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             said Em's mom. Em's family and I were in our timber wolf forms crowded around a breakfast of freshly killed deer. My shoulder wound had healed enough for me to cut out the stitches with my pointer claw. Despite the scar that didn't quite shift completely with the rest of me, it felt great to hunt again, especially now that I had a pack to do it with! Since the attack on my house the day before yesterday, we'd decided that there really wasn't any one safe place to hide, so Em's mom had lifted the restriction to be in the forest as long as we all stayed together. Em's dad was usually away at his secure research facility and worked long hours (sometimes staying overnight), so we didn't have to worry about him as much.

            One of the many benefits of telepathy is that you don't need to use your mouth to communicate. For instance, two wolves could carry on an entire conversation while appearing to do nothing but relax in the sun with their eyes closed. It also helps with multi-tasking if one's mouth is busy, as Mrs. Sorensen was demonstrating so aptly right then.

             she continued, her entire head buried deep inside the deer as she chomped away,

            Later that morning I found myself strapped in the white Suburban with 4 other werewolves heading southbound on I-15. Along with Em's two brothers, I had my head half way out the window to let the wind pull through my tangled blonde hair. I'm sure the girls would have joined in if they could, but Em was sitting beside me in the middle seat and Mrs. Sorensen was driving.

            "Where did you say we were going again?" complained Ryan from the front seat, pulling his head halfway back in the window. "I only have so much time left before my next semester starts, and I was hoping to hang out with some friends tonight."

            I was reminded of my own college semester that began in a month and a half. I sure hoped that whoever we were going to see was able to help us get everything solved before then!

            "I told you, honey. We're going to visit Clint, remember? You've talked to him a couple times when you were younger? He lives in Arizona just south of the Utah border." Then for my benefit, she added "Clint is a very respected leader among werewolves, and many people come to him for advice."

            "Yeah, but why do we have to go all the way down there to see him? Wouldn't it have been easier to just call him up or something?" piped in Ryan again.

            "Well, honey, it's much easier if we meet as a pack so everybody's on the same page. Plus, Seth and John have never met Clint before, and we need to try and figure out if he knows any way to stop whoever's attacking Seth."

"Seems like everything's about Seth," he sneered under his breath before facing the wind again. I don't know why, but in the few times I'd ever seen him, Ryan didn't appear to like me at all. I tried to offer him some Jerky from a bag I'd bought, but his only response was to shake his head slightly and continue staring out the window.

            "Aww, don't mind him. Ryan's just a mangy old gray-fur who doesn't know how to have any fun," Emmalee teased, hugging me tighter. He turned and shot her a look, but she just smiled wider and rested her head on my chest. I stroked her long, soft hair and smiled as well. Mrs. Sorensen took the opportunity to put in a music CD (not MP3; werewolf ears could pick up the quality loss of compressed audio), effectively changing the subject for now.

            The rest of the trip was uneventful except for the air getting hotter and more arid the further south we went; eventually Mrs. Sorensen insisted on rolling up all the windows to turn on the air conditioning. Since Emmalee had already fallen asleep on my lap, I decided to catch a quick nap as well.

            "Wake up everyone, this is it!" Mrs. Sorensen announced suddenly.

            "We're here already?" I asked. It seemed like only 20 minutes had passed since I closed my eyes.

            "Yep! I went a bit faster than the speed limit, but we've driven a good 4 hours now. You were snoring pretty good there for the last two though," she added with a mock expression of scolding.

            I smiled sheepishly and I stretched my arms, then sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Clint's property looked to be at the end of a long, dusty dirt road that lead off the highway to the nearest town. There was a midsized wooden house surrounded by several types of cacti both large and small, some sparse shrubbery that looked like sagebrush, and a few Joshua trees. From there, the desert extended in every direction almost as far as the eye could see; for someone who wanted privacy and seclusion, this seemed like the place to be.

            I jumped out of the Suburban and was immediately hit by a wave of dry heat, but I didn't mind it too much. I waited until Em gracefully exited as well and shut the door behind her.  I gave her a quick peck on the cheek as we walked up the front gravel path hand in hand behind the others.

            When Em's mom led the way through the front screen door of the wooden house without knocking, I saw Clint for the first time. He was sitting on a heavy couch in his anthro wolf form, legs stretched out and crossed in front with his tail draped over the edge of the seat to one side. On his head was a cracked old leather cowboy hat with holes cut out for the ears and a buckskin loincloth fastened around his waist. I also noticed an eagle feather tied in amongst his long, silvery-gray mane and a single wolf pawprint tattoo on his left chest which was visible through the fur. In his paws was a beat-up looking leather-bound journal. He looked up from over his book, then set it down with a smile and stood as we entered. At his first southern-accented "howdy" and tip of his hat, I could tell he was one of those rare people that everyone instantly likes, and I was no exception.

