Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Dad introduced me to all the geezers at Brickley and I shook so many wrinkly hands I felt like I was being slowly consumed by sacks of flesh. I'd seen them all go in and out of the conference room once before, but now I was actually face-to-face with their judgmental appearances. Most turned their noses up to me and didn't say anything beyond, "Nice to meet you, Ms. Barretto." That wasn't even my last name, but it wasn't like I was going to correct them.

I sat beside Dad at the head of the table while they discussed this matter and that—apparently it was a weekly thing, but given the current state of the "rogues", a lot of the geezers were overly panicked and out of their minds. There had to be no more than three other blokes who weren't over the age of fifty, and that included Dad's beta Nichols.

Nichols was his last name—Henry Nichols—but he was apparently bitter about his first name, so Dad reminded me every time to call him Nichols. The man was a heavy-built tower topped with greying black hair and the facial structure of a greek statue. Straight nose, square jaw, and full lips and cheeks.

He sat on Dad's other side, but passed me notes from his sketchpad that ranged from legitimate explanations of what was going on, and caricatures of the elders. Evidently, he'd been set on a career in animation in hopes of transitioning out of the pack, but after Dad's "plans" of marrying Mom fell through, he was happy to take up position as Beta. I felt kind of bad for him—he was an excellent artist.

"The fjord national parks nearly took out one of the rogues—the sighting caused the troopers to go into a panic. They have watches now on the trails and all of the tour guides are required to carry firearms after the rogue took down a full-sized grizzly," someone said from down the table, lowering a sheet of paper and looking up past the watchful eyes of the blokes around.

"A full-sized grizzly. The cubs were slaughtered as well—they'd been tracking the bear cubs since they were born and when they turned up dead along with the mother... It's been gathering too much attention and people are starting to become more aware of our own people out on their night runs. Just last night there was a reported sighting in the north—"

"Those goddamn Sasquatch skeptics will be up our asses before ya know it," another fella said, and it took everything in me not to burst out in giggles.

Dad just shook his head, lips pursed. "We aren't Sasquatches, Ron."

"Well they don't know that!" The fella threw his arms up in exasperation, those massive eyes thrown wide. He was the sort of elderly man who quivered whether or not he was agitated. "That journalist a few years back—we had to shut down runs for an entire two weeks while that guy was here. The only reason he left was because he came down with the sickness—be lucky it was a man, Graham! As soon as a female journalist starts digging her nose around our business, she won't ever leave and our men will get anxious, not being able to run for a goddamn second."

The man beside Ron laid a hand on the old geezer's shoulder. I stared at them all and wondered what made Dad think this would be boring. Seeing elders fly spittle across a conference table was the greatest entertainment yet. The old geezer leaned back and set his mouth straight, refusing to talk again.

"You know he's right, Graham," Nichols said, not looking up from his paper. "Any news on that kid Griffin?"

Dad sighed and gingerly touched his phone where it sat on the table. It showed the time, and a message from his wife. "He hasn't gotten back to me—I told him to call if he caught the bastard, not to baby step me through the process," he said.

"Perhaps we should have the council send another one a their troublemakers," the guy next to me said. He was one of the few non-geezers, but the guy gave me weird vibes. Like he was just too serious to trust. And when Dad opened his mouth to argue, he interrupted with, "Look, I know hunters don't tend to be team players, but if they could divide and conquer, it'd be safer than a bunch of tour guides in the national parks getting attacked for shooting all their bullets and still being chased by the rogue. It's happened before—it takes a skilled hunter to know just where to hit the weak points, or at least to have the right equipment."

No kidding, I mused, raising a hand up over my hair that disguised the bandage. Through the tape, I could feel the dent in my cartilage like a bite mark.

They took a census on whether or not to let Griffin continue being a one-man show, and Dad's viewpoint failed to sway the paranoid individuals trying to keep out those "irksome female reporters". Someone even called them weeds that couldn't plucked out like those male reporters prone to the shift. Every man was capable of going through a shift—it was only a matter of spending extended periods of time with an alpha like Graham Barretto.

But then I found myself staring at the end of a finger pointed at me. "She stops the shifts," an elder said, looking to Dad. "If we catch the attention of reporters again, who knows how long they'll stay here. Unless she's able to consciously infect them with the shifting illness, the male reporters might never feel a thing."

