Author’s Note: I’m well aware the plot has been minimal (my weakest point in writing) but with this chapter, one appears or so I hope (perhaps a bit of foreshadowing). Comments, as always, will be greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: Sanami Matoh once again holds all rights to FAKE. However, any original characters contained within are my own (not that it matters much in the end).
[Written off and on between February 20th to May 15th of 2003]
[Last edited July 6th of 2004]
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“Mad Season”Chapter Four: Omens
Diana Spacer sat against the solid surface of the bedroom door, too buried in her own musings to acknowledge the twist of a familiar lock, and the pale hand that slowly pushed open the apartment door, even when footfalls fell nearby, she blinked once, twice, and then focused on the present, glancing upwards into the handsome yet scarred face of Randy, who stood silently over her person, an altogether unhappy presence if she was reading his mood correctly.
Some part of the evening’s proceedings had obviously gone very wrong, as most of Randy’s shirt was covered in blood and one sleeve of the clothing had been completely torn away, his jeans had spatters of blood on them as well. Diana was up and onto her feet within a second, examining the stoic man quickly before making to retrieve the first-aid kit they always had situated somewhere in the apartment, which often served as the base of operations for the Resistance.
A firm hand grabbed hold of her wrist and held the blonde woman immobile, before Randy’s quiet voice rang out in the strained silence, answering her inquiry before Diana had time to utter it. “I’m fine. It’s Berkeley you should be pouring your affections over; he’s the one who got his damn femoral artery cut.”
“Is he…”
“He’s alive. But he needs his fiancée rather badly at the moment so I do suggest you collect your things and be on your way shortly. J.J. and Drake are already at the hospital, standing guard in case the werker who did the damage is idiotic enough to come and finish the job. I am to assume Dee is asleep in the bedroom?”
The blonde woman fell into silence before answering, as she was still processing the information Randy had provided. Brushing aside a stray strand of blonde hair, Diana regarded the Resistance leader for a silent moment and then slipped an arm inside her coat. Off-handedly, she related Randy of the evening’s events, leaving out Dee’s emotional breakdown, as she didn’t think said man would appreciate anyone else holding knowledge of the incident. As she pushed against the apartment door, Diana glanced back, catching Randy’s attention with a shrill whistle.
“About Dee…even if he eventually poses a threat, at least attempt to be civil to him during the next few days. He’s not the only one who’s suffering.”
Randy gazed after the woman’s departing figure for some time before shaking his head and quietly treading into the bedroom, taking extra care to not disturb the man slumbering in the room, though part of himself was irritated Dee hadn’t settled on the couch residing in the living room instead. As he pitched his bloodied shirt to the hardwood floor, the body in his bed shifted suddenly, drawing Randy out of the reverie he had unconsciously fallen into. Well aware he should be heading into the bathroom for a much-needed shower, the scarred man found himself instead coming to the edge of the bed, his legs bumping for a brief instant against the wooden frame.
Pale fingers treaded through sleep-mussed hair, before trailing down towards the rest of Dee’s features, Randy’s hand pausing only as it slid onto the rough texture of the wounded man’s bandages, then soft gray eyes went wide as the Japanese-American took note of just what he was doing, and almost angrily, he stepped away, unknowingly knocking aside the phone set which rested just right of the bed.
As Randy set off for the bathroom, a pair of emerald eyes opened briefly before closing once again almost smugly, as if appreciating the gestures the older man had unconsciously made and was quite content to keep the happenings secret until they could be put to better use sometime later. The smile curving Dee’s lips widened into a smirk, and as he drifted back to sleep, he had a spare thought that perhaps everything that had come about in these last few days wasn’t all bad.
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Slender fingers reached out to grasp the hand that lay limply against the white hospital sheet, and intertwined with said fingers; so different from her own they were, callused and well-worn. Diana brought the hand to her face, pressing her other hand tightly against Berkeley’s, and watched for any signs of awakening on her fiancé’s part. It had been three hours since the man had been operated on, and still he slept on, completely obvious to the world and it’s current happenings.
The clock had just stuck three in the morning when a hand pushed open the room door, and J.J. poked his head in, gaze coming to rest on the form of Diana worriedly. Walking across the length of the room, the Resistance member leveled a cup of steaming coffee in front of the woman’s face, and upon seeing the brief smile that appeared, responded in kind.
