A/N: Eeeeeek. I can not wait to write this AU. xD I have so much planned for it, so get ready for some heartbreak if you do read it. (Whenever it will be up.)

~Rissa

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I furrowed my brows and looked between the two of them. I became restless as I caught my mother's hard gaze on him and shifted, knowing full well that he was shifting as well. No one spoke, and the tension was so thick that it could be cut with a knife.

"Tell her what?" my father asked, stirring first. Warning filled his voice, and it made me stiff as well. He was getting angry and protective of her, and I understood because this was his mate, even though he had treated her like shit at the beginning of their relationship with each other. "What didn't you tell her?"

"The cameras in her apartment," Roger said. He raised his hand to stop Dad from growling and lashing out, protectively. "Now, we needed those cameras in her apartment to protect her or at least see if she can protect herself."

"Why?" Dad growled out angrily. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just kill you where you sit." He wanted to move from his seat, but a single touch from Mom made him stay settled. However, that did not stop him from looking at Roger with glaring eyes.

Roger sighed and reached into his jacket but stopped when my father growled. "Control, yourself, David," he said. "If I had wanted to kill you, I would not be reaching for these." He pulled out a manila envelope and handed it to Mom. "You are not human; I hope you know that."

"I am aware," she replied, taking the envelope from him. She studied the writing on the front and looked up an unblinking Roger. "'Berkney Project,'" she said, her voice void of any emotion. "Is this going to be taken away from me, too?" She held onto it tighter.

"Too?" I asked. I glanced in between them, cautious. I was curious about what was in the manila folder and then what the words 'Berkney Project' meant to not only my mother but to Roger as well.

"Long ago, I had found a book labeled 'Berkney Project' in my grandfather's office," Mom replied, looking at me. "I was reading some of it, but my grandfather had taken it from me as soon as he saw me with it." She shrugged. "I just got through the table of contents when he did take it from me."

"This will not be taken away from you," he said. "It is information that should keep your curiosity at bay until I get back from my trip." He gave my mother a knowing look, and she let out a breathless chuckle as if that thought was impossible.

"It won't, Roger; we both know that." Hesitantly, she opened the file and took out the contents. A pocket watch fell onto the floor, and she leaned down to get it, a picture of something catching my eye.

"Mom," I said, stopping her from grabbing the watch and turning her gaze to me. Slowly, I pulled the picture from the pile and studied it.

It was taken long ago in the area that we were seated in. Three people looked familiar to me, and I could tell that it was my grandmother, grandfather, and Roger. I had only heard stories of four of the others, but I knew who they were, especially the grandfather, rough and intimidating, seated next to a female who looked to be his mate.

All eyes were gathered on a female dressed in all black, her auburn hair contrasting from her clothing. She looked young but very familiar, her gaze calculating, the same calculating gaze that normally was on me.

"Lemme see," Mom said. Her voice didn't shake. There was no emotion in her voice, and I knew that there wouldn't be any on her face. She would have the same gaze as in this picture, processing all information before contributing something verbal or nonverbal.

And when I looked at her to hand it over, I was right. Her gaze was calculating and intense. Her jaw was set in a firm line, and I knew it would be better to hand it over, so I did.

Mom took the photo and skimmed over it. A pang of sadness filled her eyes, and she touched the figure, her father. She stayed quiet as she studied both the front and back, and I could tell that she was making sure it wasn't fake.

Finally, after a few glances of it, she looked at Roger. "Explain," she replied. Her voice was void of any emotion, but that didn't stop it from cutting like a knife. "Please."

Roger cleared his throat and moved a hand through his hair. Finally, he sighed, reached down, and picked up the pocket watch that was left discard on the floor before looking at her. He didn't say a word but stroked the watch's cover, a look of sadness flickering through his eyes.

"Well?" she asked, handing the photo to Dad. "What is that?"

"A picture of a meeting," he replied. He glanced at me unimpressed when I scoffed before turning his gaze to her. "With you from a different timeline."

"Explain." Her tone meant for him not to leave anything out. She wanted to know what had happened and why.

Roger sighed and moved a hand across his face. He looked worn, ragged as if he didn't want to do this but knew that he must. "Let me get this said first," he began. He held his hand, silencing her. "I had orders just like everyone else in that picture. I had a role to play, a role that your family members had to play as well."

He paused and moved a hand through his hair, sighing. "The Berkney Project is named a man named Samuel Berkney. He was the first living prototype for what the group wanted."

"Prototype?" I asked, confused. "For what?"

"A weapon," Mom replied. She shifted through the paperwork, skimming, and processing the information faster than I thought possible. "To kill Werewolves or other species."

"Correct," Roger said, nodding his head. He shifted in his seat and sighed. "There are many types of hybrids that can be formed and be created into monsters. However, there are ones that are more powerful out of all that had been born and survived."

"Werewolf hybrids," Mom said. She took the picture back when Dad handed it back to her and looked at it. "Werewolf Hunter hybrids."

Roger nodded his head. "They are the ones that they found out could survive the training and are useful for the group more than the others. They are quick, able to heal very quickly, and are very dangerous."

"I'm... not a Werewolf, though," Mom said, furrowing her brows. She looked at Roger, frowning. "Nor a full Hunter. I wasn't born in a Hunter family."

"You were," Roger replied. He cleared his throat and moved a hand through his hair. "You were born into a Hunter family. Both your mother and father had ties with them, your father more so than your mother."