"It's highly unlikely that we'll catch that much attention," Dad said, and despite how stoney is expression was, his voice carried ice along with it.

"It happened once before—it can happen again."

What's so wrong with letting the world know? I mused, but instantly I knew the repercussions. One thing about being raised by an alpha was all the past knowledge that came with it. Stories the elders shared. Books they kept. Records of mass killings, sadistic individuals convinced we were demons, come to wreck havoc on innocent human beings. We weren't welcome in normal society.

Dad bowed his head and checked his phone once more, as if hoping to be freed from this disaster by Griffin's success. Unfortunately, no such thing arrived.

"Okay. I'll contact the council tonight."

That evening, I sat out on the dock waiting for Jillian's shift to end. I sifted through the pages of a book she lent me as the shadows of Louise drifted over my legs, my torso, arms, neck, and eventually, enveloped me head-to-toe in the cool shade. My legs dangled off the side of the dock, and they stayed there even as I recognized a vehicle rushing eastward through the downtown, past the piers. Five minutes later, it steered back around and found itself parked by the water. I glanced at it out of the corner of my eye, but as soon as I saw the driver's door open, I locked my eyes on my book.

I could hardly read a damn word, not when I knew Griffin was heading this way.

"You didn't tell your old man about last night, did you?" he demanded, walking my way with some sort of purpose in his step. He stopped no more than a foot away from me, not even bothering to lower himself down to my level so we could talk like civilized people.

I turned the page in my book casually, even if I hadn't read a single word on it yet. "Maybe. Why?"

"'at's a goddamn lie—just answer the damn question."

"No, I didn't. Not much anyway."

"Tell him."

He didn't expand on it until I stared up at him for a while and eventually demanded to know what sort of game he was playing. Dad would tear both our guts out—it was clear he hardly even cared for Griffin's presence, mostly around me. That challenging stance he had when Griffin first escorted me back to the house said as much.

Yet this bastard was rolling his eyes as if I was supposed to be on the same page as him. "I don't give a fuck what you think 'bout this whole situation, but the truth is this whole goddamn place can't function wit' rogues on the run. That one you encountered last night 'asn't shifted in weeks, maybe even months, so it's like tracking a goddamn animal. And animals always follow their instincts."

"What are you saying? Look, I'm sorry I screwed up your shot—"

"I want you to do it again," he clarified, but I hardly clear about the situation. "He's been back to that same spot and 'as been heading this way, but I can't take 'im out in clear daylight. We may be creatures of the night, but when ya aren't human for as long as he's been, it's hard to remember that. He's adapted faster given that 'e hasn't been hunted until now."

I closed my book and maneuvered myself to my feet. He didn't move, so I stepped back from him to get a good look at his expression. He was entirely serious. "So what you mean? You want me to lure him to you?"

"Yes—well, no. Just as bait. I doubt you'll even have to shift—he'll just flock to you out of intrigue and curiosity. I have to say I've never seen a lycanthrope turned on, but he seemed thrilled to find a female one out here." As if to piss me off further, his gaze strayed down from my eyes. I lashed out and punched him in the chest as hard as I could. He cringed and held a hand to the wound.

"Get ahold of yourself. I'm not gonna be your ass-bait," I hissed, and nearly missed the blonde swish of hair heading this way at rapid speed.

"Reagan—" Jillian started, and paused as she took in Griffin's presence with a skeptical look. "What are you doing here?" she asked, and the sharp tinge to her voice made me snigger at him. He seemed uncomfortable being cornered by Jillian. I reckoned it wasn't every day he was bitched out by people her height.

"I was just leaving," he answered, and made a move to skirt around her, but she stepped in his way.

"Graham wouldn't appreciate you chatting with his daughter," she scolded him, but he hardly seemed phased except for the bob of his Adam's apple betraying his nervous swallow. Regardless, he slid around her and backed away.

He saluted her casually. "Nothin' personal, miss. Tell Graham," he added, pointing to me before turning on his heels and marching off, his stride the equivalent of a giraffe's. I couldn't stop smirking, even as Jillian slapped me in the arm and scolded me for letting Griffin have a chat with me.