             "Erica!" he said, addressing Mrs. Sorensen, "and her whole pack, too. Come in, come in! Ryan, Emmalee-good to see you again, and John, glad I finally get to see you." Last of all he turned to me.

            "And you must be Seth, the one I've been hearing so much about?" he said, lightly sniffing the air as he did.

            I nodded once and grinned as we shook paws. "That's me."

            What looked like a quick expression of recognition flashed across his eyes, but it was so fleeting that I had to wonder if it was just my subconscious trying to convince me that someone so likeable already knew me somehow. He turned back to the rest of the group.

            "Y'all make yourselves comfortable now, ya hear? Whatever shape suits you best, don't be bashful; there's a couple 'o restrooms around the corner if you want to change into something more comfortable, if you know what I mean." He drawled with a wink.

            Knowing he was referring to more than just the typical definition of change, I grinned and walked to the bathroom to remove my clothing, then shifted. That glorious feeling of power and confidence that came with being in my anthro wolf form never got old!  As I walked back, I noticed his walls were covered with photos and paintings of Native Americans as well as lots of other relics and trinkets like dream catchers and pottery. I'll bet a museum would kill to get their hands on some of this stuff! The whole place had a scent of pine and leather that seemed to suggest an air of age and experience which got stronger the closer I got back to him.

            "Well ain't you the big 'un!" he whistled for emphasis as I came back to the room where everyone was now seated. I realized he was right; while I hadn't really thought about it before, compared to all the other werewolves I'd seen so far, I'd been the biggest. As I joined Emmalee on the closest couch and put my big arm around her, I had to smile at how completely I dwarfed her human form. She sighed contentedly and pulled herself against my short summer fur.

            I noticed a lemonade pitcher on the table in the center of the room and that everyone was already drinking from their glasses, but the one left for me looked odd. It had a large rounded piece cut out from the side, I'd never seen anything like it. I saw that Clint had one as well, and realized it was specially designed to fit a werewolf's muzzle.

            "Now then, Let me introduce myself!" he said cheerily. "Clint's the name, and I'm the historian for the western USA. My pappy was a Texan, and he married a Comanche Indian who happened to have 'the gift of shift' if you will. Scared the livin' daylights out him when he first found out! Anyway, that's where I come from. Moved to Arizona here a while back so as to be closer to the other western states, and I've been here ever since."

            "Werewolves have historians?" I asked.

            "Well, it's hard to keep a record of our comings and goings, I'll tell you what. Most of us just get along in our daily lives they best we can while guarding the secret from regular humans, but then there's those who choose to stay feral and renounce their humanity altogether or the rogues that end up going crazy-you can imagine how much harder that makes things. Most of what I know comes from second hand accounts, and those stories are passed down verbally from one historian to the next; that's my job 'n sometimes ah meet with other historians from around the world to get a more complete picture. I document names and locations the best I can, but 's too risky keeping a written record of much else in case it were to fall into smooth hands. We hope that all werewolves who hear our history will remember and teach their children and other werewolves."

            "How long have you been a historian?"

            "Official-like? Well lemme see here…" He paused to scratch the fur on his chin before continuing. "I'd say about 40 years giver 'er take."

            "I know almost nothing about my history; would you teach me?"

            "I s'pose now's as good a time as any," he said with a slight smile.

            "Well son, it goes something like this. Us werewolves ain't so much another creature as humans with an extraordinary gift. Sure, it's a biological gift (and partially spiritual too), but generally speaking it's right impossible to tell us apart unless we go an' shift. As yeh might know, we revert back to human form at death; dun matter what shape we're in when we kick the bucket. I'm sure at some time 'r another someone's been preserved in extreme cold, but even then the body will still revert unless frozen instantly." He shuddered as if imagining how terrible a death that would be.

            "Werewolves have been around for almost as long as humans far as we can reckon'; there's drawings of 'em in Egypt, though people nowadays call 'em "Anubis" or some such. In Injun' culture, there's a lot o' traditions about skinwalkers and the like, but those were our grand pappies just the same. In fact, the Native Americans were the most accepting of their shapeshifting brethren; it's a downright shame there's so few of 'em left nowadays.

