In Love With An Enemy

I observed my father's careful preparation as he laced his dagger with Wolfsbane, a toxic plant known for its unique ability to render a werewolf lifeless. He had ground it into a fine powder and transformed it into an oil. Wearing rubber protective gloves, he meticulously coated his dagger, patiently awaiting nightfall.

Wolfsbane, also known as Aconitum, is an extremely toxic plant containing alkaloid compounds. Ingesting or coming into contact with the skin can lead to skin irritation or, worse, poisoning.

Wolfsbane wasn't a rare plant. My uncle, Adam, cultivated it for a living, selling it to wolf hunters and those in need for medicinal purposes. It was often used to treat pain, fever, and rare ailments.

My father turned to me and said, "We will leave at night. Go inform your sister." After speaking to me, he headed outside to the balcony, a place where he often reflected on my late mother while gazing at the lush grass surrounding our small bungalow.

My mother, Sophia Noah, was a fair-skinned woman with blonde hair, known for her exceptional height, slightly taller than my father. Her life came to an abrupt end one night as my parents were returning from the opera. Their Mercedes Benz C300 was attacked on a country road by a pack of wolves with the uncanny ability to transform into humans. While my father survived the attack, my mother did not.

Her death fueled a burning desire for vengeance within my father. I vividly remember how he left my sister, Emma, and me in the care of my uncle, Adam, for a year to learn how to hunt and eliminate werewolves. Upon his return, he embarked on a mission to eradicate hundreds of werewolves in the countryside. Despite the mayor's ban on hunting, my father's thirst for revenge surpassed any obstacles.

I made my way to my elder sister's room and found her seated in a revolving chair, reading a book on werewolf hunting. Her hatred for these creatures matched our father's in intensity.

Taking a seat on her bed, I began, "Dad said we're leaving at night."

She sighed, flipped a page in her book, and replied, "Good."

"Don't you ever get tired?"

"Of hunting down the creatures that took my mom?"

"I mean, of going out every week. Normal young adults go clubbing or even travel."

"This is more meaningful than all of that, Emily. How was school today?"

"The math teacher seems to dislike me even more now," I chuckled. "There's a new guy in class though."

"What happened to the last one?"

"He stopped coming."

"He might have been a werewolf," Emma laughed lightly.

"But do you really believe they live among us, as humans?"

"Emily, where do we hunt werewolves?"

"In the woods, in Westify Hills?"

"It's not like they have a separate kingdom. They live among us, probably even in your school."

I chuckled and said, "I wish mom were here."

"Me too... Me too."

My sister, Emma Noah, had graduated high school. She was the spitting image of my mother, with blonde hair and pale skin. Much like my father, Emma was a dedicated werewolf hunter, devoting her time to studying their history and methods of elimination.

Unlike me, Emma had experienced a more typical adolescence. She had multiple boyfriends, went clubbing, and even had a history of run-ins with the law, including a driving ticket. She was a free spirit, unapologetically seeking fun and all things joyful.

Sadly, Emma's world shattered when she received the news of my mother's death. She became withdrawn, distanced herself from friends, and battled depression. My father's struggles left him unable to provide much support. Her recovery was credited to the hunting lessons she undertook in the field. Her only passion was hunting and killing werewolves.

I left my sister's room and joined my father on the balcony. He was seated in his familiar spot, an old wooden rocking chair crafted from the finest oak trees. His grey hair had grown wild, his beard concealed his face, appearing unkempt. He wore his favorite black long-sleeved shirt, covering his arms, while his brown trousers matched the chair's color. His black sneakers showed signs of wear, a testament to his relentless pursuit of his wife's killers in the woods. His eyes appeared weary, as if they yearned for sleep or, better yet, a long respite. Placing his right hand on his jaw, he seemed lost in thought, observing the deserted surroundings. I knew he was too engrossed to notice my presence, so I quietly settled in a chair near him.

"Dad, you really need a haircut," I remarked.

He touched his hair and said, "Wow, I completely forgot I haven't had one in months."

"I told Emma; she seems ready to help."

He sighed and said, "Something keeps telling me I'm close to finding him."

"The werewolf who killed mom?"

"The one who took my wife. I believe he was the Alpha of that pack."

"And if you do find him?"

"Words can't express what I'll do to him."

"And afterward?"

"I'll burn the entire pack, every single one of them."

"Dad, have you ever considered finding love again? It's not too late."

"How many times must we discuss this, Emily?"

"You just look exhausted, Dad. This isn't good for your health. I know you want revenge, but please, you need rest."

"I'll rest when I'm finished."

My father, John Noah, claimed to have seen the pack of wolves that orchestrated my mother's death, led by one massive werewolf he believed to be the Alpha. According to him, the Alpha transformed into a man before beheading my mother. The image of that creature never left my father's mind. He attempted to draw the Alpha's face multiple times, but no artist seemed to capture it accurately.

The night was rapidly approaching, and I prepared myself for the horrors that awaited me-a bloodbath of wolves.