Diana was silent for the space of five minutes, as the constant beeping that accompanied Berkeley’s breathing had fast become beyond irritating, and the strain of the silence between her and J.J. was unbearable. “I despise wandering about in the darkness of doubt, J.J., just tell me what took place earlier this evening. I will not place blame on anyone, as you well know; accidents happen without anyone prompting them, and as long as others tried to prevent it, I do not care on whose shoulders lies the blame.”
His eyes downcast, from guilt or shame (Diana could not choose which best suited the expression on the man’s face), and when J.J. spoke, his tone were clipped, detached, as if he did not want emotion to cloud the impact of his words. “The reconnaissance of the werkers nest did veer off plan, as I had mistakenly informed the others there were only two of the creatures wandering around, where in reality there were three total. Therefore, the blame lies partly with me but also with Drake, who tripped as he was scurrying away with the floodlight, and when one of the werkers was about to maul him, Berkeley stepped in and accidentally got clipped in the leg by the werker.
“When Randy realized what had occurred, he quickly came to the wounded man’s aid, emptying his weapon into the creature that had attacked his second-in-command before tending Berkeley’s leg as best he could. We finished the trio of werkers off, but just barely, and by the time we returned to the surface, your fiancé had already passed out, and was losing more blood than we could starch with our emergency medical supplies.”
The blonde woman was still for so long, J.J. reached out to take hold of her shoulder, only to recede sharply when Diana stood, her face etched in bare contained fury and a thread of intense angst, just when it looked she was about to speak, no yell, a smooth baritone inserted itself in the air, and caught the woman’s attention instead. Almost frantically, Diana dropped to her previous position; the only change in her manner the tightened hold in which Diana gripped Berkeley’s hand.
“Diana…I willingly stepped into the werker’s reach, and have only myself to blame for letting it injure me this severely. So do calm your fury and frustration, and save it for a night when it will be better appreciated,” Berkeley muttered lowly, his voice barely a notch above hearable. His face was pale, and one could almost see the lines of exhaustion that weaved themselves in his body, not to mention mind.
Her green eyes wide and glassy, the blonde woman just nodded mutely before resting her head just below Berkeley’s chin, and a few moments had only gone by before a sniffle echoed amongst the small room. Not one to miss a beat, J.J. grinned reassuringly at his fellow Resistance member, and then after patting Diana’s shoulder softly left the couple to their own business, where no doubt, sentiments would be traded and feelings reaffirmed; that is, after Diana’s well of tears had been drained dry.
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He was aware of a sudden sharp pain in his chest, the agony so intense Dee was afraid he would pass out, but the pain left his chest and then continued on its trail throughout his body, bringing the man to his knees, and causing dark shadows to overcome his vision. The pain melted away, and twisted in a kind of odd comfort, which remedied the fierce force that had occupied his body moments ago, soothing the patches of raw tenderness. Dee’s breath shuddered when the bones and muscles in his hand shifted, forming into a new and strange skeletal structure that would soon replace his human one.
At a total loss for words, the raven-haired man realized he should have been terrified, scared, in some way panicked about this sudden change, but none of these feelings could Dee seek out and cling to. Even as the rest of his body surrendered to the alien invader inside himself, a sense of peace had taken place in him, and he relished in each change, each re-knitting of bones, each new bliss that was inflicted.
When he felt the process was complete, he opened his eyes and felt a remaining piece of his human mind revel in the new world he had entered. Dee had to but inhale, and he could tell exactly how many animals, and humans had scuffled past this place in the woods. A human had died here perhaps a month ago, the blood contained in the body leaving a distinct mark and odor, which told of how the human had died in startling detail.
The lingering echo of a howl drew Dee’s attention, and he felt small muscles in his ear prick up and try to trace the sound as it floated by on the night air. His new mouth grinned, though it may have seemed to a human a grimace, and he began weaving his way towards his fellow brothers and sisters.
A soft but insistent jabbing in the space of his shoulder slowly drew Dee out of his dream, and back into the world he so wished had not changed drastically, and for the worst it seemed, at the rate things were crumpling. A cold white eye twitched and focused on him, before Dee came to realize it was Randy who had awaken him, and was grounding an exasperated glare in his direction.
With a sharp intake of air, he sat up, the details of the dream he’d been having slipping out of his grasp swiftly, though he tried to take hold the pieces and found they had already abandoned him. The scarred man was moving about in the room (his bedroom, the raven-haired man realized belatedly), and Dee barely caught the pile of clothes that were thrown in his face, before Randy exited the room, disregarding the other’s man inquiries like he wasn’t even there.
