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Description
            The remainder of that night had been terrible to say the least.  Jack and I made our way back towards where Em and Ryan had been killed, but stopped short when we smelled several humans with dirt bikes and off-road vehicles surrounding the area. We saw Mr. and Mrs. Sorensen standing with a group of police and emergency workers, the whole area lit up with bright spotlights. I stopped short before the ground; I couldn't bring myself to look any closer to see what still remained.

            Not wanting to be seen, I communicated to Mrs. Sorensen telepathically that I was here, and that we needed to talk. I couldn't see much of her expression through the trees, but I knew that she'd be feeling even worse than I was. She slowly took a few steps back from the others, and then—making sure to keep her hands hidden behind her back to prevent any of the humans from seeing—she gestured for me to go back to the house and wait.  I answered in the affirmative and turned back in the direction of the house. Jack stayed where he was, so I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. He nodded, then fell into place behind me.

            Back at the Sorensen's place there were 2 black and white police cars waiting in the front. We probably could have leapt into the open second-story window and raided John's closet to find something to wear, but frankly I was exhausted and didn't want to take the chance of being seen, so I opted to stay back in the trees just off the Sorensens' property line to remain hidden while we waited.

            Presently, the sound of small engines could be heard. The Sorensens arrived on the back of dirt bikes driven by a couple of the first responders. It was obvious now that Mrs. Sorensen was in distress; her eyes were red and swollen, and she was shaking slightly. I indicated where we were telepathically, then watched as she changed course and made her way across the back yard to the tree line.

            "Ma'am, I think it would be best if you stayed inside with an officer," said a uniformed man from around the side of the house.

            "I need some time alone. I'll be right back," she replied without slowing. The officer started to follow, but he was stopped by a uniformed man with a familiar scent. He simply shook his head.

            "I'll handle this, Rob," the officer said. "Go back to the car with Latrell and keep me posted on any comings and goings in the front of the residence."

            I realized then it was Officer Powell, the werewolf policeman from before. The other officer—Rob—nodded, and turned back the direction he'd come. Officer Powell made sure Rob was out of sight, then followed Mrs. Sorensen into the trees. As he got nearer, Jack became uneasy and moved further back further into the foliage, but I grabbed his forearm and shook my head.

            Once they were close enough, I made a small "woofing" sound to signal where we were. Mrs. Sorensen arrived first and started to ask what had happened, but pulled up short at the sight of Jack crouched with ears twitching by my side.

            "Seth? Who's this?" she asked in a borderline threatening tone.

            "This is Sergeant Jack Acevedo," I said, gesturing to the other werewolf with open paw. "Tonight I infiltrated Harper's base and took him down; without Jack's help I couldn't have made it in." Her gaze remained locked on Jack's. I could see her irises start to go gold.

            "Sergeant Acevedo? The only way you'd be able to infiltrate Harper's base is if he already trusted you, and yet the werewolf murderer confides in a werewolf right in front of him?" questioned Officer Powell, narrowing his eyes. "I've never seen you around here before. You also have the scent of one who's just been turned," he said suspiciously.

            Jack gulped and lowered his gaze, then exhaled heavily before looking back up to meet his eyes.

            "There's no easy way to say it," he began nervously. "I was working with him for all these years, tracking down and killing werewolves. Today though, I decided he'd gone too far and permanently… defected you could say." He tilted his head to the side and pointed at his lupine neck where I'd bitten him, nodding in my direction to emphasize his point.

            "My Emmalee and Ryan—were you there?" she breathed, her fangs and claws starting to appear. He switched his gaze to her, closed his eyes, and nodded. At that, Mrs. Sorensen's expression grew dark and dangerous.

            "I know nothing I say can bring them back, but I'm so sorry! I was wrong, and I want to make full restitution!"

            Jack continued to apologize fruitlessly for what he'd done, but in a rage she virtually exploded out of her clothing and catapulted herself onto Jack with a snarl.

            Officer Powell made no move to intervene; he only stepped back and out of the way, a grim expression on his face. Me, I just stayed where I was, uncertain. I was torn between protecting him for doing so much to help me, and allowing justice to be served for what he'd done to help murder 2 of her children, including my Emmalee.

            The way she clawed and tore at Jack—I'd never seen Mrs. Sorensen like this before. She was a terrifying sight to behold, even to another werewolf. She'd lost control, and was now mercilessly slashing and biting at Jack in all the most sensitive areas, trying to cause as much pain as she possibly could.  Throughout it all, Jack didn't resist, but took all her blows with whimpers and howls so loud and agonized I was sure someone would hear.

             I yelled. Guilty or not, I wanted his beating to stop.

