Oh my God...
All we can do is stand on the edge of the damage area and stare, stunned and horrified. I've been alive for centuries, and in all that time, I've never seen anything like this. I don't think my worst nightmares could encompass anything of this magnitude.
The werewolf carcasses are perfectly preserved in the exact spots that they perished in. Each carcass is surrounded by a large circle of scorched earth, the grass and plants charred and blackened yet still standing. The carcasses themselves aren't burned at all, however.
Was it...lightning? Tanga asks as she takes a couple steps forward into the clearing.
I want to answer her but find that I'm too shocked to speak. An entire pack-murdered where they stood. There were at least twenty, now down to one-a seven year old pup who's still out there somewhere. A pup who somehow managed to escape.
This doesn't look natural at all. Trace states. He enters the clearing and begins lumbering between the bodies, sniffing each one as he passes. How did the feds even find out about this?
If I were in human form right now, I'd be in tears. But as a wolf, all I can do is howl. So I do. I raise my head and howl loud enough that I know it would sound unnatural to human ears, but I don't care. There aren't many werewolves in the world as it is. This was enough to put a dent in the population. I just hope their deaths were quick and painless.
Tanga turns around and rubs up against me like a cat, the only way she can physically comfort while in tiger form. Trace reaches the middle of the clearing, sits down, and bows his head. They aren't wolves and don't understand the pack mentality, but they can sense through our mental connection how it is.
God, Lawson, I'm so sorry. Tanga says, rubbing her head against my shoulder.
Why? I ask quietly, my eyes sweeping across the area. Why would anyone do something like this?
So you're thinking it wasn't Mother Nature? Trace asks, looking back up at me.
I get up and walk toward the center of the area, trying to find some sort of pattern or clue or anything to lead me in the direction of Mother Nature, but it all points to something else entirely. I don't know what, but I've got to find out. Whatever this is can't happen again.
I head toward the edge of the clearing and step behind a tree, shifting back into human form. I get dressed and head back out. Seeing it all through human eyes dumbs it all down. Now it just looks like some strange forest fire. No wonder the feds thought it was a natural disaster. Like Trace said, lightning. One large strike right in the middle of the pack. If I didn't know better, I'd think it struck and branched out, hitting each member and killing them where they stood.
I kneel down next to the closest carcass, an adult female, and run my hand through her fur. It's as soft and plush as if she were still alive. I check out her paws, all intact. Her head, fine. If this were lightning, each werewolf would have a burn or two somewhere. Their fur would be fried. Something would be off. But they look like they died of natural causes. No injuries, no signs of illness. It just makes no sense.
In human form, I can't speak to Trace and Tanga through the mental connection, but by the way they're looking at each other, I can tell they're discussing something. And it's getting heated. Tanga's beginning to circle Trace, her ears flattening against her head. I sigh despondently and stand up.
"Knock it off, you two. Now's not the time for this," I say.
Tanga looks at me, narrows her eyes, and growls. Then she prances off into the forest, undoubtedly to shift. When she returns, she gives Trace an irritated scowl and approaches me.
"I want to contact Az," she says.
I raise an eyebrow and step past her, still trying to find something strange with the carcasses. "Why?"
"This seems supernatural to me," she says, following right on my heels.
I stop and turn around, raising an eyebrow. "They're werewolves. Of course it's supernatural."
"No," she states, her tone rising with frustration. "Their death. Unless you can tell me wizards exist, there's been some pretty powerful magic-type energy here, and the only supernatural entities I know of that can wield that sort of power are demons."
I snort and shake my head, walking away. "The demons I know don't have this sort of power."
Her hand grasping my arm stops me, and I turn to face her again. "The demons that you know," she breathes, her eyes pleading with me to understand. "We know practically nothing about how demons work. Only what Az has told us, and that's not much. Religion states that there's a hierarchy in hell---"
I begin walking again, shrugging her hand away and scowling. "Don't use religion as proof of anything, Tanga. Every supernatural creature knows humans have gotten it all wrong for centuries. Religion is a fairytale and nothing more. Stories to scare humans into being positive members of society."