Muttering to himself, Dee made use of the bathroom, and dressed swiftly, stopping only to brush his teeth and wash his face before he continued onto the small kitchen. He paused in the doorway though, as he caught sight of Randy tracing a hand down his bare chest (he’d not deigned to don a shirt yet), and among the pale skin, there were patches of scar tissue, in the shape of a jagged knife edge or something of the kind.
Feeling a bit like a peeping tom, Dee walked into the room nosily, purposely letting his foot catch at one of the chairs’ leg near the table. The Resistance leader only muttered underneath his breath, and began the process of making some breakfast, or rather lunch, Dee realized as he spied the time on the digital clock on the stove.
“Where’s the rest of your cohorts?” The younger man asked bluntly, too exhausted, despite over twelve hours of sleep, to put the question tactfully. Besides, given Randy’s temperament towards Dee, he doubted the man cared whether or not he was treated with or without respect.
Randy broke a few eggs before replying, dumping the empty cracked shells into a nearby trashcan. “The Resistance’s activities, such as cleaning out werker nests, are done strictly on a volunteer basis. Those cohorts you speak of also hold jobs, some of which are conducted during the day, though some of the members in the organization prefer to stay away from the combat, and fund our efforts instead, which is perfectly fine with me, as long as they assist us in some way. To date, we have over five hundred members in the Resistance, though only less than two hundred of them offer their services to aid us in doing the kil-exterminating.”
Stunned by the amount of information the Randy had revealed, Dee sat back farther in his chair, wondering just how long the Resistance has been in existence and how many werkers had had their life snuffed out by their members. A ghost of a smile curled Randy’s lips as he turned to grab a few plates from the cabinets above Dee’s head, and the raven-haired man had the distinct impression the older man was taking some measure of enjoyment in revealing the information he had, as if he reveled in Dee’s reactions.
“Though if you’re asking of Diana and gang, they should be arriving from the hospital soon since I received a phone call from them last night, telling me of Berkeley’s return to the world. It’s good news as the man is a very dedicated member of the Resistance, and I relay on him for various tasks.”
Was it his imagination or was Randy actually being helpful and friendly of his own free will? An unexpected chill ran down his spine, and Dee averted his eyes as the scarred man placed a plate of scrambled eyes in front of him, which had not a scrap of brown on them as they usually did when Dee attempted to make them. Nodding his head in thanks, he had just started to consume the food when a remnant of his earlier dream came unbidden, flooding his vision for a moment, and replacing the white walls of the kitchen with the trees and bushes of a forest. The fork in his left hand cluttered onto the plate, and the sound shattered the visage, the kitchen returning as it was.
The tension in the air rose and before any of the men could speak, the apartment door opened, and Diana and J.J. entered, chattering loudly, which slowly dropped away coming upon the scene in the kitchen. The silence stretched on until Randy stood, offering the two remaining chairs at the table, and gesturing to the food sitting on the oven. J.J. glanced between the pair of men questionably, but could find no evidence for the tension-laden atmosphere, or the stunned expression that currently graced Dee’s face, like he’d been the witness to a horrible crime.
“I just brewed some coffee as well, if any of you feel the need to consume some of the stuff. Since last night was so hectic, I only managed to get up an hour ago, and had to wake Dee up not 20 minutes ago as well,” Randy explained in a rush of words, seating himself at the table at the end of his spiel. Diana helped herself to some of the coffee, and sat at the table as well, holding the hot beverage as if it was water after a long drought. Perhaps the coffee at the hospital was as terrible as was rumored?
“How is your fiancé holding up?” The question was so soft-spoken; Diana had to look up to confirm it was indeed Dee who had inquired about Berkeley’s health, and not one of her fellow Resistance members. Averting her eyes, she watched as the creamer she had stirred but a moment ago in her cup of coffee, separated from the dark substance and gathered on the surface, forming a thick white discharge.
Absentmindedly, her hand took hold of the spoon laying nearby on the table surface and dragged the piece of metal through the drink, while she spoke, her tone equally soft-spoken, “As well as he can be, what with everything’s that has occurred these last few days. The doctor who is tending to him says he’ll need to stay at least another week in the hospital until he can return home.”
