Fate of the Fathers
Chapter 3

Red haze surrounded Jenna. It swallowed and consumed her, driven by a force that had been oppressed for far too long.

A voice called her name through the vapor. It was so thick; mire that engulfed her until she couldn’t move.

No. . . not mire.

Arms.

Jenna struggled; her voice hoarse as she demanded to be let go.

“Stop. . . struggling!” someone said.

Slowly, the scene filled in around her. Creepy guy was lying face down, on the pavement. Red, splotchy lines stretched across his arm and seeped through the shirt he wore.

There was a feeling akin to pride that laced through Jenna as she saw him there, knowing he wouldn’t be pushing his disgusting, revolting, body onto some poor girl tonight.

She wanted to spit on him. Like he had done to her.

Pushing against the arms that held her, she once again attempted to free herself, only to replace a solid wall of pure muscle stopped her.

“I’m fine,” she ground out. “Now will you let me go?”

A hesitation—reluctance, she guessed—before the arms dropped from around her and Jenna immediately moved several steps away. Turning back, she blinked when she realized it had been Chase who held her back.

She looked from him to the man on the ground. Instinct told her she had done something.

A jolt of fear coursed through her, and she forced herself to focus on the man’s chest. It rose and fell in deep breaths, and she let out one of her own. She hadn’t killed him then.

“What happened?” she said, looking at Chase. Hard lines etched his face now. Was it fear? Concern? Anger? She didn’t know. “Tell me what happened, Chase.”

He swallowed, dark eyes moving to meet hers. “What happened was. . . I thought I was going to have to investigate a murder tonight.” He took a step forward, his voice hissing, when he added, “What were you thinking? You could have killed him!”

“I was defending myself! He grabbed me!” she said, motioning to the spot on her arm where his hand had been. Already a bruise was looming, discoloring the skin. “Besides, there’s no way I could have killed him with my bare hands.”

“What about your claws.”

Jenna might have laughed except for the look on his face. As if to prove his point, she looked down at her hands. Blood. . . she had blood on the edges of her nails. . . the pads of her fingers.

It had to be hers. There was no other explanation. She must have cut herself. But looking down at the man on the ground, images flitted through her mind. Just snapshots, but nonetheless damning evidence of what she had somehow accomplished.

“I don’t understand. . .” she murmured. It hadn’t been fingers that marred his back—that much was clear from what memories she held. Instead, onyx, sickle-shaped claws had protruded from where her nails should have been.

“Oh god. . . oh god!” Jenna bent over, wrapping her arms around her middle before sinking to her knees. She must be dreaming.

Chase knelt beside her, easing a hand onto her shoulder. “Jenna, you didn’t. . . know what you were doing?”

Of course, she hadn’t known. She never wanted to injure the guy, just stop him from taking her away. “He grabbed me. . .” she repeated, more to herself than to Chase.

He stood then, before reaching back and taking her hand, gently coaxing her up. “I need to get you home. Did you drive?”

She shook her head, feeling as though she was inhabiting someone else’s body. An observer to something she had no part in.

Everything was a blur as Chase helped her into his truck. She barely noticed as he threw the man into the bed, slamming the tailgate into place.

“What will you do with him?” she asked when Chase had returned to the driver’s side.

“He’ll spend the night in jail for public intoxication and harassment.”

“And the scratches I—” She couldn’t even finish the question, as if speaking the words made them true.

Made her a monster.

But Chase only shrugged. “He was fucking intoxicated and causing issues. Could have been anything.” He reached over and patted her knee. “Don’t worry about it, okay? Just glad I was there to help.”

Jenna bit her lip, turning to look out the window. Just minutes earlier, she had felt pride for defending herself like that, but now shame coated her insides like bile.

She was going to vomit.

“Fucking not in this truck,” Chase grumbled. “Let me pull over first.”

“Huh?”

“Look, I know shit happened back there, but it’s over and you’re good. We’ll drop Otto off at the station and then it’s done.”

Jenna cringed at the thought of a man she had attacked, spending the night in jail. It should be her. She should be the one reaping the consequences of physically assaulting someone. Not the unconscious man in the back of the truck.

“Wait here,” Chase said, before hopping out. He lugged the man from the bed and hauled him into the station.

Jenna sank back into the seat, closing her eyes. Her head was pounding—the ache returning to her body and the throbbing in her ankle, she realized with a grimace. Soon she would be home and would get it iced and elevated.

When Chase returned, he asked for directions to her house. Turning onto the road she lived on, he brought the truck to a stop, several houses away.

“There’s still something I don’t get,” he said, putting the gear into park, and turning towards her. “Why would you let your wolf get the better of you back there? Are there control issues going on?”

She stared at him incredulously, before giving a snort. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have control issues.” She spit out the word like it was a sour taste in her mouth. “How about I thank you for saving me a trip to jail tonight, and we go our separate ways.” She moved to open the door but stopped at Chase’s next words.

“You don’t seem like the type who would put their relatives at undue risk.”

“I’m not put—”

Chase’s eyes bore into her. “Then how do you know that tonight won’t repeat itself? Jesus Christ, Jenna, I’m talking about your werewolf. I might not be there to intervene next time.”

It should sound ludicrous to hear him say that. Yet, the images burst through her mind, as something dark and twisted shifted inside of her. She would go and run it off if it wasn’t for her damned ankle. She had always been able to run it off—until tonight.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Chase arched an eyebrow, then looked away, shaking his head. “Maybe if you had your parents or a gods-damned pack to help you, but you don’t. You have no idea what this all means, do you?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “You might be young. . . still figuring it out, but it only takes one small thing to send you over the edge. You’ll black out and wake up next to a dead body. Fates willing—it’s not someone you know.”

He grabbed her hand, pressing a business card into her palm. “You are a supernatural, Jenna—whether you admit it or not. Because of it, you are faster and stronger than any human and you put them—” He motioned towards her house, to Uncle Dwayne and Aunt June. “At risk, every day. If you decide that you can’t live with their blood on your hands, give me a call.” He reached across her lap, throwing open the passenger door for her.

Jenna flipped the card in her hand, noticing the print on the back. Chase Brosnan, Investigative Agent. “You’re law enforcement?” It seemed so at odds with . . . him.

“It’s complicated. . . but yeah, I’m investigating a case.”

“How is it complicated?”

Chase sighed, leaning back into the seat. “Because I investigate supernatural cases. Vampires. . . werewolves. . . ghosts, witches.”

“And you think I’m a werewolf.” She was changing her mind on the Dateline thing real quick. She made a mental note to Google recently escaped lunatics from psychiatric hospitals, the moment she got out of the truck.

“You are a werewolf, and I’m fucking pissed that no one thought to tell you until now.”

She blinked, then said, “Okay, well, I should be going. Thanks again—” She made a move to leave, wanting nothing more than to be out of that truck and into the safety of her house.

But her plans were thwarted by his hand grabbing her wrist, fingers pressing gently into the tattoo there.

“Jenna—I think we can help each other. The case I’m investigating? It has to do with your parents.”