            When she saw that Jack wasn't fighting back, and then that his wounds had started to heal, she seemed to remember that—despite what he'd done—he was a werewolf now, too. As she looked into his pleading eyes, her own eyes opened wide. Suddenly she stopped, breathing heavily with Jack's blood thick on her paws and around her muzzle. She'd ripped him up badly, fur and blood covered the ground in all directions. I could see through Jack's broken ribs and into his chest cavity as a lung rose and fell with each blood-choked, gurgling breath he took through his ruined throat. One arm hung limply by his side, bent at an awkward angle that suggested multiple fractures. Slashes and bites covered nearly every inch of his body. If he didn't have the gift of accelerated healing, there's no way he would have survived. As it was, it looked like he was fading quickly to unconsciousness.

            She turned her back on Jack and sunk down to a kneeling position on all fours. I realized then that she had tears in her lupine eyes. As she slowly shifted back down to her human form, her canine whines melted into sobs. Officer Powell gently helped her up from the ground, then draped his jacket over her shoulders to offer her some cover.

            "Grab him, and follow me. Nobody's around," he instructed, already heading towards the house supporting the weeping Mrs. Sorensen.

            I hefted Jack's now mostly human body over my shoulder and followed the adults to the outside basement door under cover of darkness. This was probably what I'd looked like when Em had carried me back home those weeks ago. I shed a tear of my own.

            Once inside, Officer Powell helped Mrs. Sorensen to the bathroom to clean up. I stood there with a bleeding, an unconscious Jack in my arms, not knowing where to put him. Once he came back, Officer Powell led me to an unfinished cement room I'd never seen before. He directed me to place him in a makeshift bed in one of the corners. He chained Jack's wrists and ankles in the heavy shackles bolted into the walls and floor. By the looks of it, they were even lined with silver in certain areas in the event a prisoner tried to break out. Almost as an afterthought, he stuck an IV into Jack's arm and then placed suction cups on his skin. I noted on the heart rate monitor that his pulse was slow and irregular.

            "I'm sorry it has to be like this for you, Seth," said Powell with a heavy sigh. I shifted my gaze from Jack to Officer Powell. "Werewolves tend to lead difficult lives, but you've had to go through more than most, and at such an early age. You've have to mature so fast, I can see the tired weight of experience in your eyes that wasn't there when we first met."

            I completely broke down in sobs. I didn't say anything; I just let out all the emotion that I'd been holding in. Officer Powell pulled my huge wolf head into his shoulder and hugged me in a fatherly, comforting manner. He didn't try to say anything or ask questions, for which I was grateful. I didn't know if it was genuine concern and pity he had for me, or just professional courtesy towards a struggling victim, but right then I didn't care. I needed a shoulder to cry on, another werewolf to be there for me, and right then he was that person.

            A lot of the details of what followed that next morning were lost in a big blur of numbness, punctuated only by waves of grief which varied in intensity. The human authorities had no idea I had anything to do with any of the night's events, except for that I was the victim's boyfriend. They tried to mutter words of consolation, but I was still unfeeling and mostly just wanted to be left alone.  Mr. Sorensen had called my parents the next morning and explained that the threat was over, but that something terrible had happened. They already knew; they'd seen the news story in the online edition of our local morning paper:

4 Dead, 1 Missing at Facility; 5 Additional Bodies Found

By RoyCramer
Associated Press

Williams Training Facility, USA (AP) — Three soldiers and a commander died last night during a reported security breach at the Williams military training facility in Tyler County. The bodies of three additional soldiers, apparently mauled by an animal, and two civilians, Emmalee and Ryan Sorensen, were also found only miles south of the compound.

Forensic evidence recovered from both locations suggests that the deaths in both locations are linked.

The names of the soldiers—all with the rank of Private—have not yet been released pending investigation. The missing soldier has been identified as Sgt. Jack Acevedo and the commander is known to be William K. Harper, according to officials.

Commander Harper was found dead at the bottom of a steep cliff after apparently losing control of the Humvee military vehicle he was driving. A second Humvee that appears to have also fallen from the same cliff was without occupant when emergency crews arrived. All usable evidence from both vehicles was destroyed by fire.  An autopsy revealed that Harper's death was caused from injuries sustained in the crash and no foul play was suspected. Suicide has not yet been ruled out.

The bodies of the three soldiers inside the compound appeared to have been run over, possibly by the same crashed vehicles.

"There were over a hundred empty rifle casings scattered both inside the building and within the compound fence as well as several more on the roadway leading to the crash scene. Obviously there was some kind of firefight, but at this time we're not sure who was being shot at or why," said Director Dan Christensen, whose team is heading the investigation.

An explosion had been reported, and most damage was found to be contained to Commander Harper's office. Everything inside the office had been destroyed and there was no recoverable evidence. There was an estimated $1.3 million worth of damage.

