wolves that came before

there's more to know

The carriage ride home felt like a whirlwind of emotions, the events of the evening swirling around me like a tempest. Elias's cryptic words reverberated in my mind, their meaning elusive and haunting. "Young wolf, not all things are meant to be known." What did he mean by that? And why did he keep saving me, time and time again?

As I stepped into the familiar confines of my home, the stench of stale alcohol greeted me like an unwelcome visitor. My mother sat slumped on the couch, a half-empty bottle of liquor clutched in her hand. I sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders once more.

Ignoring the disappointment that gnawed at my heart, I retreated to my room, seeking solace amidst the familiar surroundings. The events of the evening replayed in my mind, each moment dissected and analyzed for clues.

But despite my efforts, I couldn't shake the feeling that Elias held the key to unraveling the mystery surrounding my father's death. He was with my father's killers, I was sure of it. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of my father, who had left us six years ago. Wiping away the tears with trembling hands, I reached for some of his old photographs, finding solace in the memories they held.

Amidst the photographs, I stumbled upon an old picture of my father in his youth. My heart skipped a beat as I noticed the familiar tattoo on his chest - the same tattoo that adorned Elias's chest. How could this be? What connection did Elias have to my father?

Determined to find answers, I grabbed my laptop from the bag beside my bed and began scouring the internet for any information I could find. But my efforts yielded nothing but nonsense results about werewolves and folklore.

Frustrated and exhausted, I closed my laptop and sank onto my bed, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on me like a leaden blanket. But even as sleep claimed me, my mind continued to churn with thoughts of Elias and the secrets he held.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, I awoke with a start, a newfound determination burning bright within me. Though I may not have all the answers yet, one thing was clear - I was determined to unravel the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface, no matter the cost.

With a sense of purpose coursing through my veins, I rose from my bed, ready to face the day ahead. It was Saturday, so there were no worries about missing work. I had sent a message to my boss yesterday, explaining what had happened, so there was no need to fret about my absence.

I made my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth, lost in thought about the events of the previous night. But as I turned the corner, I bumped into my mother, who had an expression of shock on her face.

"When did you get home last...?" she started, her words trailing off as her eyes landed on my bruised face. Panic surged through me as I realized she had noticed the marks from the altercation.

"What happened to your face?" she exclaimed, concern etched into her features. Without a word, I quickly maneuvered past her and hurried out of the bathroom, the weight of unease settling heavily on my shoulders.

My mother's hand tightened around mine as she gently turned my face towards her, her expression etched with concern. "What's wrong, Emily?" she asked softly, her eyes searching mine for answers.

I pulled my hand away abruptly, frustration and anger bubbling up inside me. "I said I'm fine," I snapped, my tone harsher than intended. Guilt gnawed at me as I watched the hurt flash across my mother's face, but I couldn't bring myself to explain the truth. Not yet.

My mother recoiled slightly at my sharp words, hurt evident in her eyes. "Emily, please," she pleaded, her voice tinged with sadness. "I only want to help. I can't bear to see you like this."

I shook my head, my frustration boiling over. "You only want to help?" I scoffed bitterly. "Where were you when I really needed you? hmm, cos now I don't".

Tears welled up in my mother's eyes as she took a step back, her hands trembling at her sides. "Emily, you know it's not that simple," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Not that simple?" I retorted, my anger flaring. "All you care about is drowning your sorrows in alcohol and jack that worthless boyfriend of yours! You never cared about me, about Dad, about anything other than yourself!"

The words hung heavy in the air between us, the truth of them echoing in the silence. My mother stood before me, her shoulders slumped in defeat, her gaze fixed on the floor. And in that moment, I felt a pang of guilt pierce through my anger, a reminder of the love that still lingered beneath the surface, buried beneath layers of pain and resentment.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me. "Mom, please listen to me," I pleaded, desperation lacing my voice. "Jack is a bad influence on you. He's dragging you down, and I can't stand to see you like this."

But my mother shook her head, her defenses rising. "You don't understand, Emily," she insisted, her voice tinged with stubbornness. "Jack loves me, and he's always been there for me."

Frustration boiled over within me, the weight of years of disappointment and heartache pressing down on my shoulders. "Can't you see what he's doing to you?" I cried, my voice rising with anger. "He's using you, Mom. He doesn't care about you like I do."

But my words fell on deaf ears as my mother's resolve hardened. With a heavy heart, I turned away from her, unable to bear the sight of her denial any longer. Without another word, I stormed out of the house, my mind racing with thoughts of betrayal and abandonment.

I made my way to my best friend's house, seeking refuge in the familiarity of her presence. As I knocked on the door, my heart ached with the weight of the truth I had just confronted. But for now, all I could do was seek solace in the company of the one person who had always been there for me, no matter what.