            "In recent times, as communication technology has gotten better, we've been able to discover and share information with other 'wolves, more easily, but we're still very spread out with only a few hundred existing in the larger countries like the US and China and even less in smaller lands. There's so few of us because, to be honest, it's hard to have werewolf offspring, let alone keep yer true form hidden at all times around humans. If yer like any good 'wolf, I'm sure you want to be outdoors in one of your non-human forms as much as you can.  Every once-in-a-blue moon, some human will catch wind of us; sometimes one of our numbers is clumsy, other times the human is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Usually, the person has to be bitten or killed to keep our secret safe, but that dun' always work. In fact, there's a better chance of the human dying or becoming immune from it than anythin' else. Sometimes they escape. In those cases, the best that can be hoped for is that nobody will believe them and they'll just go quiet eventually. What happens other times though, is they organize 'n hunt us. Sounds like you've got one of those cases."

            "And that's the main reason we came; there's some questions we need answered and we were was wondering if you could help."

            "Well, I'll do my best boy. First, has anyone seen you in your anthro wolf form?"

            "No! Nobody besides my parents, Em's dad, or other werewolves have ever seen my in my anthro wolf form (well, besides the soldiers that were already chasing me anyway). I don't know what these people want, but someone named Commander Harper sounds like he's behind all this."

            "How did they react when they saw you?"

            "The first time-with the Jeep-they were shocked and terrified, everyone but Harper anyway. The second time I could still smell their fear, but they didn't seem shocked like before."

            "I hear you're a pretty good fighter when it comes to dealing with these guys," he chuckled as he lit what looked like an Indian peace pipe. "So your parents are werewolves then, or were you bitten?" he asked between puffs on his pipe.

            "Well no, I wasn't bitten. My biological parents were killed in a traffic accident when I too young to remember, and my Aunt and Uncle Davis-who're staying with friends right now for protection-adopted me I guess."

            He yanked the pipe out of his mouth mid-inhalation and jerked forward. "Wait-the only werewolf I know of who died with his mate in a car crash was Paul!" He clenched the pipe in his teeth and began thumbing through the leather book he was reading before.

            "Yeah, that's my dad's name! You knew him?"

            "You could say we were pretty close." He looked up and made a single exhaling sound of dry laughter, but with a pained, humorless expression. "I never knew he had a son though; I wonder why he hid that from me…" He trailed off appearing far away in thought as he slumped back in the chair to stare at the ceiling.

            "Your parents might know," prompted Mrs. Sorensen gently, breaking the silence. "The number for where they're staying is stored on my phone if you want to call." Swallowing, I nodded and took the Blackberry from her outstretched hand, placing it on speaker so everyone could hear.

            "Hello?"

            "Mom! This is Seth. Are you and dad doing okay?"

            "Seth! So good to have you call! Yes, we're doing fine, dear. How're you?"

            "Good, nothing new since that incident at the airport. Listen, me and the Sorensens are with a historian named Clint here on speaker phone. We have a couple of questions for you, questions about my past I guess. Could you put the phone on speaker so Dad can hear too?" There was a bit of shuffling in the background, and then my dad answered.

            "I'm here now too," he replied. "What would you like to know?"
I took a deep breath.

            "Well, how did you first find me? After my biological parents died, I mean."

            The line went silent for an almost awkward amount of time before she responded.

            "I, uh… well, my brother-in-law Paul and his wife Eve-your biological parents-were leaving with some of their friends that night. They didn't trust leaving you with a baby sitter, so they came to us. Dan accepted, and it was around 2am the next morning when we got the news that they'd been involved in a fatal crash. Their car went right over a hundred foot cliff. You were only 3 months old at the time."

            This time Clint spoke. "Paul never told any of us werewolves that he had a son, and it dun make any sense for him to 'ave done that. Was he acting any different than usual?"

             "Well, I seem to remember Paul and Eve had been trying to keep a low profile for some reason," Dad answered carefully.

            "Did they have any enemies? Anyone that was trying to give them trouble?" asked Clint.

            "Well, now that you mention it-he had said something about a disagreement with his commanding officer during his time in the military; it got to the point where he had to be reassigned. Even after the he left the military he'd seemed a bit more wary than usual. I don't remember any more than that."
Clint continued to stare up at the ceiling and took a deep drag on the pipe. His next words were spoken while he slowly exhaled the smoke. "I think he didn't let anyone know about Seth so as to protect him. Sometimes people discover and come after us like I mentioned before; and if it were me I would have done the same I think."