"The security cameras were all inoperative during the incident, whether before the blast or as it happened is still unclear. The last images captured were of Acevedo entering the building, so we have reason to believe he's connected with tonight's events," added Christensen.

A sweep of the facility revealed a number of military personnel found to be attached to IVs administering sedatives and a known neurotoxin drug.  Upon awakening, none were able to recall anything that had happened during the last several months. Officials have declined to comment on the situation pending an official report.

Further evidence also suggests that Commander Harper may have violated the Posse Comitatus act by running military operations on US soil against American citizens, including the use of military personnel, military vehicles such as the UH-60 Black Hawk and the Humvee, and abusing military funds. Additional details are forthcoming as information from the investigation is received.

Christensen advised that anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Jack Acevedo should please contact their local police or the FBI.

            When my parents arrived later that afternoon, we all hugged tightly for a long time. Mom held and comforted me for some time after that, singing that same song she always did to soothe me when I was just a pup. After a while, I realized something.

            "Mom, Dad? Life's so fragile. I've already lost Emmalee. I want to do everything I can to prevent losing you too. If you were werewolves, you'd be stronger and be more able to look after yourselves."

            My parents looked at each other, then back to me, then shook their heads with sad smiles before my dad answered.

            "We're too old to become werewolves. Besides, we've lived good lives, and when it's our time to go we'll accept it. There's nothing that can stop that from happening." I frowned, but then nodded.

            "I understand," I said, even though I didn't really.

            I heard Mr. Sorensen shift his weight nervously in the kitchen behind me.
"Actually… I think it's finally time for me to be bitten," he said slowly. Mrs. Sorensen gasped.

            "Like Seth said; life is fragile, and I'm not getting any younger. Besides; after what you've had to go through, I want to be able to do my part to protect my family without having to hide at my office like before."

            Husband and wife embraced wordlessly, emotion flowing freely for both.
After a while, John and his mother shifted in preparation for the bite; the more werewolves involved, the higher chance it had of working. John left for a minute and returned with a blue tarp from the garage, rolling it out in the center of the floor. Mr. Sorensen removed his shirt, then stood resolute in the middle of the room. John and Mrs. Sorensen each went to one of his shoulders, readying to make the bite. Before they could, Mr. Sorensen held up a finger, then beckoned to me to join the circle. "You're part of the family, too," he said softly, holding out his wrist. I shifted, then took his wrist in my paw as I moved to stand directly in front of him.

            Synchronized telepathically, we all bit down at the same time. He struggled and shook, but was strong enough not to cry out. When the time was right, we all released. Mr. Sorensen dropped to his knees breathing deeply, comforted by his wife.
Time continued to pass, but something was wrong. Instead of the multiple bite wounds knitting themselves, they continued to patter onto the tarp without stopping.

            It hadn't taken this long with Jack, I thought.

            Soon the tarp was covered in pools of the thick red liquid, and Mr. Sorensen began to look very pale. His wounds weren't closing.

            "Get some gauze and bandages, we've got to apply some pressure to get the bleeding stopped!" commanded Mrs. Sorensen. John ran to another room and came back with pawfuls of white absorbent material, ace bandages, and corban wraps. All 3 of us set to applying pressure and wrapping around the wounds we'd each created. Once that was done, Mr. Sorensen's breathing stabilized, though he was still very pale. John and his mother helped him to his feet and into an easy chair.

            "It… it didn't work," he sighed. He didn't sound bitter, just deeply disappointed.

            John left, then came back with food and beverage to help increase his blood sugar and keep him conscious. Husband and wife hugged again, this time in sadness.

            "It's okay, love. It's okay. It doesn't matter that you can't be turned. It will be just like before, just like it's always been. There's nothing wrong with that." He only nodded in response.

            After the various agencies finished going over the autopsy results, the bodies were returned for the double, closed-casket funeral for Em and Ryan. The service went about like one would expect; friends, relatives, and concerned neighbors (not to mention the media) all sat packed in the small chapel, a few people I didn't know spoke in remembrance of the deceased, saying all sorts of nice things about the siblings' lives. Leaving the service, the procession to the cemetery was long; the other cars stretched far ahead and behind my parents and I.

            The burial was solemn and hushed, but at least it was only family and close friends this time. All the werewolves I knew were there; even Clint had come up from Arizona in his human form, still looking his same, Western self. As I stared six feet down to where Em was being permanently laid to rest, tears ran down my face as I remembered the many happy times we'd had despite our short time together.

