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“Okay,” I replied, letting myself smile despite my nerves.
I answered their questions truthfully, explaining that I had been busy with work and only found out about the attack when I saw the commotion outside after they were already dead. I made no mention of my suspicions about Kane, keeping that knowledge to myself.
About ten minutes later, the officers thanked me for my cooperation and left, assuring me that they would be in touch if they needed any further information. As the door closed behind them, I let out a shaky breath, relieved that they hadn’t pressed me for more details. They didn’t know the connection I had to both attacks—that I’d been in the vicinity of each one.
“You know what I am.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension that had settled over me. I sat down at my laptop and began to research werewolves, hoping to find some answers or explanations for the inexplicable events I had witnessed, especially Kane’s mysterious behavior. The legends I came across were both fascinating and chilling, and they seemed to resonate with some of the things I had noticed about him.
One legend spoke of ancient curses, passed down through generations, that could transform a person into a fearsome wolf-like creature. These creatures were said to possess incredible strength and agility, and they often lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. It sent shivers down my spine as I recalled Kane’s sudden appearances in my life.
Another tale told of the intense allure of a werewolf’s gaze. It was said that their eyes could captivate and enthrall their victims, making it nearly impossible to resist their seductive pull. I remembered how I had felt when Kane’s dark, mesmerizing eyes locked onto mine, how I had been unable to tear my gaze away.
As I delved deeper into the lore, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to Kane than meets the eye.
My research into the world of werewolves led me down a fascinating path, revealing that tales of shape-shifting creatures exist in various cultures across history. In ancient Greece, the term “lycanthropy” originally referred to a form of madness in which people believed they transformed into wolves, afflicted with uncontrollable rage. In Norse mythology, there were tales of warriors known as the Ulfhednar, who donned wolf pelts and gained the strength and ferocity of wolves in battle. Among Native American tribes, legends of “Skinwalkers” existed—individuals with the power to transform into animals, including wolves, and were often associated with dark magic and malevolence. In Eastern European folklore, the Volkolak was a creature that combined traits of both wolf and human, with the ability to shift between forms at will.
As I delved deeper into these myths and legends, the similarities between them and Kane became more apparent. It was as though he embodied the essence of these age-old stories, walking a fine line between humanity and something more primal and dangerous.
Instead of shying away from him and the potentially terrifying truths that surrounded him, I felt an unquenchable thirst for more.
I couldn’t deny the unease that occasionally crept in, the nagging doubts about the risks involved in pursuing the truth about a man who might be more than human. Yet, the desire to know him, to understand what lay beneath his rugged exterior, didn’t go away no matter how hard I tried to extinguish it.
My mind kept returning to the moments when he had shown a gentler side. Those instances when his touch had been soft and tender, when his voice had held a soothing cadence, and his eyes had gazed at me with a warmth that transcended the darkness all played over and over in my mind.
What did he want with me? Was I going crazy, or were my suspicions real?
I shook my head. I needed to get out for a little while. Quickly, I downed the rest of my coffee and headed into my bedroom. I slipped into a simple yet comfortable outfit, a worn pair of jeans and a cozy t-shirt that provided a sense of normalcy amid the chaos of my thoughts.
When I was ready, I locked up and walked down the block toVegas Delight, a local diner that was well off the beaten path, so it wasn’t usually mobbed by tourists. It had good coffee and a delicious breakfast, which was more than enough for me.
When I walked inside, the nostalgic chime of the bell above the door rang in my ears. The place had an unmistakable charm, with its checkered floor and cozy booths full of locals. I chose one near the window, allowing the soft morning sunlight to wash over me.
A friendly waitress approached with a warm smile. Her name tag said Becky.
“Morning, hon. What can I get you today?”
I already knew what I wanted. Whenever I came here, I got the same thing because it was just that good.
“Just a cup of coffee, please, and your specialty pancake breakfast with triple berries and whipped cream,” I said, returning her smile.
She scribbled onto her notepad with efficiency and nodded.
“One pancake breakfast coming right up. Coffee will be here in a jiffy. Just give me a holler if you need anything else,” she offered, her smile never wavering. With a curt nod, she walked off and delivered my order to the kitchen. She grabbed a coffee pot and poured a big helping into a mug, before dropping it off at my table. I fixed it to my liking, adding the perfect amount of creamer and a spoonful of sugar.
I relaxed and looked around. A group of friends at the counter laughed over their coffee mugs, and a couple in the corner booth shared a hushed conversation, their heads bent close. My gaze glanced over a pair of police detectives, their badges partially visible on their belts as they occupied the booth across from me. An older gentleman caught my gaze and smiled in my direction. I returned the gesture before taking a sip of my coffee.
About fifteen minutes passed, and then my breakfast arrived. My eyes widened as Becky slid the heaping plate of pancakes in front of me. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, and a huge dollop of whipped cream topped the short stack. It was a generous plate, just like it always was.
The scent of warm maple syrup wafted up to greet me, and I couldn’t help but smile at the delicious sight before me. As I picked up my fork and dug into my meal, savoring the sweet and tangy burst of berries in every bite, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the conversations happening around me. I wasn’t being nosy; I just wanted a sense of normalcy amidst the chaos my life had become.
Glancing to my left, I couldn’t help but overhear the detectives talking in low tones, their voices tinged with concern.
“I’ve got a buddy with Interpol. He mentioned something strange happening in town,” the older detective murmured, leaning in close so that he could speak in a hushed tone.
“What’s going on?” the younger one asked, seemingly eager to hear whatever was on his partner’s mind.
“There have been hits on some mafia guys, and they’re not just your usual hits. They’re brutal, savage. And now, there’s this animal attack in the city. My buddy mentioned that they’ve called in a top-notch hitman to clean up this mess, someone they’re saying is lethal,” the older detective continued.
