Hunting You, Hunting Me (Watty Awards 2012)

chapter 24

A/N: Dear Readers, I am going to re-write this story in third person at some point. Estela and Jane's points of view will remain in first person. Here is a taste of what the story will be like in third person. Please let me know what you think! Thank you.

RECAP:

I hope that Scott is healing fast because I cannot shake the nagging feeling that something bad is coming our way.  The hair on the back of my neck begins to stand as if on cue. Something is bothering my wolf. I pull out of my thoughts and become aware of my surroundings just in time to see a wolf dash out of the forest and onto my path.  I brake and swerve at the same time to avoid the wolf, thinking it may be one of the newly shifted pups in my pack. As the car spins on its side my eyes lock with those of the wolf and I know in an instant that this is no accident. I reach to unfasten my seatbelt and look up in time to see a group of wolves running towards me.  Quickly, re-fastening the seatbelt, I brace myself for what is to come. The sound of metal scraping fills my ears and I realize that the wolves are pushing the car towards the edge of the cliff.

‘Help!’  I scream through the mind-link transmitting my message to the entire pack. ‘In car, being pushed over Mermaid’s cliff by unknown wolves,’ Is all I can manage before the car plunges off the cliff into the icy cold waters of the Pacific Ocean.

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Not edited

Chapter 24

The flowers were unusually droopy that morning, perhaps burdened by the grief that surrounded them. They were wildflowers that the children had picked.  There hadn’t been enough time to make proper funeral arrangements because, it wasn’t everyday that a werewolf died. In fact, the werewolf mortality rate was very low.

Melancholy music played softly in the background, driving even those who did not have a propensity to cry, into tears.  The new Alpha had chosen the music, explaining that it was his father’s favorite CD.  If not for the music and the gleaming casket in the front of the room, a human wouldn’t have realized that the gathering was a funeral. The hundred and fifty people who squeezed into the tiny chapel did not wear black, because that was not the werewolf way. In fact, the crowd that gathered to bid goodbye to their Alpha wore white.  The only sign of color was the red cloth tied around their arms, paying tribute to the one who lost his life in war. Yes, it was war. Even though the perpetrators of the crime had vanished before anyone got to the scene, the pack was on full alert. Their Alpha had been murdered in their own territory. Yes, they were under attack and this was war.

One by one, people walked up to the casket and laid a flower upon the polished mahogany lid. Mike, the pack’s “sheriff” had driven into the neighboring town and bought the first casket he had seen.  He did not care that it was the most expensive one.  It was the only one available and he was in dire need of it. The pack admired its intricate panelling and the beautiful carving, deeming it to be even more beautiful than the coffin the Alpha’s late wife, Sue, was buried in.

When the pack members had reached the cliff early that morning, a few of them had helped to look for the body before all of them were sent back to the pack house to wait for further instructions. It was only a while later that they were told that their Alpha’s body was found. Werewolf nature being no different than it’s human counterpart, had many people curious about the state of the body inside.  Was their beloved Alpha’s body intact? Had it been badly damaged? Did he look at peace? But the casket was closed and only three people knew the reason why.

The casket was closed because it was empty.

After the services were over and the casket buried, people gathered in the pack house for refreshments. It had been a hectic day and nothing, not even death could curb a werewolf’s appetite.  Everyone ate heartily after which it was time for the new Alpha’s speech. He spoke of his father with love, respect and admiration and vowed to find those that had taken his life.  The next to stand up was his Beta, Diego Ramirez. He even shed a few tears, much to the surprise of the pack members. Male werewolves seldom cried. The third person to eulogize Bill was the Alpha’s childhood friend, Scott Miller.  Yes, he had almost healed and even though the doctors recommended that he skip the funeral to rest, he had insisted on attending.