Page 59 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
Hunted. That’s what the damage looked like. As if someone or something had torn through them before the fire ever started.
The friend wanted to know what I knew. I didn’t have answers. Just theories. Whispers of a curse. A family legacy soaked in blood. And the one person who might’ve known the truth? Gone. Disappeared twenty years ago.
Until now.
Uncle Bode.
An experience I had buried in the back of my brain surfaces. Huddled in the tree house far out of sight from seeing eyes, I could still hear things. Smell things.
Shortly after my mother left me, the voices came—fractured, distant, like shards of memory piercing the silence. I was a child, crouched in the treehouse, heart thudding like a drumbeat in my chest. My parents. Uncle Bode. My mother’s voice rose in panic, a desperate edge of fear lacing every word. Then came the growls—low, savage, animal. They didn’t sound human.
Something was happening below. Something terrible. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it in every trembling bone. The thuds, the snarls, the scream that ended too fast. Blood bloomed in my mind’s eye even though I never saw a drop. A child’s mind fills in the blanks.
Then silence. The kind that makes your breath freeze in your throat.
I remember curling tighter in the corner, clutching my knees, trying not to make a sound. I wanted to help. But I was small. Powerless. Alone.
And then the fire began, crackling, roaring and popping. And the smell. The smell was the worst. Even as a child, my sense of smell was over-developed. I swear I could smell every item, every stuffed animal, every piece of furniture as it burned. Plastic, metal, wood…and burning fur and flesh.
Last night, in the woods... I’m sure of it now. That was Bode. I don’t know how I know, but I do. And the look in his eyes when he saw Sera…
It’s happening all over again.
I slam the door shut behind me as I walk into the firehouse, jaw tight. My wolf is pacing again.
The Captain’s waiting in the hall. "Your parents are here," he says. "And they brought a visitor. You might want to brace yourself."
I step into the common room, and there they are—my adoptive parents, standing awkwardly beside a man I haven’t seen since I was five. Until that night in the bar.
Older now. Grayer. But those eyes—still sharp, still assessing—haven’t changed. Predator eyes dressed in family nostalgia. He smiles like we’re family. Like he didn’t abandon me after my world went up in flames. Like he didn't skip town after his brother and sister-in-law's home had burned to the ground with them in it.
And I could see that the Captain felt it too. Bode’s not a doting uncle. And he’s no film director either. Of that much I’m sure. Why he’s in town and why he has chosen to show himself to me now is still to be determined. Whatever the reason, it can’t be good.
And to make matters worse, he’s involved my family, my wonderful, unconditionally doting parents who only see the good in others, not the wolf.
I keep it civil. We catch up. The Bensons beam at me, proud and warm, like they’re giving me a gift. Uncle Bode shares how surprised and happy he was to find out I was still alive.
I’m not buying it.
“Hey, you remember that teddy bear I gave you when you were two? You had begged for a wolf, and I had searched everywhere for one, but I couldn’t find one. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a stuffed wolf to this day.” He chuckles, amused at himself.
“I guess most children are afraid of wolves,” I say. “They don’t trust them.”
Bode’s eyes flash at the challenge.
“Whatever happened to that bear? Did it make it through the fire?”
I shake my head “no.” It’s a lie. It was one of my favorite toys, and my mother had had the foresight to leave it in the treehouse with me and several of my other favorites, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of a shared memory between us.
“Ah, that’s a shame. That must have been a very difficult thing for you to go through.” He doesn’t mean a word of it. He’s pouring fire on a wound, reminding me what he’s capable of.
The conversation moves on to his film projects, his travels, the importance of telling stories rooted in truth. I nod, playing along, praying that the imitation reunion ends soon.
But the tension seems to be easing.
And then my parents ask to meet Sera.
Strange. I’ve mentioned her before. Maybe even acknowledged she was my star probie. But is that really enough for them to ask to see her now.