            Later that same day, all the werewolves had a formal meeting at the Sorensens' home in a closed room with a heavy door and no windows. They'd told me it couldn't wait; now was the time when everyone was here. I was the last to arrive; when I entered the room, everyone was in werewolf form around a big table, engaged in heated discussion. Harper's files I'd brought were spread all over the table being looked at.  When they noticed I'd entered, a hush fell over the room as all eyes locked on me.

            "Come take your place," said an older, greying werewolf in a thick German accent, gesturing at an empty chair a few places down on the right. He sat at the head of the table, with Clint directly to his right. The Sorensens, Officer Powel, and a few other werewolves I didn't recognize were there as well. I made my way to the chair and sat, noticing the back was cut in a way to allow for one's tail to hang comfortably out the back.

            Probably more for my sake than anyone else's, introductions were made. There were 10 of us werewolves there all together; once news got out to the rest of the werewolf population, a couple leaders had come in from different states, and I learned that the wolf with the German accent was Conrad Schermer who'd flown in from Europe. He had a lot of experience with humans killing our kind, especially after living as a werewolf through two world wars.

            The main point of business was to decide what was to be done with Harper's files that I'd brought back and to put plans in place in the event this type of thing were to inevitably happen again. A decision also needed to be reached to determine the fate of Jack (who was still chained in the basement).

            We reviewed the files detailing everything that had happened, and found that so far—and especially with all soldiers Harper used to hunt us down being either killed or poisoned according to that news article—our secret was still safe. We tried to see if there was a way to pass on some of this information to the FBI without blowing our cover.

            "None of this here information can be revealed to the public, or Harper will have gotten his way by letting everyone know that we exist. Harper is the deadliest werewolf hunter this century. Good, decent wolf-folk have died, and it seems like the obvious and proper thing to do is to avenge them in the court of law, but we can't let his plan continue. I think we all have a pretty good idea as to how the smooth skin folk would react if they knew about us on that broad of a scale," said Clint.

            "You're right," agreed Conrad. "If ve let this go public, ve effectively call out every other verewolf in existence. That von't end vell. Ve can't destroy the information though either. Clint, as historian for ze region, you'll have to archive this. Ze secret will remain safe, and ve'll find some way to make justice be served."

            "I think that's what they would have wanted. What Em would have wanted," I agreed, speaking up for the first time.  The others all nodded their heads in Unison.

            The discussion went on long into the night. It was brought up whether we should go and kill Harper's sources. It was decided that wasn't wise, not yet anyway; but it was agreed that we needed to create some kind of national communication and investigation network to help more effectively detect and take out anyone before they could do what Harper had. It was unanimously voted that—under Clint's oversight—I be charged with the task of organizing that network and establishing channels of communication. I'd also use my experience to provide support for hunted werewolves to escape and deal with the hunters, as well as helping the survivors through the healing process.

            As painful as it was, Mrs. Sorensen, John, and I, each took turns recounting that night's events one last time to make sure the story was straight and nobody missed anything. We answered questions as they came. I was commended for everything I'd been able to do.

            Jack was also let into the room in werewolf form wearing the same silver-lined shackles. He was met by snarls from some in the room. His wounds were all healed, but his countenance was mostly dejected and rarely met anyone's eyes, though he did look pleadingly at me several times. He was treated more like a hostile prisoner than anything else while being questioned about his side of the story along with detailed information about the years leading up to this point.

            At the end of his remarks, Jack was lead out of the room while a decision was made. His situation was unique; as a fugitive wanted for questioning in connection with the soldiers' murders and other events at the compound, he could never show his face again in human society without risking life-long imprisonment and possibly even the exposure us all. However, he was also directly and indirectly responsible for the murders of almost two dozen werewolves. At the same time, he was the key player in exposing and ultimately bringing down Harper, as well obtaining all these files. He'd even become bitten to seal his loyalty. That wasn't necessarily enough to placate the situation as it once might have been however; what Ryan had done to betray us would probably change things forever.

            Ultimately, it was decided that Jack would be allowed to remain alive as long as he were to never show his human face in public again, and remain under the supervision of a responsible werewolf. When it was asked who would do so, I volunteered without hesitation. When Jack was lead back in and heard the verdict, he came and hugged me in gratitude despite the shackles.

            Throughout it all, Clint was set to methodically documenting all the details about what was said and the decisions that were made. The minutes of the meeting were to go on record in his archives, with copies distributed to those in attendance (though all references to lycanthropy or any other sensitive information were of course redacted in the copies.

            Everyone stayed the night, and the next morning we said our goodbyes to those who were leaving. I suddenly had the urge to get away from everyone, and ran out the back door through the bushes and trees. Nobody tried to stop me, so I shifted and continued running in my regular wolf form until I was too tired to continue. I stopped at a ledge overlooking the valley below, then laid down on the grass, alone with my thoughts.