            Mine wasn't the only confused face in the room. He seemed to notice this and went on to explain. "Keeping Seth's existence a secret from other werewolves meant that nobody but his parents would know him for what he truly was. If anyone was looking to try and do him harm, he'd be extremely difficult to find. If everything adds up the way I think it does, someone knew Paul was a werewolf. His plan to keep you safe has worked pretty well up until now, but judging by the hardware used in yer two attacks, sounds like that commander-Harper you said he might be called?-was the one he had that disagreement with in the military, and has figured it all out."

            Some things seemed to be coming together, and yet others started to make less sense. My dad had been in the military, he'd had some issues with someone-probably Harper-and was then reassigned. He must have left the military not too long after that, and then settled down with my mother to start a family. After the car crash, he was gone, so whatever disagreement they'd had must have ended at that point? What could have possibly happened to make Harper continuously try to kill or capture me, the son of some guy he'd had a disagreement with more than two decades ago? I couldn't figure it out.
John seemed to be following my same line of thinking.

            "But why attack Seth? I mean, he's his son, but it's not like whatever happened between them would have caused this Harper guy to do everything he has?"

            Clint exhaled deeply before continuing. "I don't know. Vengeance for whatever happened? Pride? A simple grudge? Typical reasons people might come up with to justify what they do. Maybe the fact that you're a werewolf has something to do with it. But at the same time, it seems kind of odd that he found out who you are if no untrusted human has ever seen your true form…"

            Ryan coughed and stood. "Where did you say the bathroom was again?"

            "Just around the corner there, first door on the left," he gestured with his pipe without changing his gaze.

            "Did you have any other questions for us son?" came my dad's voice through the cell phone.

            "Oh, sorry. No, that's it."

            "Okay, Seth. I know you'll figure this all out." Mom responded this time.  "We love you, stay safe."

            "Thanks, I love you too. We'll figure this out soon so you can come home again."

            I pressed the end call button with my claw tip and handed it back to Em's mom.

            "What can we do to stop them from attacking again?" asked Emmalee.

            "We have to figure out a motive, find out what they want."

            "How are we going to do that?"

            "Well, if heaven forbid they attack you again, try to capture someone and get information out of them like you did to get Harper's name. It's unlikely any o' the soldiers would have a lot of information, but they might be able to lead you to him. Whatever you do though, try to avoid killing anyone if you can; they don't need another excuse to bring more attention to this thing."

            Only one question remained.

            "How do you know my dad anyway?"

            "Funny you should ask that; as the main Western Historian, I keep tabs on all werewolves in the area the best I can. Of course, I knew your father personally; I should have recognized you were his son when I first grabbed a nose full of his all-too-familiar scent you now share. You see, I'm the one that bit him."

            My mouth fell open in shock. Not only did the man standing in front of me know my father, Clint was the werewolf responsible for his, and later my own lycanthropy!

            "What happened was, he got lost in the forest while camping with his Boy Scout group. I chanced to stumble across him in an area I was passing through at the time, and it was apparent he was tired, hungry, and just about out of energy.  Though I felt sorry for him, wouldn't have done nothin' but for what I saw in his eyes; he had a wild spark of life that made me want to help him out and I knew he'd make a good werewolf. 'Sides, he wouldn't have made it much longer without my doing something anyway. From there, I bit him, gave him food, and taught him how to hunt proper-like in his new body. I watched over him for about a week, and even in so short a time we became close friends. From then on, we'd stayed in contact and even ran together a few more times, me teaching him everything I knew. Your father was a great man, and it seems you're turning out to be just like him."

            "I don't know how family relations work between host human and werewolf, but… does that make you my grandpa?

            "I guess in a manner of speaking, it does," he smiled warmly. "And I'd be proud to count you as my grandson."

            My family tree was getting more and more interesting as time went on; two adopted parents and now a "surrogate" grandpa!

            Not knowing what else to do, I got up and hugged him.

            "If there's anything I can ever do for you son, just call," he spoke softly into my ear.

            From there the conversation continued, we took a few photos, and eventually he treated us to a delicious steak dinner. Once it started to get dark though, it was time to go. There were still 4 hours of driving ahead, and the sooner we hit the road, the better.

