The Last Wolf

I don’t remember hearing White River leave or getting out of the bathtub. How I wound up curled against the blankets in my bed is a mystery to me, but I was warm, clean, and I felt much better. The glowing red numbers on the clock read 10:37, the bright light trying to burst through my closed blinds made me realize it was morning. How long was I asleep?

I stretched my arms and legs to their full lengths before I arched my back with a broad yawn. Throwing the blankets off sent a chill down my spine as goosebumps rose all over my body. I glanced down noting my lack of clothes, just a tank top and boy shorts. When did I put this on?

Putting on real clothes was my first priority, so I grabbed the forest green zip-up hoodie off the back of my desk chair after pulling on a pair of black sweat pants. There was a glass of water and two small, rectangular, orange pills sitting by the lamp. The pills weren’t worth taking since I wasn’t in a lot of pain, just a little sore, but I felt like my throat was on fire. I chugged the water in one gulp while walking towards the kitchen.

Pots and pans clanged together as my mother riffled through the cabinets. She glanced up as I plopped down on a stool. “Good morning, honey, are you feeling better?”

I smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am, I think I had the strangest dream about running away, it was crazy.”

“That wasn’t a dream, Dahlia. We were worried sick,” she pulled the frying pan out and set it on the front left burner.

“How long did I sleep?”

“About three days, you came home Saturday night, and it’s Tuesday now. Do you want something to eat? How do eggs sound?”

“Yes, I’m starving. Do we have any juice?” Mom nodded as she pointed to the fridge.

I drank at least three glasses of orange juice in the ten minutes it took her to scramble eggs. I scarfed down two helpings before I thought to ask, “Where is Dad?”

“He’s at the church, lighting a candle seemed to be appropriate.”

“What’s wrong with me, Mama?” I could feel the sadness creep into my face, remembering the adoption conversation and White River’s rants about how I didn’t want to know.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Dahlia Raven Waters,” her voice was slightly raised as her face was stern. She sighed heavily as she reached out and rubbed my shoulder reassuringly, “There are some things you should know.”

“What kind of things?”

“You aren’t our biological daughter,” she turned her face away from me, “we found you on our doorstep, you were barely three months old, with a girl who couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old. She was shaking, her skin felt so cold, and she was afraid.”

“Of what?”

My mother turned her eyes toward me and shrugged, “I don’t know. She kept repeating, ‘they are coming for me.’ We called White River, and he took her for a drive to calm her down. She refused to take you with her.” She brushed a stray hair off my cheek, “You look so much like her.”

“Mom,” I started but she cut me off.

“The year before she came to us was a bad time. People were being mauled and murdered. There was a group of people who lived back in the woods; most of the town went looking for them, but when the shack was surrounded there were no people just these large, yellow eyed, wolves. Your father was there; he promised me all the wolves were dead.”

“But they weren’t all dead?” My voice began to quiver as I imagined the scene. Luke Waters standing in front of a rundown shack in the middle of the woods looking at wolves where humans were supposed to be.

“Your biological mother was found in the bushes, no one knew she was pregnant then, but she was the only living person they found.”

“Where were the-“

“The wolves weren’t wolves, Dahlia. When they went to burn the wolves’ bodies, there were no huge dogs. The bodies were all human, and your mother kept screaming, ‘you killed my family.’”

“What are you saying, mama,” my voice was small. I felt like a little girl on the verge of tears as her mother told her a horror story. My imagination brought me terrifying images of the man who raised me lighting a match and watching those poor people burn while this innocent woman screamed.

“You’ve read about werewolves, right?” I nodded. “I’m saying you are descended from a clan that lived here in the woods of this town, the last clan known to the human world.” She took a deep breath as the words escaped her mouth. My eyes widened a moment before realization set in, werewolves were just bad fiction right?

“So...?” I trailed off, trying to get her to admit that this was some stupid joke.

“You’re not human anymore, Dahlia." Her tone was serious with a hint of bitterness. "Now, we have to wait and see what happens next.” Nothing about this seemed like a joke in her features or posture, crossed arms and tight shoulders with a crease in her brow.

I felt a salty tear slip from my eye as I turned away from her. I am not some demon that can be fixed. I’m not some crazy human that can be dealt with. The only way to fix this, to stop the change is to…

”I don’t want to hurt you, honey, but I won’t let you hurt anyone in this town.”