“However, Randy, there is something I wish to discuss with you in private, if it is possible,” Diana added, almost as an afterthought after her eyes had scanned the bodies which occupied the chairs around the kitchen table. Still dazed from the brief vision he’d glimpsed, Dee offered no resistance to the tan hand of J.J.’s that tugged him from the kitchen and onto the couch in the living room.
When his mind finally came up to speed with his body, Dee started briefly before reflecting on the blonde woman’s words, and coming to the conclusion it had something to do with what had occurred the night before, and what could be done to prevent the event from repeating again in the future.
As J.J. seated himself beside Dee, he rubbed the back of his neck in silent distress and no doubt, frustration. Diana’s tears, considering the circumstances, had not been surprising but the serious tone in which she’d inflicted her words with, worried him. About to embark on another line of thought, the younger man was a bit startled to hear Dee’s voice ring out among the silence that had stretched between the pair.
“About Sean…if you don’t mind my asking, what symptoms did he display before making the change to a werker?” The frown surrounding J.J.’s mouth only became deeper, as he caught sight of the raven-haired man’s troubled expression, and creased brow. “As long as the question is theoretical, and not personal, I don’t mind paying an answer to your question. It is theoretical, is it not, Dee?”
At said man’s slightly hesitant nod, J.J. continued in monotone, the information obviously something he’d committed to memory and repeated several times. “The symptoms vary for some individuals, though the main ones are a fascination for crimson objects, blood lust in a harder term, heavy perspiration in the most simple of tasks, disturbing or abnormal dreams, a severe reaction to the touch of silver, hallucinations, and finally transforming underneath the moon’s various cycles, the full moon being the most dominant of them all.”
Dee’s face did nothing if not farther fall into distress, and J.J. snaked an arm around the man’s shoulders before taking his hand and turning Dee’s face to meet his gaze gently. “It wasn’t a theoretical question, was it? All right, since we are practically by ourselves, why don’t you tell me what you experienced before it eats you alive?”
At first, J.J. was sure Dee would keep the information to himself but suddenly the shadow that had taken root in his expression lifted, and Dee told of the dream and the hallucination that had taken grip of him in the kitchen before he and Diana had arrived. J.J.’s reaction was one of surprise but he quickly swallowed the expression and struggled to maintain a neutral face.
It would not do for him to add to the raven-haired man’s distress and less-than-solid beliefs. Dee had only told him of his experiences because he obviously put some trust into J.J., and that the Resistance member would not repeat what he revealed anywhere else.
“Don’t assume the worst already, Dee. You have been under a lot of stress these past few days, and it would only be natural for a number of odd things to happen at once. Often, the victims of werker attacks are indeed unstable for a week or more before falling back into a normal routine. Besides, I would think it’d be cabin fever for the amount of time you’ve been cooped up in this apartment. I’ll make a note to speak to Randy about letting you have some fresh air.”
For the first time since he had awoken, Dee smiled, and after giving J.J. a brief hug, he stood and headed into the bathroom to heed the call of nature. Unnoticed, the grin on the J.J.’s face slipped, and he resumed rubbing the back of his neck, stopping only when he realized the amount of pressure he was putting behind the action. Some symptoms were making themselves known, and if circumstances continued to slide in the same direction, the Resistance might have another werker to take responsibility of in the near future.
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“I’ll speak plainly and clear, Randy, for I do not want you to interpret my words in the wrong way. As the song goes, I must be cruel to be kind, I suppose,” Diana said after taking a sip of her now luke-warm coffee. Then she treaded her hands together, and met the level stare of Randy’s eye, which she noted looked apprehensive, if a bit curious. Unwilling to procrastinate further, she spoke curtly and hurriedly, the words a near rush, and it was with some amazement Diana realized Randy had indeed understood them.
“As of this moment, Berkeley and I wish to resign from the Resistance. With everything that has happened in the past, and now in the present, we’ve decided it would be best if we exited dangerous activities altogether, such as the attacks on and from werkers. I’m very sorry but I don’t wish to get married to a corpse, Randy, and neither does Berkeley.”
“Even if that corpse had fought valiantly and hard, given their life for a good cause?” Randy asked, voice neutral though his eyes had became hard with repressed anger, and the hand in which he gripped his coffee cup trembled minutely before stopping altogether; the calm before the fury.