The night had fallen, and the full moon's light illuminated our surroundings. My father threw his weapons bag into the truck's open trunk. Around his waist, he wore a black leather belt containing his dagger, a grenade, night vision goggles, and other portable equipment. His long black sleeve was covered by protective armor, guarding against werewolf claws. His black trousers allowed for seamless movement, and he looked like a soldier prepared for any obstacle.

My sister emerged from the house, dressed in a battle dress uniform. She held her favorite cross bag, laced with Wolfsbane, tightly in her right hand. Her long blonde hair was concealed under a beanie, and like my father, she wore long black sleeves and black trousers.

We were all dressed in black, allowing us to blend into the night and remain hidden from natural forces.

The full moon had a profound impact on werewolves, making them aggressive and uncontrollable. It drew them out of their hiding spots, causing them to howl loudly, making them easier to locate.

I secured my favorite weapon, a silver pistol, on my thick black leather belt, awaiting my father's command, "Let's go." He closed the trunk, took the driver's seat, and invited, "Let's go." My sister and I agreed, making our way to the back seat. He locked the windows and started the engine.

Our "Battle wagon," an ash-colored Ford F-150, was like a family member. We rarely retreated from a fight, but if necessary, this truck never failed us. Its sturdy tires navigated uneven terrain effortlessly. Its color allowed us to remain hidden at night, and its quiet movement was an added advantage.

As we journeyed into the woods, rain began to fall from the clouds. I saw raindrops slowly sliding down the car window. My father was unwavering, and a little rain wouldn't deter him from his mission.

Upon reaching the woods, my father carefully parked the vehicle near a massive tree. He opened the trunk and retrieved his gear. Slung his crossbow around his neck, he loaded his rifle with bullets coated in Wolfsbane. My sister also readied her crossbow for the mission ahead.

Our approach was simple: my father would lead the way with his rifle, my sister would follow, and I would bring up the rear with my pistol. In case we were forced to split up, the primary objective was to regroup and ensure my safety as the youngest.

With night vision goggles over our eyes, we began our meticulous search for werewolves, guided by the distant howls.

As we approached a stream, my father raised his left fist, signaling us to stop. This meant he had spotted a werewolf. We crouched down and took cover beneath a large rock. My dad cautiously lifted his head, aiming his rifle in the werewolf's direction. He peered through his scope, carefully adjusting his aim until he had a clear shot. He fired a bullet, striking the werewolf's neck. Whimpering, the injured werewolf fled the scene, seeking a place to die.

Wolfsbane acted swiftly, causing death within seconds. This meant that any creature hit by a bullet laced with wolfsbane would not go far.

"You both stay here, let me investigate," my father instructed, moving toward where the werewolf had been shot.

My senses heightened when I heard the growls of wolves. My sister and I raised our heads and saw that our father was facing an entire pack of werewolves. Without hesitation, we began firing bullets and arrows at the large wolves.

One particularly furious werewolf charged at me and leaped onto my chest, knocking my gun from my hand. I grappled with the creature, struggling to prevent its fangs from reaching my neck. Using my left hand to restrain the wolf's neck, I retrieved my dagger from my belt and stabbed the wolf repeatedly. It whimpered and fell to the ground beside me.

I quickly regained my feet, retrieved my gun, and joined my family in the fight. I had only three bullets left, so I made each shot count. I fired one to protect my sister and the other to aid my father. The wolves fell to the side, bleeding heavily.

Exhausted, I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath. My father rushed towards me and asked, "Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a moment," I replied.

"You did well," my dad remarked, walking toward my sister.

That night, we had taken down eight werewolves: seven died nearby, while one succumbed to its injuries at a distance. My father collected the bodies, which had reverted to a human-like state. They were naked, and I noticed that the werewolf that had attacked me was female.

Returning from the truck with a gallon, my father opened it and doused the bodies with gasoline. My sister and I sat on the ground as our father ignited a fire. The woods fell silent, the howling ceased, and smoke filled the air.

I watched as the bodies burned, reminding myself of how these supernatural creatures had taken my mother. I breathed in deeply, hoping the fire would consume my fear and anger.

I could see the satisfaction on my father's face, knowing he was one step closer to avenging his wife. He believed that by eliminating them all, The Alpha would be forced to defend his pack. He saw that day as the one that would finally free him from his pain.

My sister remained unfazed, seemingly uninterested in the matter.

"Let's go home, kids. We're done here," my father said, returning to the truck with his equipment.

My sister approached me, hugged me, and said, "Thank you for saving me, Emily."

I embraced her and replied, "I love you, Emma."

"Let's go," my sister said, heading back to the truck.

I glanced at the fire one last time. The fear I had felt before the hunt had transformed into a sense of exhilaration. I couldn't wait for the next hunt.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of yet another boring math class.

"We'll continue in our next class, and please, make sure to complete your assignments," Mr. Trevor, our math teacher, announced.

No one seemed to pay attention. Just like me, everyone was fed up with his dull lectures. They packed their books into their bags and hurriedly left the classroom, eager to experience the pinnacle of boredom: Chemistry class.