"They've gotten a few things right, Lawson," she states loudly as I continue to walk away. "There is a hell. The devil exists. And love conquers it all." I wave my hand back at her as if she's a fly buzzing around my head. "Dammit, Lawson! Listen to me!"
Suddenly, Trace snorts and whirls around toward the eastern edge of the clearing. As the only one still in animal form, he's apparently sensing something we can't. I unsnap my Glock holster and place my hand on the gun, but there's nothing out of the ordinary at first glance.
"Who's there?!" I shout. "Come forward! We don't intend to harm you!"
The forest is dead silent around us. The insects have all gone quiet, and even the wind has stopped breezing through the trees. I keep an eye on Trace as I slowly, an inch at a time, approach the tree line. Trace isn't showing any sign of danger or threat, however. His fur is still down, ears up, and calm as can be. There's just something that interests him. That's all. God only knows what that could be.
Then I hear a whimper, a decidedly animalistic whimper. I know Trace is hungry so whatever it is isn't something he'd want to eat or it'd be dead by now. I look back over my shoulder at him and he nods his head for me to continue. I move a little quicker now that I know there's no danger, and it's only a few seconds before I see a tiny eye peering at me from between the leaves of a small bush.
I crouch down and stare at it, trying to figure out what it could possibly be without scaring it away. Could this be the little guy we're looking for? I suppose it would make sense that he wouldn't leave the area. He's seven, old enough to know it's a bad idea to get lost. Trace snorts quietly behind me, and the little eye disappears. What reappears is a tiny red wolf the size of a small Labrador retriever.
We found him!
"Hi," I say gently, holding my hand out. He slowly crawls toward me, head down, in a definite submissive position. As soon as he gets close enough to touch, I reach forward slowly and scratch behind his ears. His eyes close, and he whimpers. "My name is Lawson. I'm a werewolf just like you. Do you know how to shift so you look like me?"
Trace snorts, and when I look back at him, he's shaking his head. That's also when I notice Tanga a few steps behind me. She has the largest grin on her face, her hands on her cheeks, gazing at the little pup like she just adopted him from a shelter. Oh Jesus. I roll my eyes and look back at the pup. He ducks his head around my hand and licks it. Alright, someone has to teach him how to shift. Now's better than later.
"I'll be right back," I say to him. He sits down and tilts his head.
I head off to the other side of the clearing just inside the tree line and shift. Once I'm back in wolf form, hearing his tiny voice in my head talking to Trace sends me back to my childhood, and I pause a moment, allowing the memories to run their course. It's been so long since I've heard a pup speak. I forget how high pitched their voices are. Everything about them, including their voice, is meant to be enduring so the entire pack has a natural instinct to protect them. It's too bad something, or someone, made that impossible this time.
As he spots me approaching, he lies down and drops his head, just as a pup should when an alpha is heading in his direction. This pack had taught him well. Unfortunately, he wasn't at the age to learn to shift yet before they were all taken from him.
Hello, little man. I say through the mental connection as I sit down in front of him.
Hello, sir. He replies, his thoughts trembling slightly.
My name is Lawson. And my companions are Trace and Tanga. They're shifters, too. You already know Trace, but Tanga is a weretiger.
He huffs and shakes his head. A weretiger? How many other animals can be were ones?
I chuckle at his attempt at proper vocabulary. Many others. I reply. We also have a lot of other friends who would like to meet you and help, but you'll need to come with us. I'll need to teach you how to shift, however. I look back at Tanga. We've already been spotted by humans in our shifted forms. I don't want any more trouble.
He nods his head. I stand up and head off further into the forest to give us more privacy. He follows without direction, as he should as a young pack member. That's when I make the realization that I'm more his father now than anything else. He no longer has living parents. I'm the first werewolf, let alone alpha, he's had contact with since their deaths. He will follow me from this moment on; like my own little pack. My chest expands with pride. I may not have a child of my own, but as of this moment, this young one is mine, and I will protect him with my life.
As will I. I hear Trace distantly say through the connection.