Black Snow

Chapter 2

Dakota Dylan Reagans

School.

Teachers.

Homework.

I dumped my bag down on the stool I had placed beside my table. I sank down into the comfortable chair I took from dad’s study – which I replaced with a bench I had dragged in from the garden. Well, as long as no one could see the white marble of the pew, he was safe.

Pulling out my binder, I took out the writing materials I need and began filling in the blank spaces of the worksheet. Homework is much harder than training.

There was a scream, my mom was in danger. I rose and almost took a step before I heard my dad’s voice.

“Sophie, stay in your room!” Who was Sophie?

I heard a snarl then a yell from my dad. A bump echoed up the stairs, like someone had knocked their bones out of their sockets. I winced but stayed put. If he wanted Sophie – whoever she was to remain hidden, I should too, right?

My dad had it under control.

The commotion that took place downstairs was finally over, yet, no one told me it was alright. All I heard was silence… but I was wrong.

I heard him before I smelt him.

Pulling out the broad sword that my dad displayed along the stairway, I crept over to the monster.  I was using the bars supporting the banister as a protective wall between us. Then I saw them.

Mom lay motionless on the floor, eyes wide open, her empty gaze fixed on the werewolf that stood before Father. The wolf heaved, as if breathing was difficult – and it should have been. My dad had managed to graze his black, furry side with silver, the open wound making it clear of their species weakness to the metal.

The demon turned, its bright amber eyes spotting me. Bones cracked as it transformed back into human form. I shielded my eyes, knowing that it would not have clothes on – but there was no need to, the creature seemed to have on a suit that morphed with it.

“Dakota?” He probes, his accent coarse as if he had just learnt English. He was a 17 year-old teen, his eyes a rich amber and his hair a dark black.

“No, Sophie.” I figured that dad had used that name to throw him off.

“Smell like her.” He grunted.

That did it for me.

Leaping off the stairs, I swung the sword, feeling the blade connect with his ribs that prevented me from slicing all the way though. I whirled around as I landed, snarling at the wolf.

“Leave, there is nothing here for you.” I brandished the sliver blade of the sword, scaring him enough to get him to shift back and leave through our bashed in front door.

I fell to the ground at Father’s feet. His body was cold and lifeless, no signs of life left. Mom was the same. In desperation, I let out a sob which soon grew into a full out pity party. I beat my fisted hands to the hard, unfeeling ground – as if my personal agony could remove the sting of death.

I screamed, releasing a long, guttural sound which tore up my throat and left me hacking and spitting out blood. There was nowhere to go. Who would believe my story? But the wolf, he was after something. Well, we were Hunters, a target for every wolf that we threatened with our existence.

The wolf had made the first move.

I could kill him.

Picture of my dead parents seared into my head, I ran upstairs and changed into black jeans and put a vest over a dark coloured shirt. The bag I was bringing contained solid fuel, a metal bowl, a fork, along with some clothes which were like my current outfit. Some water purification tablets and a medical kit were also on my packing list.

I went to the weapon cabinet and took my carbon fibre bow and two hunting daggers. After some thought, I chose a handful of knives – some for defence and the others which were essential for my survival. 

When I came up from the basement, I ran to mom’s bloody side, slipping the sliver ring off her finger. It came off easily, for her hand was slick with her blood that was starting to dry in a pool on the floor.

Taking one last look at my parents, I left through the smashed front door and slipped off into the forest. I was going to disappear.

The wolf made the first move.

I was going to kill it.

When I entered the woods, every sense went on overdrive as my body looked for signs of danger. The overwhelming feedback from nature distracted me and all I wanted to do was stop to get accustomed to it. But, the wolf was moving, and I was losing ground on it.

As I bolted from one drop of blood to the other, I sensed something. A thing was watching me, its breathing coming from behind perhaps to the right. The soft padding of paws approached and I smelt its rotten scent. Rogue.

It was right behind me, sour breath on my neck. I tensed, only having the bow in my hands. Even If I fired an arrow, it would do no good in this close situation. Tightening my grip, I turned with agility that surprised the Rogue enough for me to hit it without any resistance.

The Rogue had white fur with black spots that got more concentrated at the back, ending with two completely soot black hind paws. It was motionless – motionless but not dead. I notched an arrow.

With the Rogues, there was no rules, it was kill on sight for them. I held my breath as I pulled the bowstring taut. Releasing it only when I heard the impact of the arrow piercing the creature where its heart would be.

I kept moving, I had to find that unfortunate wolf that had the gall to attack my family. When I found him, well, I promise an unhurried, excruciating death.