“Even if,” Diana confirmed resolutely, the only evident sign she was in turmoil was the hand that drew the end edge of her dress shirt repeatedly through her fingers in a simple pattern. A long-suffering sigh was the only response at her words from Randy, and when the blonde woman dared to raise her eyes, a hint of a smile was playing about the man’s lips, the anger she had seen hints of all but vanished.
“Quite the history that has built up between us, isn’t it? I believe it has been at least six years, if I’m recalling the number correctly. I understand your reasons, and as I have no one to call my own, and could not possibly grasp all you feel, I will grant your request, as long as I can speak to Berkeley in private and indeed confirm he wants the same thing you do.”
Diana, more than a little stunned, finally processed the scarred man’s words, and within a moment was up and hugging Randy as tight as she could. Surprised, the Resistance leader merely patted her arm awkwardly until she released him, and allowed oxygen to finally enter his lungs once again.
Heaving a deep breath, Randy stood, depositing his empty coffee cup into the kitchen sink, and headed into the living room where the sight of J.J. and Dee embracing made him give pause. The two could not have possibly grown so close, so fast, could they? Randy was well-aware of J.J.’s preferences, holding a little of them himself, but was questionably confused when it came to figuring out Dee’s own sexual orientation. He’d feasted on the sight of Diana, and then flirted, or rather teased Randy upon awakening from his injuries.
So, the man was bi then, or very recipient to eye-opening experiences, which after a moment of thought, Randy doubted, as Dee seemed very blunt and honest in his own manner. When the man in question walked past him, the scarred man wondered if Dee remembered any of his actions the night before, and if he had minded them.
“Would you like to accompany us back to the hospital, Randy? I’m sure Berkeley would not mind in the least if you put in a visit, or at least brought flowers of some kind. Though he would most likely dispose of them after you left, since too many of the things clutter his room as it is,” Diana said lightheartedly, taking hold of her jacket before opening the apartment door and glancing back at the Resistance leader.
J.J.’s gaze swung between the pair wildly, picking up on the thin thread of tension that became heavier with each passing moment. Finally, Randy nodded stiffly, and after informing Dee of where he would be, and how the man could reach him, walked out the door with Diana, leaving J.J. to scurry after and close and lock the apartment door behind him as he followed suit.
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It was with some amazement that Dee realized he had been left by his lonesome, which gave him ample time to explore the cage he’d been imprisoned in, and hopefully, find some flaw in it. Though he had thoroughly listened to each of the Resistance members’ stories and experiences, and put belief in them, Dee would not be resigned to the fact he’d been put under house arrest, there was usually a way to escape; one only had to look hard enough to find it.
His search began in the kitchen, where after noting the unusually high number of knives Randy stored there, he moved to the closet of the small hallway. As he was sorting through the various jackets and coats, Dee’s hand paused on a leather jacket that after closer view, and checking the size of most of the clothes in the closet, he deemed too small for Randy to wear, in fact, it looked as if a child of only about seven or eight could make use of the jacket.
His curiosity peaked, the raven-man returned to his ever-daunting task, unlocking the window at the end of the hallway, and frowning when his hands clasped metal bars instead of empty air. More than a little miffed, he headed to the bedroom, where he swiftly sorted through numerous clothes, running the names through his head without much thought involved behind the action.
Jeans, flannel shirts, business suits, boxer shorts, long gray and white socks, tube of lubricant, t-shirts, slacks- whoa! Back up, Dee thought to himself, reopening the drawer where he had caught sight of the small tube. Grinning evilly, the man fingered the item in question, noticing that it was only halfway full. “So, dear Ryo, you have not been involved in any immoral affairs lately? Very interesting indeed,” Dee said to himself as he deposited the tube to its rightful place, and after making sure his search of the room was complete, entered the living room.
The clothes he had been wearing that fateful night had been collected and no doubt, discarded into a nearby trashcan. Dee grieved for the loss for only an instant, and when the search of the large room revealed nothing, he moved on once again, this time finding something of interest in the cabinet behind the mirrored surface of the bathroom.
An empty bottle of antidepressants (the prescription written some number of years ago), and a small bottle of sleeping pills; which did not look as if they had been used for some time. Swiftly, Dee pocketed the sleeping pills, and silently guaranteed the bottle it would be put into use whenever was convenient.
By the time Randy had returned from his visit of the hospital, Dee was laying comfortably on the couch, his eyes scanning the text of some fantasy novel he’d removed from the overcrowded bookshelf of the bedroom. The scarred man was obviously in bad temperament, and said naught a word to Dee as he entered the hallway and a moment later, slammed the door to the bathroom. The sound of the showerhead running was the only sign the raven-haired man received that Randy would be occupying the bathroom for a time.