Mom frowned and studied him. Slowly, she nodded her head, and I was curious as to what had been going on in her mind. "The Werewolf part?"

"From your mother's side," Roger replied. He held out his hand, and Mom placed the papers in them. "Somehow, the Werewolf gene can become recessive and pass through the generations until it is called to become dominant." He handed her a piece of paper. "It turns out that your great-great-grandmother was a full Werewolf. She was Alpha born, actually."

"Then why did it become dormant?" I asked. "Alpha borns should have their wolves, even if they are not full Werewolves."

Roger shrugged his shoulder. "I have not found that out," he replied. "That is one reason why I am going away for a week. I had a contact way back when who knows about this stuff but had lost her. We found her in England."

Mom nodded her head and looked at Roger. "What about this picture?" she asked, holding it out and letting Roger take it from her. "What does it mean? Why am I in it, and why are w- they in this packhouse? I thought we hadn't had any connection here."

Roger sighed and looked at her before looking at the pocket watch he had in his hand. Slowly, he handed it to her and leaned back. "You have been here before," he said, watching as she looked at the watch. "You and your family had ties here before the Lightning Bolt Pack. However, for your protection and the protection of everyone around you, your memories had to be changed." He looked at my father, his face grave, and I could pick up a strand of guilt. "And those in this pack as well."

***

Silence. There was nothing but silence after Roger said that. No one said a word, and in glancing at both my mother and father, I understood why. They were stunned into silence, and I was as shocked as them.

My mother's mouth and eyes were wide open, and her face was pale. Her eyes had this look in them, and I could tell that she was processing the information said to her.

Finally, she stirred and cleared her throat, closing her mouth. "This pack?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She studied him and made him look down, not to meet her gaze. "Did I grow up with this pack? Before everything, before the car accident?" Her voice shook, and I could feel her anger brimming underneath the surface.

"Yes," Roger replied, nodding his head. "You and your brothers grew up with this pack."

Mom's nostrils flared, and she narrowed her eyes at him. She was seething, and I knew that Roger was not a fan of being underneath her powerful gaze. "Are you telling me that I could have been the Luna of this pack and have saved them the trouble of being ruled by that bitch?!" she asked, spitting out the bitch that it made me cringe.

"No," Roger said. "Y-"

"Bull. Shit," she said, spitting out each word. "I could have. I could have made him fall in love with me instead of her. We could have had a family earlier on in life and not just having a child after so many miscarriages!"

"Or, you could have been forced to work for them," Roger snapped. He glared at her, his nostrils flaring. He ignored my father's growl; his gaze only focused on Mom. "That is exactly what had happened. You worked for them. You killed innocent people. Do you understand? Innocent people died because of your hand. That is why we did everything in our power to make sure that they couldn't get to you. That you wouldn't feel guilty all over again for killing them."

Mom opened her mouth to say something but closed it. A look of hurt flashed through her eyes, and I knew that she hated the thought of killing innocent people, no matter what breed they were.

"How do you know?" I finally asked. I kept my face blank when he looked at me. "How do you know that this is real and not something made up?"

Roger set his jaw and reached into his pocket before pulling out a pocket watch similar to the one in my mother's hands. "Because of this," he said, handing it to me. He watched as I studied the watch, noticing that it looked worn out. "What's the time on it?" he asked.

I looked at the face and frowned because the hand of the pocket watch didn't move. "9:10," I replied, looking up at him.

Roger nodded his head. "Jess?" he asked, looking at her.

Mom set her jaw and looked at it. "9:10," she replied. "The hand isn't moving." She looked at him. "Why not?"

"The pocket watch was my father's and stopped the day he died, exactly the minute I was born," Roger replied. "My mother had never gotten it fixed and gave it to me the moment I turned five, making me promise that I would never let it leave my side, and I didn't."

"Then how did she get it?" Dad asked while I handed the pocket watch back to him.

"I gave it to her," he replied. "Well, the me that was there." He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "That was the only reason why I had believed her when she came, telling us that she was from a different timeline, a different future."

"Because you didn't let it out of your sight?" Mom asked. "Why did you give it to her, then?"

"Because I told her that I would believe her if she had it," Roger replied. "And I did. You recognized her instantly as well." He moved his finger across the watch again before stuffing it back into his pocket. "You saw her, looked back at us, and told that this was you from some future." He shook his head and chuckled bitterly. "You told us to listen to her and then ran off to find David."

"And our memories were changed because of that female," she said, coldly. "What about the car accident? Was that true for both of us?"

"Yes," Roger said, nodding his head. "The only difference was that my group was able to get there in time and rescue you. Your brother, Nikolia, however, we had to leave because we made it look like he was the only one to survive."

"So, he got tortured and had to go through whatever they had done to me?" she asked.

Roger shook his head, no. "He didn't go through what he had gone through during that time," he replied. "He was there, but from what I was told, he had lost his identity and became a number to them. We made sure that he was able to remember who he was and able to act like he was a weapon."

Mom stayed silent and looked at the photograph. She moved a hand across the photograph before looking up at Roger, her eyes filled with tears. "What about me?" Mom asked, her voice cracking. "Did I become a number, too?" She held the photo up, so he could see the girl standing in front of the others.

Slowly, Roger nodded his head. "Yes," he said. "She lost her identity, too, and that was one thing we didn't want to happen again."