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Pigs in Sheeps' Clothing

M y bloodline is the stuff of legend—teeth and fury—but my inherited strength can’t compare to the power behind the written word. It’s not like I’m a stellar writer or anything. My training comes solely from growing up reading graphic novels and writing fanfics of my favorite characters. Still, as I sit in my cramped office, typing away at my keyboard, pure magic pours from my fingertips.

With just a few simple characters strung together by patterns, I can tear down an age-old evil group—one that discriminates, works to eradicate, and tortures my people. Okay, maybe it’s not that simple, but it’s more than I’ve been able to accomplish with my claws.

I skim over my latest completed article before sending it to my editor. Seeing the name Gerald Howard, a name I've written a dozen times, still sends a shiver down my spine. Just another public face for the Hunters, the group that has stalked my kind for centuries. The bulbous man is one of the wealthiest in town and the owner of Sentential Banks. He embezzled millions of dollars under the guise of his Ending Hunger Charity . This article isn’t going to bring the Hunters to a halt, but it’s something.

My time at the Dayton Daily as an Investigative Journalist consists of writing smear articles that work to break down the power the Hunters hold in their public lives. But this next piece will make the difference we’ve been waiting for. Werewolves will no longer need to hide in the shadows. I pull up my working document, thankful to be done with my assigned work and have some time to work on my real passion project.

“Carmen? What are you doing here so early?” I jump out of my skin, knocking my knees on the bottom of my desk. “Shit!” I yell, holding my hand over my heart. I turn my rolly office chair around, glaring at the voluptuous redhead in my doorway.

She laughs. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you would have heard me come in.”

“No,” I say in between a labored breath. “I was focused on my work.”

She steps in. “Well, I can’t say I hate that.” She leans down to get a look at my screen. I cover my laptop with my arms. “Um, fuck off. It’s not ready.” Most people wouldn’t talk to their boss this way, but Red isn’t just my boss. She’s my sister-in-law, married to my feral brother, and also, most importantly, my best friend.

She crosses her arms and raises her perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You don’t usually mind me reading your work in its early stages.” Shit. She’s catching on to me. Red gives me creative freedom, but the article I’m currently writing is dangerous. As Lady Liaison, wife of the protector of the werewolf community, she’d have some harsh words to share if she knew how much I plan to expose in this article.

For centuries, werewolves have remained hidden. Not just because the Hunters have some demonic, obsessive need to end us, but also because regular humans don’t necessarily love our furry behinds. I blame the media for our monstrous representation because, surprise, surprise—most of Hollywood is owned by Hunters. There must have been some smoking hot werewolves that turned down a white-fluffy-wig-wearing incel long, long ago, and the fucker decided to make a whole clan set on destroying our kind. No one knows exactly how the rivalry started, but the Hunters sure have a generational obsession with destroying us. Of course, there have been some bad eggs—werewolves born with a couple of loose screws or a shitty upbringing, but overall, we’re just like everyone except with sharper teeth, furrier skin, and a waggy little tail. Most of the time, all these extra bits are hidden away. Thank God we can shift, or we would have been long extinct.

The fact is, the unknown scares people. We’re different—rare and wield supernatural abilities. People don’t like unchecked power. If only they knew how many evil people there were ruling everything under the guise of a civilized democracy. People would shit their pants. That’s what journalism is for—to bring to light the dirty secrets the law tries to dust into dark corners. I’ll forever be thankful to Red for moving to this shitty town and starting this local paper. If she didn’t offer me a job, I’d still be waiting tables and fucking around until I found my calling.

This is why I feel so bad hiding something from her. I can’t keep a secret from anybody. It’s like I’ve been cursed never to lie; even when no one asks or cares, I spill all the itty-bitty details anyway. I’m a professional yapper. Literally. I get paid to yap but in written form.

“Fine! I’ll show you!” I say as if she’s been hounding me for hours, but in reality, she doesn’t even cross her arms or give me a stern look. I sigh, moving out of the way so she can see my screen. She smiles and rolls her eyes, before shuffling to my laptop.