            I went to the back to shift to human form and got dressed once again. We all said our goodbyes and piled into the hot SUV. During the whole trip back, I mostly just sat there in numb silence with my arms around Emmalee, mind abuzz trying to digest all the new information I'd received that day. Someday, after all this was over, I'd have to ask Grandpa Clint (the title still sounded odd) more about my father. Until then, I'd just have to find Harper and finish this once and for all…

Description
             said Em's mom. Em's family and I were in our timber wolf forms crowded around a breakfast of freshly killed deer. My shoulder wound had healed enough for me to cut out the stitches with my pointer claw. Despite the scar that didn't quite shift completely with the rest of me, it felt great to hunt again, especially now that I had a pack to do it with! Since the attack on my house the day before yesterday, we'd decided that there really wasn't any one safe place to hide, so Em's mom had lifted the restriction to be in the forest as long as we all stayed together. Em's dad was usually away at his secure research facility and worked long hours (sometimes staying overnight), so we didn't have to worry about him as much.

            One of the many benefits of telepathy is that you don't need to use your mouth to communicate. For instance, two wolves could carry on an entire conversation while appearing to do nothing but relax in the sun with their eyes closed. It also helps with multi-tasking if one's mouth is busy, as Mrs. Sorensen was demonstrating so aptly right then.

             she continued, her entire head buried deep inside the deer as she chomped away,

            Later that morning I found myself strapped in the white Suburban with 4 other werewolves heading southbound on I-15. Along with Em's two brothers, I had my head half way out the window to let the wind pull through my tangled blonde hair. I'm sure the girls would have joined in if they could, but Em was sitting beside me in the middle seat and Mrs. Sorensen was driving.

            "Where did you say we were going again?" complained Ryan from the front seat, pulling his head halfway back in the window. "I only have so much time left before my next semester starts, and I was hoping to hang out with some friends tonight."

            I was reminded of my own college semester that began in a month and a half. I sure hoped that whoever we were going to see was able to help us get everything solved before then!

            "I told you, honey. We're going to visit Clint, remember? You've talked to him a couple times when you were younger? He lives in Arizona just south of the Utah border." Then for my benefit, she added "Clint is a very respected leader among werewolves, and many people come to him for advice."

            "Yeah, but why do we have to go all the way down there to see him? Wouldn't it have been easier to just call him up or something?" piped in Ryan again.

            "Well, honey, it's much easier if we meet as a pack so everybody's on the same page. Plus, Seth and John have never met Clint before, and we need to try and figure out if he knows any way to stop whoever's attacking Seth."

"Seems like everything's about Seth," he sneered under his breath before facing the wind again. I don't know why, but in the few times I'd ever seen him, Ryan didn't appear to like me at all. I tried to offer him some Jerky from a bag I'd bought, but his only response was to shake his head slightly and continue staring out the window.

            "Aww, don't mind him. Ryan's just a mangy old gray-fur who doesn't know how to have any fun," Emmalee teased, hugging me tighter. He turned and shot her a look, but she just smiled wider and rested her head on my chest. I stroked her long, soft hair and smiled as well. Mrs. Sorensen took the opportunity to put in a music CD (not MP3; werewolf ears could pick up the quality loss of compressed audio), effectively changing the subject for now.

            The rest of the trip was uneventful except for the air getting hotter and more arid the further south we went; eventually Mrs. Sorensen insisted on rolling up all the windows to turn on the air conditioning. Since Emmalee had already fallen asleep on my lap, I decided to catch a quick nap as well.

            "Wake up everyone, this is it!" Mrs. Sorensen announced suddenly.

            "We're here already?" I asked. It seemed like only 20 minutes had passed since I closed my eyes.

            "Yep! I went a bit faster than the speed limit, but we've driven a good 4 hours now. You were snoring pretty good there for the last two though," she added with a mock expression of scolding.

            I smiled sheepishly and I stretched my arms, then sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Clint's property looked to be at the end of a long, dusty dirt road that lead off the highway to the nearest town. There was a midsized wooden house surrounded by several types of cacti both large and small, some sparse shrubbery that looked like sagebrush, and a few Joshua trees. From there, the desert extended in every direction almost as far as the eye could see; for someone who wanted privacy and seclusion, this seemed like the place to be.

            I jumped out of the Suburban and was immediately hit by a wave of dry heat, but I didn't mind it too much. I waited until Em gracefully exited as well and shut the door behind her.  I gave her a quick peck on the cheek as we walked up the front gravel path hand in hand behind the others.

            When Em's mom led the way through the front screen door of the wooden house without knocking, I saw Clint for the first time. He was sitting on a heavy couch in his anthro wolf form, legs stretched out and crossed in front with his tail draped over the edge of the seat to one side. On his head was a cracked old leather cowboy hat with holes cut out for the ears and a buckskin loincloth fastened around his waist. I also noticed an eagle feather tied in amongst his long, silvery-gray mane and a single wolf pawprint tattoo on his left chest which was visible through the fur. In his paws was a beat-up looking leather-bound journal. He looked up from over his book, then set it down with a smile and stood as we entered. At his first southern-accented "howdy" and tip of his hat, I could tell he was one of those rare people that everyone instantly likes, and I was no exception.