Description
            The remainder of that night had been terrible to say the least.  Jack and I made our way back towards where Em and Ryan had been killed, but stopped short when we smelled several humans with dirt bikes and off-road vehicles surrounding the area. We saw Mr. and Mrs. Sorensen standing with a group of police and emergency workers, the whole area lit up with bright spotlights. I stopped short before the ground; I couldn't bring myself to look any closer to see what still remained.

            Not wanting to be seen, I communicated to Mrs. Sorensen telepathically that I was here, and that we needed to talk. I couldn't see much of her expression through the trees, but I knew that she'd be feeling even worse than I was. She slowly took a few steps back from the others, and then—making sure to keep her hands hidden behind her back to prevent any of the humans from seeing—she gestured for me to go back to the house and wait.  I answered in the affirmative and turned back in the direction of the house. Jack stayed where he was, so I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. He nodded, then fell into place behind me.

            Back at the Sorensen's place there were 2 black and white police cars waiting in the front. We probably could have leapt into the open second-story window and raided John's closet to find something to wear, but frankly I was exhausted and didn't want to take the chance of being seen, so I opted to stay back in the trees just off the Sorensens' property line to remain hidden while we waited.

            Presently, the sound of small engines could be heard. The Sorensens arrived on the back of dirt bikes driven by a couple of the first responders. It was obvious now that Mrs. Sorensen was in distress; her eyes were red and swollen, and she was shaking slightly. I indicated where we were telepathically, then watched as she changed course and made her way across the back yard to the tree line.

            "Ma'am, I think it would be best if you stayed inside with an officer," said a uniformed man from around the side of the house.

            "I need some time alone. I'll be right back," she replied without slowing. The officer started to follow, but he was stopped by a uniformed man with a familiar scent. He simply shook his head.

            "I'll handle this, Rob," the officer said. "Go back to the car with Latrell and keep me posted on any comings and goings in the front of the residence."

            I realized then it was Officer Powell, the werewolf policeman from before. The other officer—Rob—nodded, and turned back the direction he'd come. Officer Powell made sure Rob was out of sight, then followed Mrs. Sorensen into the trees. As he got nearer, Jack became uneasy and moved further back further into the foliage, but I grabbed his forearm and shook my head.

            Once they were close enough, I made a small "woofing" sound to signal where we were. Mrs. Sorensen arrived first and started to ask what had happened, but pulled up short at the sight of Jack crouched with ears twitching by my side.

            "Seth? Who's this?" she asked in a borderline threatening tone.

            "This is Sergeant Jack Acevedo," I said, gesturing to the other werewolf with open paw. "Tonight I infiltrated Harper's base and took him down; without Jack's help I couldn't have made it in." Her gaze remained locked on Jack's. I could see her irises start to go gold.

            "Sergeant Acevedo? The only way you'd be able to infiltrate Harper's base is if he already trusted you, and yet the werewolf murderer confides in a werewolf right in front of him?" questioned Officer Powell, narrowing his eyes. "I've never seen you around here before. You also have the scent of one who's just been turned," he said suspiciously.

            Jack gulped and lowered his gaze, then exhaled heavily before looking back up to meet his eyes.

            "There's no easy way to say it," he began nervously. "I was working with him for all these years, tracking down and killing werewolves. Today though, I decided he'd gone too far and permanently… defected you could say." He tilted his head to the side and pointed at his lupine neck where I'd bitten him, nodding in my direction to emphasize his point.

            "My Emmalee and Ryan—were you there?" she breathed, her fangs and claws starting to appear. He switched his gaze to her, closed his eyes, and nodded. At that, Mrs. Sorensen's expression grew dark and dangerous.

            "I know nothing I say can bring them back, but I'm so sorry! I was wrong, and I want to make full restitution!"

            Jack continued to apologize fruitlessly for what he'd done, but in a rage she virtually exploded out of her clothing and catapulted herself onto Jack with a snarl.

            Officer Powell made no move to intervene; he only stepped back and out of the way, a grim expression on his face. Me, I just stayed where I was, uncertain. I was torn between protecting him for doing so much to help me, and allowing justice to be served for what he'd done to help murder 2 of her children, including my Emmalee.

            The way she clawed and tore at Jack—I'd never seen Mrs. Sorensen like this before. She was a terrifying sight to behold, even to another werewolf. She'd lost control, and was now mercilessly slashing and biting at Jack in all the most sensitive areas, trying to cause as much pain as she possibly could.  Throughout it all, Jack didn't resist, but took all her blows with whimpers and howls so loud and agonized I was sure someone would hear.

             I yelled. Guilty or not, I wanted his beating to stop.

