us. It was unnerving and enjoyable all at the same time, and I
shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable in my own skin. I
wondered if he felt it too, but when I glanced over, his brows were
arched down, in either deep thought or confusion.

In much less time than it would’ve taken a normal
person – or normal car - we pulled up in front of my house, and he
cut the engine. I didn’t wait for him to come around and open my
door. I needed a minute to clear my head, but the blast of cold air
that greeted me when I stepped out was sadly, not enough, though at
least I could breathe easier out here in the chilly open air of my
front yard. I was pretty sure – unless Werewolf customs were
totally different – that Wes had just been flirting with me. The
problem was that I’d felt myself react to it. My pulse was racing
and there was a weird fluttering in my stomach. And I felt like one
look at my face and he’d know all those things. So I made sure to
stay ahead of him as he followed me to the door. I fumbled with the
key, ridiculously nervous all of a sudden. Wes waited patiently
without comment as I finally slid the lock aside and wrestled the
key out again. When I couldn’t avoid it any longer I turned to
him.

“I don’t really know what to say for everything
you’ve done, but thanks,” I told him.

“Wow, sounds like a brush off.”

“No!” My reply came out a little more forceful than
I’d intended, and then I felt my face go red at the humor I spotted
in his expression; he’d only been joking. “I meant, you didn’t have
to do all this, and I appreciate it.”

He reached out, like he was about to take my hand,
and then stopped. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and
stared at the ground. “Tara, there’s something-”

A car door, very nearby, slammed shut and Wes broke
off. We both looked over at the same time and I groaned at the
figure fast approaching my doorstep. Beside me, I could feel the
tension in Wes as he eyed our visitor suspiciously.