             "Erica!" he said, addressing Mrs. Sorensen, "and her whole pack, too. Come in, come in! Ryan, Emmalee-good to see you again, and John, glad I finally get to see you." Last of all he turned to me.

            "And you must be Seth, the one I've been hearing so much about?" he said, lightly sniffing the air as he did.

            I nodded once and grinned as we shook paws. "That's me."

            What looked like a quick expression of recognition flashed across his eyes, but it was so fleeting that I had to wonder if it was just my subconscious trying to convince me that someone so likeable already knew me somehow. He turned back to the rest of the group.

            "Y'all make yourselves comfortable now, ya hear? Whatever shape suits you best, don't be bashful; there's a couple 'o restrooms around the corner if you want to change into something more comfortable, if you know what I mean." He drawled with a wink.

            Knowing he was referring to more than just the typical definition of change, I grinned and walked to the bathroom to remove my clothing, then shifted. That glorious feeling of power and confidence that came with being in my anthro wolf form never got old!  As I walked back, I noticed his walls were covered with photos and paintings of Native Americans as well as lots of other relics and trinkets like dream catchers and pottery. I'll bet a museum would kill to get their hands on some of this stuff! The whole place had a scent of pine and leather that seemed to suggest an air of age and experience which got stronger the closer I got back to him.

            "Well ain't you the big 'un!" he whistled for emphasis as I came back to the room where everyone was now seated. I realized he was right; while I hadn't really thought about it before, compared to all the other werewolves I'd seen so far, I'd been the biggest. As I joined Emmalee on the closest couch and put my big arm around her, I had to smile at how completely I dwarfed her human form. She sighed contentedly and pulled herself against my short summer fur.

            I noticed a lemonade pitcher on the table in the center of the room and that everyone was already drinking from their glasses, but the one left for me looked odd. It had a large rounded piece cut out from the side, I'd never seen anything like it. I saw that Clint had one as well, and realized it was specially designed to fit a werewolf's muzzle.

            "Now then, Let me introduce myself!" he said cheerily. "Clint's the name, and I'm the historian for the western USA. My pappy was a Texan, and he married a Comanche Indian who happened to have 'the gift of shift' if you will. Scared the livin' daylights out him when he first found out! Anyway, that's where I come from. Moved to Arizona here a while back so as to be closer to the other western states, and I've been here ever since."

            "Werewolves have historians?" I asked.

            "Well, it's hard to keep a record of our comings and goings, I'll tell you what. Most of us just get along in our daily lives they best we can while guarding the secret from regular humans, but then there's those who choose to stay feral and renounce their humanity altogether or the rogues that end up going crazy-you can imagine how much harder that makes things. Most of what I know comes from second hand accounts, and those stories are passed down verbally from one historian to the next; that's my job 'n sometimes ah meet with other historians from around the world to get a more complete picture. I document names and locations the best I can, but 's too risky keeping a written record of much else in case it were to fall into smooth hands. We hope that all werewolves who hear our history will remember and teach their children and other werewolves."

            "How long have you been a historian?"

            "Official-like? Well lemme see here…" He paused to scratch the fur on his chin before continuing. "I'd say about 40 years giver 'er take."

            "I know almost nothing about my history; would you teach me?"

            "I s'pose now's as good a time as any," he said with a slight smile.

            "Well son, it goes something like this. Us werewolves ain't so much another creature as humans with an extraordinary gift. Sure, it's a biological gift (and partially spiritual too), but generally speaking it's right impossible to tell us apart unless we go an' shift. As yeh might know, we revert back to human form at death; dun matter what shape we're in when we kick the bucket. I'm sure at some time 'r another someone's been preserved in extreme cold, but even then the body will still revert unless frozen instantly." He shuddered as if imagining how terrible a death that would be.

            "Werewolves have been around for almost as long as humans far as we can reckon'; there's drawings of 'em in Egypt, though people nowadays call 'em "Anubis" or some such. In Injun' culture, there's a lot o' traditions about skinwalkers and the like, but those were our grand pappies just the same. In fact, the Native Americans were the most accepting of their shapeshifting brethren; it's a downright shame there's so few of 'em left nowadays.