Laying the book upon his raised knee, Dee removed the bottle of sleeping pills from his pocket, and quickly read the instructions on the label, noting the warning of doubling the prescribed dosage and what effect it would have if the event ever occurred. “Well, I am sorry, Doctor…” Dee started, pausing only to squint at the barely readable text upon the bottle label. “Dr. McNamara. But one of your patients is going to overdose accidentally. And not of his own free will, I’m afraid.”
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It was during lunch of the next day that Fate provided an opening for Dee to implement his plan, as Randy had exited the kitchen to take a phone call in the next room, leaving the raven-haired man to contemplate how to go about slipping the scarred man the sleeping pills unknowingly, he obviously could not put the pills into the food, as the pasta would do very little to cover up the fact it hid drugs; next, he looked onto the drink Randy had poured for himself.
The green tea was near steaming, and if Dee crushed the pills, and swiftly stirred them in, it would no doubt leave very little evidence of being tampered with, though the pale man might note an odd taste after taking a sip of the substance. Reminding himself he had only moments to act, Dee emptied the contents of the bottle into his hands, crushing the small white pills into a thick white powder.
He paused only with his fist above the cup of green tea, and after a slight pause, shifted his hand away to drop about a third of the power in his other fist, which he dumped into the tea, and busied his hand with moving the spoon that lay beside the cup. Hearing Randy’s footsteps near, he stood, hurrying over to the sink to rid himself of the remainder of the now sticky white substance.
He had only just observed the last of the white water drain itself when Randy reentered the room, a slight scowl on his formerly neutral face. The Resistance leader glanced at him curiously, but sat down, and resumed eating his meal, oblivious to Dee’s constant anxious glances.
The frown situated on Dee’s mouth twisted into a grin at the sight of Randy draining the last of his tea, the scarred man’s Adam apple working the substance down the length of his throat. Dee had to but watch and await the pills’ effect, before he could taste freedom once again.
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Dee opened one eye cautiously, and upon seeing no one in the near vicinity, swung his feet over the edge of the couch, coming to stand near the apartment door but a moment later. Before he took hold of the doorknob, he sent a wayward glance over his shoulder, or rather at the closed bedroom door, which held a safe but drugged man who had kept him captive in this apartment for the span of nearly four days.
Aware he should feel a deep-seated hatred for Randy, or at the very least some variant of resentment, all Dee could summon up was an odd kind of sorrow. His chest suddenly tight, the American exited his cage before his subconscious could bring about feelings that could prompt Dee to remain.
As soon as he had entered the mass of people occupying the sidewalk, the tightness binding his chest dissipated, and for the first time in a week, the air entering his lungs didn’t feel so heavy, when a shoulder collided with his back, and Dee began moving, shifting about in the crowd until he had reached the edge of the street. A long hard stare directed at the nearby street sign sent him a fit of hysterical laughter, as the realization hit that he had only been four blocks from his own residence, and it would only be twenty minutes before Dee could go home.
Then his expression turned crestfallen when he thought that the Resistance would not let waste anytime in recovering him once discovering he had escaped their clutches. Dee let out a long suffering sigh, and then began walking, a plan forming piece by piece in his mind.
He had at least two more hours before anyone stumbled onto the fact he was missing, and could sufficiently pack the necessary things while making use of the telephone to purchase a place ticket…somewhere far away. Then Dee could begin to come to terms with everything Randy and the others had told him, and whether or not he was indeed infected with lycanthropy.
Or that was the plan at least, until as he was in the process of collecting his things, the door to his apartment swung open, and a boy entered without any reserve for the occupant residing inside. He wasn’t an intimidating figure, his frame that of a young teenager (shoulders awkwardly broad, facial features still in the process of whether to follow his mother’s or father’s genes). It was something in the matter in which he stood that first began to alarm Dee, as his arms were crossed over a t-shirt which displayed the logo of some television show or other, and his denim covered legs were shoved against the doorframe.
The youth lifted an ebony hand and tucked a piece of stray blonde hair behind his ear, and it was in this moment, Dee pinpointed what was troubling about the teenager. Instead of the blue eyes that usually accompanied blonde hair, there were amber wolf eyes in their place and they did not look in the least pleasant.