I stowed my book in my backpack and slung it over my right shoulder. My progress towards the doorway was interrupted when Mr. Trevor remarked, "Emily, it appears you scored another A. You must be quite proud of yourself."

I rolled my eyes.

"You dislike Math, yet you keep getting As. Care to share your secret?"

I glanced at his black jacket covering his white long-sleeve shirt and replied, "What do kids do in school? Study." I walked out without waiting for more.

My Math teacher, Mr. Trevor, who stood at five feet eight inches, was what most students would call "a pain in the ass." He always poked his head into my business, emphasizing the importance of studying and how the future belonged to those who took academics seriously. His endless assignments and frequent tests were proof of his desire for us to excel in his subject. The only person who seemed to find his teaching entertaining was a peculiar girl with glasses who sat at the front. The rest of us just prayed for his class to end as soon as he walked in.

I made my way to my locker to retrieve my Chemistry textbook. The hallway appeared empty, with teachers and students in their respective classes, attempting to understand one another. Along with my textbook, I grabbed a gum dispenser, hoping it would help me stay awake through the boring lesson.

As I turned down the hallway, I spotted a young man, roughly my age. Like me, he wore a blue long-sleeve shirt with white stripes and black trousers. His red backpack hung from his left shoulder, and his head was partially covered by a cap with the brim turned backward, giving him a "bad boy wannabe" look. He sported what looked like a bracelet on his wrist and his blue boots resembled those of a military member. His dark hair, as black as tar, was neatly trimmed as if he were going on a date. His enigmatic brown eyes seemed to hold secrets that I had no interest in. His lips were the color of strawberry ice cream, and his slender frame made him look like a retired FBI agent.

The unfamiliar figure appeared lost.

"Um, hi. Do you know where the chemistry class is? I'm in eleventh grade."

"Follow me," I instructed, nonchalantly.

"Oh, okay. Are you also in eleventh grade?"

I turned to him and asked, "Do you want to get to class or not?"

He raised an eyebrow and replied, "Class sounds great."

I shook my head and continued walking to class, with him trailing behind.

When we reached the Chemistry class, I took my usual seat in the corner of the middle row. "Mr. Confused Figure" chose a seat at the back. I popped a piece of bubble gum into my mouth, chewing it to stay awake as the Chemistry teacher embarked on another qualitative analysis demonstration, for what felt like the millionth time. I took notes, knowing my father valued a good education.

While I listened attentively, I felt someone watching me. In an attempt to identify the source, I discreetly glanced around the room. It was indeed the new guy. He quickly averted his gaze to the board, seemingly realizing he'd been caught staring. At this point, I wondered if he was here to learn or simply to remain clueless.

"Mrs. Noah, can you tell me the meaning of qualitative analysis?" my Chemistry teacher, Mrs. Dean, asked.

I stood up and answered, "It's the process of determining the presence or absence of specific substances in a given sample. This type of analysis relies on various chemical techniques like color changes, observations, and chemical tests. It's essential to note that this process doesn't involve quantifying the amount of substances present."

"That's actually correct. You've been paying attention," Mrs. Dean said. "Please dispose of your gum and take your seat."

I removed the gum from my mouth and shot an irritated look at the stranger.

The bell rang again, and I gathered my belongings, eager to go home. I rushed to my locker to retrieve my Physics textbook for some studying.

As I packed my books and locked my locker, I was interrupted by the voice of the stranger once more. I turned around and saw that it was the guy I had encountered earlier.

"Hi, I didn't know you were so smart," he began.

"Not everyone walks around with an empty head like you," I retorted, starting my walk down the hallway.

"My name is Henry, by the way," he said, following me.

"Well, buzz off, Henry."

"Is this how you welcome new students?"

"Only the foolish ones."

"Why are you so hostile and mean?"

I stopped and gave him a stern look. "Stop following me, douchebag."

"Not until you tell me your name."

"Are you serious? You're following a total stranger just to find out her name?" I paused.

"It's not like you're a vampire or an assassin," Henry shrugged casually.

My sister, Emma, was waiting for me in her BMW Two Series in the parking lot. She yelled, "Emily, you're taking forever."

I surveyed Henry from head to toe and shook my head in disbelief. Turning my back to him, I hurried to catch up with my sister. I could feel his gaze on me under the scorching sun, and it was irritating.

My sister was dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, looking neat. I could tell she had taken a shower before coming to pick me up; she didn't like the sun, after all. She had already started the engine even before I got to her.

"Good afternoon," I greeted, taking the passenger seat.

"I won't bother asking how school was since it seemed thrilling," she said, pulling onto the road.

"Every class I had today was boring. Why do you say that?"

"Hmm, but you had a handsome guy to keep you company."

"That guy is so dumb," I said, and my sister burst into laughter.

"We're heading to town. I need to restock the groceries."

"In this fancy car?"

"Shut up," my sister retorted, bringing a smile to my face.