            "In recent times, as communication technology has gotten better, we've been able to discover and share information with other 'wolves, more easily, but we're still very spread out with only a few hundred existing in the larger countries like the US and China and even less in smaller lands. There's so few of us because, to be honest, it's hard to have werewolf offspring, let alone keep yer true form hidden at all times around humans. If yer like any good 'wolf, I'm sure you want to be outdoors in one of your non-human forms as much as you can.  Every once-in-a-blue moon, some human will catch wind of us; sometimes one of our numbers is clumsy, other times the human is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Usually, the person has to be bitten or killed to keep our secret safe, but that dun' always work. In fact, there's a better chance of the human dying or becoming immune from it than anythin' else. Sometimes they escape. In those cases, the best that can be hoped for is that nobody will believe them and they'll just go quiet eventually. What happens other times though, is they organize 'n hunt us. Sounds like you've got one of those cases."

            "And that's the main reason we came; there's some questions we need answered and we were was wondering if you could help."

            "Well, I'll do my best boy. First, has anyone seen you in your anthro wolf form?"

            "No! Nobody besides my parents, Em's dad, or other werewolves have ever seen my in my anthro wolf form (well, besides the soldiers that were already chasing me anyway). I don't know what these people want, but someone named Commander Harper sounds like he's behind all this."

            "How did they react when they saw you?"

            "The first time-with the Jeep-they were shocked and terrified, everyone but Harper anyway. The second time I could still smell their fear, but they didn't seem shocked like before."

            "I hear you're a pretty good fighter when it comes to dealing with these guys," he chuckled as he lit what looked like an Indian peace pipe. "So your parents are werewolves then, or were you bitten?" he asked between puffs on his pipe.

            "Well no, I wasn't bitten. My biological parents were killed in a traffic accident when I too young to remember, and my Aunt and Uncle Davis-who're staying with friends right now for protection-adopted me I guess."

            He yanked the pipe out of his mouth mid-inhalation and jerked forward. "Wait-the only werewolf I know of who died with his mate in a car crash was Paul!" He clenched the pipe in his teeth and began thumbing through the leather book he was reading before.

            "Yeah, that's my dad's name! You knew him?"

            "You could say we were pretty close." He looked up and made a single exhaling sound of dry laughter, but with a pained, humorless expression. "I never knew he had a son though; I wonder why he hid that from me…" He trailed off appearing far away in thought as he slumped back in the chair to stare at the ceiling.

            "Your parents might know," prompted Mrs. Sorensen gently, breaking the silence. "The number for where they're staying is stored on my phone if you want to call." Swallowing, I nodded and took the Blackberry from her outstretched hand, placing it on speaker so everyone could hear.

            "Hello?"

            "Mom! This is Seth. Are you and dad doing okay?"

            "Seth! So good to have you call! Yes, we're doing fine, dear. How're you?"

            "Good, nothing new since that incident at the airport. Listen, me and the Sorensens are with a historian named Clint here on speaker phone. We have a couple of questions for you, questions about my past I guess. Could you put the phone on speaker so Dad can hear too?" There was a bit of shuffling in the background, and then my dad answered.

            "I'm here now too," he replied. "What would you like to know?"
I took a deep breath.

            "Well, how did you first find me? After my biological parents died, I mean."

            The line went silent for an almost awkward amount of time before she responded.

            "I, uh… well, my brother-in-law Paul and his wife Eve-your biological parents-were leaving with some of their friends that night. They didn't trust leaving you with a baby sitter, so they came to us. Dan accepted, and it was around 2am the next morning when we got the news that they'd been involved in a fatal crash. Their car went right over a hundred foot cliff. You were only 3 months old at the time."

            This time Clint spoke. "Paul never told any of us werewolves that he had a son, and it dun make any sense for him to 'ave done that. Was he acting any different than usual?"

             "Well, I seem to remember Paul and Eve had been trying to keep a low profile for some reason," Dad answered carefully.

            "Did they have any enemies? Anyone that was trying to give them trouble?" asked Clint.

            "Well, now that you mention it-he had said something about a disagreement with his commanding officer during his time in the military; it got to the point where he had to be reassigned. Even after the he left the military he'd seemed a bit more wary than usual. I don't remember any more than that."
Clint continued to stare up at the ceiling and took a deep drag on the pipe. His next words were spoken while he slowly exhaled the smoke. "I think he didn't let anyone know about Seth so as to protect him. Sometimes people discover and come after us like I mentioned before; and if it were me I would have done the same I think."