            When she saw that Jack wasn't fighting back, and then that his wounds had started to heal, she seemed to remember that—despite what he'd done—he was a werewolf now, too. As she looked into his pleading eyes, her own eyes opened wide. Suddenly she stopped, breathing heavily with Jack's blood thick on her paws and around her muzzle. She'd ripped him up badly, fur and blood covered the ground in all directions. I could see through Jack's broken ribs and into his chest cavity as a lung rose and fell with each blood-choked, gurgling breath he took through his ruined throat. One arm hung limply by his side, bent at an awkward angle that suggested multiple fractures. Slashes and bites covered nearly every inch of his body. If he didn't have the gift of accelerated healing, there's no way he would have survived. As it was, it looked like he was fading quickly to unconsciousness.

            She turned her back on Jack and sunk down to a kneeling position on all fours. I realized then that she had tears in her lupine eyes. As she slowly shifted back down to her human form, her canine whines melted into sobs. Officer Powell gently helped her up from the ground, then draped his jacket over her shoulders to offer her some cover.

            "Grab him, and follow me. Nobody's around," he instructed, already heading towards the house supporting the weeping Mrs. Sorensen.

            I hefted Jack's now mostly human body over my shoulder and followed the adults to the outside basement door under cover of darkness. This was probably what I'd looked like when Em had carried me back home those weeks ago. I shed a tear of my own.

            Once inside, Officer Powell helped Mrs. Sorensen to the bathroom to clean up. I stood there with a bleeding, an unconscious Jack in my arms, not knowing where to put him. Once he came back, Officer Powell led me to an unfinished cement room I'd never seen before. He directed me to place him in a makeshift bed in one of the corners. He chained Jack's wrists and ankles in the heavy shackles bolted into the walls and floor. By the looks of it, they were even lined with silver in certain areas in the event a prisoner tried to break out. Almost as an afterthought, he stuck an IV into Jack's arm and then placed suction cups on his skin. I noted on the heart rate monitor that his pulse was slow and irregular.

            "I'm sorry it has to be like this for you, Seth," said Powell with a heavy sigh. I shifted my gaze from Jack to Officer Powell. "Werewolves tend to lead difficult lives, but you've had to go through more than most, and at such an early age. You've have to mature so fast, I can see the tired weight of experience in your eyes that wasn't there when we first met."

            I completely broke down in sobs. I didn't say anything; I just let out all the emotion that I'd been holding in. Officer Powell pulled my huge wolf head into his shoulder and hugged me in a fatherly, comforting manner. He didn't try to say anything or ask questions, for which I was grateful. I didn't know if it was genuine concern and pity he had for me, or just professional courtesy towards a struggling victim, but right then I didn't care. I needed a shoulder to cry on, another werewolf to be there for me, and right then he was that person.

            A lot of the details of what followed that next morning were lost in a big blur of numbness, punctuated only by waves of grief which varied in intensity. The human authorities had no idea I had anything to do with any of the night's events, except for that I was the victim's boyfriend. They tried to mutter words of consolation, but I was still unfeeling and mostly just wanted to be left alone.  Mr. Sorensen had called my parents the next morning and explained that the threat was over, but that something terrible had happened. They already knew; they'd seen the news story in the online edition of our local morning paper:

4 Dead, 1 Missing at Facility; 5 Additional Bodies Found

By RoyCramer
Associated Press

Williams Training Facility, USA (AP) — Three soldiers and a commander died last night during a reported security breach at the Williams military training facility in Tyler County. The bodies of three additional soldiers, apparently mauled by an animal, and two civilians, Emmalee and Ryan Sorensen, were also found only miles south of the compound.

Forensic evidence recovered from both locations suggests that the deaths in both locations are linked.

The names of the soldiers—all with the rank of Private—have not yet been released pending investigation. The missing soldier has been identified as Sgt. Jack Acevedo and the commander is known to be William K. Harper, according to officials.

Commander Harper was found dead at the bottom of a steep cliff after apparently losing control of the Humvee military vehicle he was driving. A second Humvee that appears to have also fallen from the same cliff was without occupant when emergency crews arrived. All usable evidence from both vehicles was destroyed by fire.  An autopsy revealed that Harper's death was caused from injuries sustained in the crash and no foul play was suspected. Suicide has not yet been ruled out.

The bodies of the three soldiers inside the compound appeared to have been run over, possibly by the same crashed vehicles.

"There were over a hundred empty rifle casings scattered both inside the building and within the compound fence as well as several more on the roadway leading to the crash scene. Obviously there was some kind of firefight, but at this time we're not sure who was being shot at or why," said Director Dan Christensen, whose team is heading the investigation.

An explosion had been reported, and most damage was found to be contained to Commander Harper's office. Everything inside the office had been destroyed and there was no recoverable evidence. There was an estimated $1.3 million worth of damage.