I pick at my chipped red fingernail polish as she reads. Thankfully, she’s a fast reader, and my nerves don’t eat away at my insides for long. “Carmen!”

“What?” I shrug, puffing my face.

“What is this?”

“It’s an article I’m writing.” Growing self-conscious, I move in front of her and pull my laptop against my chest.

She sighs, pinching the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “We’ve talked about this. Your brother…”

“Fuck my brother!” I yell.

“Wow, thanks, sis. I didn’t know you cared so much about my sex life.” Cameron steps into the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. My whole life, people compared me to him. We knew he’d be the Human Liaison since childhood—the personified treaty between the Weres and Hunters. Werewolf identities remain hidden. All except the Human Liaison, who would show even from an early age that they were the most powerful. He couldn’t be hurt, or the police would step in. Since coming into adulthood, he has worked as the middleman, speaking for his people to the select government officials who knew about us and protecting us from the Hunters who tried to learn more about other werewolf identities.

Of course, it was always known I was his sister. Even if it wasn’t common knowledge and we didn’t live in the same fucking house, it would be obvious. People thought we were twins once we started to level out in our ages—both dark hair, dark eyes, and tan skin. Even though I didn’t receive the honor that comes with Human Liaison, I received all the consequences. My livelihood isn’t protected, so I spent my life learning to fight harder than anyone else and never getting too comfortable. It didn’t leave a lot of time to pursue other ventures. Although I dreamed of moving out of this god-forsaken town and starting fresh, I never had the means or opportunity to do so. I love Cameron. He’s a good man and a good brother, even if he is a major pain in my ass, but God is it hard not to resent him. If only he didn’t have to be born with so much power.

“He drove me,” Red replies to my question about Cameron’s mysterious appearance at our place of work, even though it’s not that mysterious. He’s always fucking here. Ever since they paired up and married two years ago, he won’t leave my best friend alone. He has a real job as a park ranger, but damn, it sure seems like our parks don’t need a lot of rangering because he’s up her ass like a butt plug. Okay, wait, ew. I don’t want to think about my brother and butt plugs. Thankfully, Red carries on, bringing my attention back to our conversation. “I’m working from home today. The doctor said I need to start taking it easy. I'm just here to get some things.”

My eyes lower to her obviously large belly encasing my niece. Right, I always forget she’s pregnant. It’s not like she isn’t showing. She is eight months pregnant and looks like she’s about to pop, but Red never stops. She’s always working, always scheming about making the world a better place for her baby. Her baby werewolf.

I pop to my feet. “Shit. Please sit,” I say, motioning to my chair.

She holds up her hand. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be sitting all day. It’s good to get some time on my feet.” She shakes her head, rubbing her temples. “But Carmen, focus. We’ve talked about this. We can’t just use this paper to expose the Hunters explicitly. We’ll lose our credibility without hard evidence to back up our claims, and the minor offenses of the Hunters will be pushed under the rug again. We have to wait for when the time is right.”

Cameron tsks, leaning against the wall, pinning me in place with a stare and a smirk. “You should write her up, boss lady.”

I ignore him, rolling my eyes. “Red, it’s been two years, and besides, we have evidence. We have the recording of Jack admitting to the murders in the clearing.”

Red didn’t just come to Dayton, Washington two years ago for the scenery. She was an investigative journalist for the New York Times, sent back to her hometown to investigate mysterious murders reported in our woods. The victims were werewolves, murdered by Hunters but staged to look like they were regular people killed by werewolves or, more publicly, killed by animals. The problem with a whole group of people having secret identities is that no one knew they were Were except for our own. The police pushed it under the rug and sided with the Hunters, but then Red showed up and, with some help from my idiot brother, got one of the main culprits in the murders to admit his involvement before Cameron ripped his throat out. The confession was recorded and handed over to the police.

“Sergeant Brick doesn’t want us to use that recording yet. He said it’s not time.”