            Mine wasn't the only confused face in the room. He seemed to notice this and went on to explain. "Keeping Seth's existence a secret from other werewolves meant that nobody but his parents would know him for what he truly was. If anyone was looking to try and do him harm, he'd be extremely difficult to find. If everything adds up the way I think it does, someone knew Paul was a werewolf. His plan to keep you safe has worked pretty well up until now, but judging by the hardware used in yer two attacks, sounds like that commander-Harper you said he might be called?-was the one he had that disagreement with in the military, and has figured it all out."

            Some things seemed to be coming together, and yet others started to make less sense. My dad had been in the military, he'd had some issues with someone-probably Harper-and was then reassigned. He must have left the military not too long after that, and then settled down with my mother to start a family. After the car crash, he was gone, so whatever disagreement they'd had must have ended at that point? What could have possibly happened to make Harper continuously try to kill or capture me, the son of some guy he'd had a disagreement with more than two decades ago? I couldn't figure it out.
John seemed to be following my same line of thinking.

            "But why attack Seth? I mean, he's his son, but it's not like whatever happened between them would have caused this Harper guy to do everything he has?"

            Clint exhaled deeply before continuing. "I don't know. Vengeance for whatever happened? Pride? A simple grudge? Typical reasons people might come up with to justify what they do. Maybe the fact that you're a werewolf has something to do with it. But at the same time, it seems kind of odd that he found out who you are if no untrusted human has ever seen your true form…"

            Ryan coughed and stood. "Where did you say the bathroom was again?"

            "Just around the corner there, first door on the left," he gestured with his pipe without changing his gaze.

            "Did you have any other questions for us son?" came my dad's voice through the cell phone.

            "Oh, sorry. No, that's it."

            "Okay, Seth. I know you'll figure this all out." Mom responded this time.  "We love you, stay safe."

            "Thanks, I love you too. We'll figure this out soon so you can come home again."

            I pressed the end call button with my claw tip and handed it back to Em's mom.

            "What can we do to stop them from attacking again?" asked Emmalee.

            "We have to figure out a motive, find out what they want."

            "How are we going to do that?"

            "Well, if heaven forbid they attack you again, try to capture someone and get information out of them like you did to get Harper's name. It's unlikely any o' the soldiers would have a lot of information, but they might be able to lead you to him. Whatever you do though, try to avoid killing anyone if you can; they don't need another excuse to bring more attention to this thing."

            Only one question remained.

            "How do you know my dad anyway?"

            "Funny you should ask that; as the main Western Historian, I keep tabs on all werewolves in the area the best I can. Of course, I knew your father personally; I should have recognized you were his son when I first grabbed a nose full of his all-too-familiar scent you now share. You see, I'm the one that bit him."

            My mouth fell open in shock. Not only did the man standing in front of me know my father, Clint was the werewolf responsible for his, and later my own lycanthropy!

            "What happened was, he got lost in the forest while camping with his Boy Scout group. I chanced to stumble across him in an area I was passing through at the time, and it was apparent he was tired, hungry, and just about out of energy.  Though I felt sorry for him, wouldn't have done nothin' but for what I saw in his eyes; he had a wild spark of life that made me want to help him out and I knew he'd make a good werewolf. 'Sides, he wouldn't have made it much longer without my doing something anyway. From there, I bit him, gave him food, and taught him how to hunt proper-like in his new body. I watched over him for about a week, and even in so short a time we became close friends. From then on, we'd stayed in contact and even ran together a few more times, me teaching him everything I knew. Your father was a great man, and it seems you're turning out to be just like him."

            "I don't know how family relations work between host human and werewolf, but… does that make you my grandpa?

            "I guess in a manner of speaking, it does," he smiled warmly. "And I'd be proud to count you as my grandson."

            My family tree was getting more and more interesting as time went on; two adopted parents and now a "surrogate" grandpa!

            Not knowing what else to do, I got up and hugged him.

            "If there's anything I can ever do for you son, just call," he spoke softly into my ear.

            From there the conversation continued, we took a few photos, and eventually he treated us to a delicious steak dinner. Once it started to get dark though, it was time to go. There were still 4 hours of driving ahead, and the sooner we hit the road, the better.

            I went to the back to shift to human form and got dressed once again. We all said our goodbyes and piled into the hot SUV. During the whole trip back, I mostly just sat there in numb silence with my arms around Emmalee, mind abuzz trying to digest all the new information I'd received that day. Someday, after all this was over, I'd have to ask Grandpa Clint (the title still sounded odd) more about my father. Until then, I'd just have to find Harper and finish this once and for all…