"The security cameras were all inoperative during the incident, whether before the blast or as it happened is still unclear. The last images captured were of Acevedo entering the building, so we have reason to believe he's connected with tonight's events," added Christensen.

A sweep of the facility revealed a number of military personnel found to be attached to IVs administering sedatives and a known neurotoxin drug.  Upon awakening, none were able to recall anything that had happened during the last several months. Officials have declined to comment on the situation pending an official report.

Further evidence also suggests that Commander Harper may have violated the Posse Comitatus act by running military operations on US soil against American citizens, including the use of military personnel, military vehicles such as the UH-60 Black Hawk and the Humvee, and abusing military funds. Additional details are forthcoming as information from the investigation is received.

Christensen advised that anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Jack Acevedo should please contact their local police or the FBI.

            When my parents arrived later that afternoon, we all hugged tightly for a long time. Mom held and comforted me for some time after that, singing that same song she always did to soothe me when I was just a pup. After a while, I realized something.

            "Mom, Dad? Life's so fragile. I've already lost Emmalee. I want to do everything I can to prevent losing you too. If you were werewolves, you'd be stronger and be more able to look after yourselves."

            My parents looked at each other, then back to me, then shook their heads with sad smiles before my dad answered.

            "We're too old to become werewolves. Besides, we've lived good lives, and when it's our time to go we'll accept it. There's nothing that can stop that from happening." I frowned, but then nodded.

            "I understand," I said, even though I didn't really.

            I heard Mr. Sorensen shift his weight nervously in the kitchen behind me.
"Actually… I think it's finally time for me to be bitten," he said slowly. Mrs. Sorensen gasped.

            "Like Seth said; life is fragile, and I'm not getting any younger. Besides; after what you've had to go through, I want to be able to do my part to protect my family without having to hide at my office like before."

            Husband and wife embraced wordlessly, emotion flowing freely for both.
After a while, John and his mother shifted in preparation for the bite; the more werewolves involved, the higher chance it had of working. John left for a minute and returned with a blue tarp from the garage, rolling it out in the center of the floor. Mr. Sorensen removed his shirt, then stood resolute in the middle of the room. John and Mrs. Sorensen each went to one of his shoulders, readying to make the bite. Before they could, Mr. Sorensen held up a finger, then beckoned to me to join the circle. "You're part of the family, too," he said softly, holding out his wrist. I shifted, then took his wrist in my paw as I moved to stand directly in front of him.

            Synchronized telepathically, we all bit down at the same time. He struggled and shook, but was strong enough not to cry out. When the time was right, we all released. Mr. Sorensen dropped to his knees breathing deeply, comforted by his wife.
Time continued to pass, but something was wrong. Instead of the multiple bite wounds knitting themselves, they continued to patter onto the tarp without stopping.

            It hadn't taken this long with Jack, I thought.

            Soon the tarp was covered in pools of the thick red liquid, and Mr. Sorensen began to look very pale. His wounds weren't closing.

            "Get some gauze and bandages, we've got to apply some pressure to get the bleeding stopped!" commanded Mrs. Sorensen. John ran to another room and came back with pawfuls of white absorbent material, ace bandages, and corban wraps. All 3 of us set to applying pressure and wrapping around the wounds we'd each created. Once that was done, Mr. Sorensen's breathing stabilized, though he was still very pale. John and his mother helped him to his feet and into an easy chair.

            "It… it didn't work," he sighed. He didn't sound bitter, just deeply disappointed.

            John left, then came back with food and beverage to help increase his blood sugar and keep him conscious. Husband and wife hugged again, this time in sadness.

            "It's okay, love. It's okay. It doesn't matter that you can't be turned. It will be just like before, just like it's always been. There's nothing wrong with that." He only nodded in response.

            After the various agencies finished going over the autopsy results, the bodies were returned for the double, closed-casket funeral for Em and Ryan. The service went about like one would expect; friends, relatives, and concerned neighbors (not to mention the media) all sat packed in the small chapel, a few people I didn't know spoke in remembrance of the deceased, saying all sorts of nice things about the siblings' lives. Leaving the service, the procession to the cemetery was long; the other cars stretched far ahead and behind my parents and I.

            The burial was solemn and hushed, but at least it was only family and close friends this time. All the werewolves I knew were there; even Clint had come up from Arizona in his human form, still looking his same, Western self. As I stared six feet down to where Em was being permanently laid to rest, tears ran down my face as I remembered the many happy times we'd had despite our short time together.