"That European scum shouldn't be talking to you," she snapped at me, and hopped into the boat muttering about Griffin, even as I did a double-take and stared at her. I wasn't at all graceful getting into the boat.

"European?"

She perked up and looked back at me. "You've never heard a French accent before?"

I blinked and thought about it. I supposed I hadn't—not until meeting Griffin. It was such a subtle thing, as if he was more fluent in English than he was French. But then again, Stonecroft wasn't exactly what you'd call "diverse".

"Good gracious—all you guys live such a secluded life. To think you've never been to France—oh! Reagan, remind me to take you one of these days." She said it like it was as easy driving from here to Vancouver.

I stared at her a while longer before turning my gaze back to my book. I couldn't read just yet—at least, not when my mind was running ahead of me and thinking of what Griffin demanded. Dad would never agree to it. What made him think my dad, out of all people, would be okay with this plan?

But French? I felt idiotic and ignorant for not knowing it sooner. I just thought he was British. I supposed the fact that I never took a language in high school had something to do with it.

Jillian steered the boat into the bay, a little farther out so we could see the expanse of the Pacific from the south to the north, and all the way west. She descended from the second deck and sighed.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I just realized that if Graham won't keep an eye on you, I have to. I barely left you alone for twenty minutes and you wound up talking to that European scumbag," she blurted out, going from relaxed to irritated. She threw her arms up and exclaimed, "What next? You've already run off—I'm not used to having to deal with girls going on those runs because you know why? There aren't any, that's why. And I thought those youngster boys were a problem."

My eyebrows drew inward as I watched her pace towards the stern, and back again. She paused when she saw me watching her, and looked guilty soon afterwards. I wondered if my own guilt was contagious. "I'm sorry for worrying you. Dad said you were worried," I said.

She huffed and put her hands on her hips. "Well pardon me, missy, but do we really seem like we've known you ya whole life? When you do stuff like that, you've got to at least warn us."

I know, because Dad told me as much, I mused bitterly, and didn't answer otherwise. My guilt-ridden face was enough to shut her up on the subject.

"Well, I can't keep pestering you about it, but just know I'll have my eyes on you, missy."

"Yes ma'am," I answered, sitting up straighter. She scoffed and waved me away. While she riffled through her Shakespeare bag, I started talking again. "Do you know much about Griffin then?"

"Nothing that I wanted to know," she answered, voice tight as she twirled around and plopped down on the plaid seat. She hummed for a moment, fingering through the pages before finding her spot near the end. "He went to a boy's academy in Quebec for your kind. It's one of the five main schools in Canada—there's quite a few though, compared to the States. Graham always says we have a larger lycanthrope population up north here, but you know what? I think he's lying about that." She stuck her nose up, peering down it at the page in her hand. I giggled, tucking my knees up to my chest.

"Well, y'all definitely have more room 'ere, huh?" At my comment, she shot me a joking glare, and I laughed even louder.

"You hush over there, southern girl, before I show you how us northerners whoop ass." She kicked her foot out at me with a karate-type "Hiya!" to boot.

After settling down for our reading session, Jillian finished her book thirty minutes later, and sifted through her bag to find her backup novel. Just like always, I eventually felt damp from the ocean mist, but didn't realize it until the sun set, and I was reading under the light of Louise's lamps. I reclined back on the plaid bench, book facing above me, and read until Jillian pointed out that I fell asleep a little bit there.

She nudged me and laughed when I jolted up in a panic. "Let's head in, ey?" she suggested.

Together, we wandered up to captain's deck and cruised over the wave, navigating back through the bay and to the docks. The boat swayed as we slowly crawled into our spot, and while she steered, I hurried down to hold the boat steady against the dock, and tie the rope around the posts. By that point, it was dark again, and the lights from the shore provided a path to the parking lot where Jillian's car sat awaiting our return.

Once dropping down onto the passenger's seat, I realized that going home meant contemplating what Griffin wanted. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't ignore his idiot tendencies, because those idiotic tendencies where there to help Redborough with the rogues. Dad would want to know what's been happening under his nose, like how his own daughter encountered the beast terrorizing those national parks, sending people into a panic.

I didn't want to aid in their death, no matter how much they all thought it would help their problems.