My face heats. “Fuck that pig!” I yell. Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh. I don’t necessarily hate police or anything. Even if it seemed they had taken the side of Hunters over Weres throughout our history. In fact, I’ve hooked up with a few of the officers and even have a friend who works as the office administrator at the station that gives me inside information. Believe me, I’ll be the last person to hate an entire group of people blindly, but I mean it when I call Brick a pig.

Sergeant Brick is one of the newer editions to the police force. He has connections with the National Department of Supernatural and seems to be sent to Dayton to fix our unequal power dynamic. The Werewolf Council has even accepted him into our pack, inviting him to meetings and sharing way more information than anything we’ve ever shared before. Cameron and Red think he’s part Were or something, but I can’t smell it on him. There’s definitely a strange aura about him. The air thickens when he’s around, as if magic coats his skin. But wouldn’t he admit to us that he’s a werewolf if that were the case? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, which is saying a lot because he’s well over six feet tall.

“Carmen, he’s on our side,” Cameron butts in.

“We don’t know that. It’s been three years, and no Hunters have been arrested for those murders.”

“There also haven’t been any more murders of werewolves. It could be because of our articles or because Brick keeps things in check behind the scenes,” Red says.

“Or they could be planning something more sinister.”

Red sighs, and I notice the dark circles under her eyes for the first time. “I sure hope not.” Her shoulders seem to sag under the weight of the world. Cameron rushes to her side, rubbing her back. I’m a dick. I shouldn’t be arguing with her in this condition. Instead, I should agree to her rules and ask to rub her feet, but I’m just so tired of letting powerful people get away with horrible things.

Cameron speaks up, his eyes stern. “Carmen, don’t waste your time on this article. We have a council meeting tomorrow. At least bring it up there before you do anything stupid.”

I nod, not feeling my spunky self anymore.

Red smiles at Cameron and turns back to me. “I love how passionate you are about this. I want to stop the Hunters as much as you, if not more.” She rubs her belly. “But we must work as a group and wait until everyone’s on board with our next move. In the meantime, we keep the fire under their ass and enjoy the peace.”

I nod. “Okay.”

She smiles. “Alright, well, don’t work too late today. That’s an order. I need your help deciding on the nursery's wall hangings tonight.”

I nod. “Okay, I promise. I’ll be at your place by six.”

“Good.” She turns to leave. Cameron gives me one last scowl before following after her.

I slump back into my chair, staring at the blinking cursor before me. Am I really just going to put this article away and listen to directions? That’s never been me. It’s the most not me thing possible. I sigh, leaning forward and twisting my nose rings as I read through the last words I wrote. I guess I can wait to annoy everyone until after the baby is here and settled. It’s the least I can do.

An email notification pops up at the top of my screen. It’s from Lucy, my friend at the police station. Perfect. Just what I need. A distraction until I can get back to working on the real work. The email is from a string of random letters and numbers—a burner email. She probably would be fired if the station found out she was sending inside information to the press before it went public. Lucy and I used to work together at the diner. We’ve always been willing to break the rules for each other. Thank God because the only other option is hooking up with one of the two cops on my roster. They’re a decent enough fuck, but a pain to be around without a stiff drink. I'd much rather be stuck in a room with them over Sergeant Brick, but that’s not saying much. Regardless, I would prefer to get my info from Lucy.

The subject line reads: NEW MURDER.

My heart stops. I love getting dirt on Hunters—robberies, embezzlement, ripping people off, but murder is never a good thing. A murder most likely means it's someone I know. I click the email, terror swimming through my veins as I take in the image embedded in the message. It’s a murder, alright. A young girl, barely into adulthood. Blood covers her head, and she lies on the carpet, her eyes lifeless.

I know this girl. Of course, she’s not just a girl. She’s a Were, just growing into her powers. The Hunters shouldn’t have known her identity, but now we’re more vulnerable. We let the police in because we thought hiding in the shadows had been too dangerous. Obviously, being out and in the open has its consequences, and a feeling deep in my gut tells me the violence doesn’t stop here.