            Later that same day, all the werewolves had a formal meeting at the Sorensens' home in a closed room with a heavy door and no windows. They'd told me it couldn't wait; now was the time when everyone was here. I was the last to arrive; when I entered the room, everyone was in werewolf form around a big table, engaged in heated discussion. Harper's files I'd brought were spread all over the table being looked at.  When they noticed I'd entered, a hush fell over the room as all eyes locked on me.

            "Come take your place," said an older, greying werewolf in a thick German accent, gesturing at an empty chair a few places down on the right. He sat at the head of the table, with Clint directly to his right. The Sorensens, Officer Powel, and a few other werewolves I didn't recognize were there as well. I made my way to the chair and sat, noticing the back was cut in a way to allow for one's tail to hang comfortably out the back.

            Probably more for my sake than anyone else's, introductions were made. There were 10 of us werewolves there all together; once news got out to the rest of the werewolf population, a couple leaders had come in from different states, and I learned that the wolf with the German accent was Conrad Schermer who'd flown in from Europe. He had a lot of experience with humans killing our kind, especially after living as a werewolf through two world wars.

            The main point of business was to decide what was to be done with Harper's files that I'd brought back and to put plans in place in the event this type of thing were to inevitably happen again. A decision also needed to be reached to determine the fate of Jack (who was still chained in the basement).

            We reviewed the files detailing everything that had happened, and found that so far—and especially with all soldiers Harper used to hunt us down being either killed or poisoned according to that news article—our secret was still safe. We tried to see if there was a way to pass on some of this information to the FBI without blowing our cover.

            "None of this here information can be revealed to the public, or Harper will have gotten his way by letting everyone know that we exist. Harper is the deadliest werewolf hunter this century. Good, decent wolf-folk have died, and it seems like the obvious and proper thing to do is to avenge them in the court of law, but we can't let his plan continue. I think we all have a pretty good idea as to how the smooth skin folk would react if they knew about us on that broad of a scale," said Clint.

            "You're right," agreed Conrad. "If ve let this go public, ve effectively call out every other verewolf in existence. That von't end vell. Ve can't destroy the information though either. Clint, as historian for ze region, you'll have to archive this. Ze secret will remain safe, and ve'll find some way to make justice be served."

            "I think that's what they would have wanted. What Em would have wanted," I agreed, speaking up for the first time.  The others all nodded their heads in Unison.

            The discussion went on long into the night. It was brought up whether we should go and kill Harper's sources. It was decided that wasn't wise, not yet anyway; but it was agreed that we needed to create some kind of national communication and investigation network to help more effectively detect and take out anyone before they could do what Harper had. It was unanimously voted that—under Clint's oversight—I be charged with the task of organizing that network and establishing channels of communication. I'd also use my experience to provide support for hunted werewolves to escape and deal with the hunters, as well as helping the survivors through the healing process.

            As painful as it was, Mrs. Sorensen, John, and I, each took turns recounting that night's events one last time to make sure the story was straight and nobody missed anything. We answered questions as they came. I was commended for everything I'd been able to do.

            Jack was also let into the room in werewolf form wearing the same silver-lined shackles. He was met by snarls from some in the room. His wounds were all healed, but his countenance was mostly dejected and rarely met anyone's eyes, though he did look pleadingly at me several times. He was treated more like a hostile prisoner than anything else while being questioned about his side of the story along with detailed information about the years leading up to this point.

            At the end of his remarks, Jack was lead out of the room while a decision was made. His situation was unique; as a fugitive wanted for questioning in connection with the soldiers' murders and other events at the compound, he could never show his face again in human society without risking life-long imprisonment and possibly even the exposure us all. However, he was also directly and indirectly responsible for the murders of almost two dozen werewolves. At the same time, he was the key player in exposing and ultimately bringing down Harper, as well obtaining all these files. He'd even become bitten to seal his loyalty. That wasn't necessarily enough to placate the situation as it once might have been however; what Ryan had done to betray us would probably change things forever.

            Ultimately, it was decided that Jack would be allowed to remain alive as long as he were to never show his human face in public again, and remain under the supervision of a responsible werewolf. When it was asked who would do so, I volunteered without hesitation. When Jack was lead back in and heard the verdict, he came and hugged me in gratitude despite the shackles.

            Throughout it all, Clint was set to methodically documenting all the details about what was said and the decisions that were made. The minutes of the meeting were to go on record in his archives, with copies distributed to those in attendance (though all references to lycanthropy or any other sensitive information were of course redacted in the copies.

            Everyone stayed the night, and the next morning we said our goodbyes to those who were leaving. I suddenly had the urge to get away from everyone, and ran out the back door through the bushes and trees. Nobody tried to stop me, so I shifted and continued running in my regular wolf form until I was too tired to continue. I stopped at a ledge overlooking the valley below, then laid down on the grass, alone with my thoughts.