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I rolled back on my heels. Though it was hard to believe they hadn’t been able to do anything for over a decade, it would have to take some pretty talented liars to pretend to be this tore up about it.

Then again, Gerald and Sharon had pulled off some pretty mega fucking lies what looked to be their entire life. They’d tricked a whole town into believing they were humans. All their friends, including my parents. They’d lied to their son his entire life.

“What about when he wakes up in the middle of the woods, naked, and presumably with a belly full of human flesh?” I could easily recollect the image of Colton looking around soberly after he’d woken, as if to ensure there were no witnesses.

Clearly not concerned about the gun pointed at her, Sharon sighed wearily as she walked to the bar and poured herself a whiskey. She looked over her shoulder. “You want one?”

“Of course I fucking want one.” I lowered my gun to my side, but I did not let go of it.

She didn’t smile as she poured and handed me the glass. I downed it in one go, slamming it down on the coffee table harder than necessary.

“I can’t be sure whether or not the curse extends to Colton’s human form immediately after shifting.” Sharon daintily sipped her drink. “He’s never spoken about it.” Her eyes darted to Gerald. “To either of us.”

“So either he is aware and lying, or this witch has serious juice, from her … demon prince.” I holstered my gun, my palm sore from gripping it for so long. It was like a security blanket. But I knew I wasn’t about to shoot Gerald and Sharon. Not yet at least.

“Have you ever thought…” I pushed hair off my face. “That Colton isn’t cursed at all, that maybe he’s in collusion with this witch?”

“Never.” Sharon’s response was immediate.

I raised my brow at the certainty in her tone, which gave off warning bells. She was blind by the love she had for her son, unable to fathom that he could possibly be evil.

“You know Colton,” Gerald said from behind me, speaking in a similar tone. “He would never do anything like that.”

“I don’t know any of you,” I looked slowly from him to Sharon then spun around and marched out.

Maybe it was the wrong decision. Maybe I should’ve shot them both then and there. I had the alpha of a fucking wolf pack in front of me. Yet I’d lowered my gun. I’d believed her. Even felt fucking sympathy for her.

I was going soft.

It was going to get me killed.

“You’re alive,” Donny greeted.

“So far.” I skidded out of the driveway. Unfortunately, the aftertaste of whiskey on my tongue wasn’t enough to even dull the edges of all the tough pills I’d had to swallow today. “Have you ever heard of werewolf packs?”

She didn’t reply right away, presumably thinking, calculating, the only noise being the popping of the cap on a drink. “Rumors,” she said finally. “But I’ve never seen any or had concrete proof that they exist.”

I rummaged for my pack of smokes, fumbling for a lighter before I lit up. Not something I regularly did in my car. I respected it. No way did I need cigarette smoke clinging to the leather. I had one thing in my life that I kept pristine. But I needed a smoke. Actually, I needed a hit of fucking ketamine.

“And those rumors of the packs, do they still exist on the hearts of humans?” I inhaled deeply.

“From what I understand,” Donny responded slowly, obviously trying to understand where my question was coming from. “Although…”

“Although what?” I practically barked at her.

“I heard from a hunter in Alaska that he met with a pack who existed only on animals. Were instilled in the community for generations.” The click of a lighter and a rough inhale came down the line. “But that hunter had just come from like thirty days of night and had done it sober.” She clicked her tongue. “Unreliable narrator.”

I inhaled again as the surroundings of the town passed by. Golden trees, kids on bikes, immaculate storefronts. Everything was so normal. But now I questioned it all, as if a shroud had been ripped from my eyes, causing me to see all the lies in horrifying detail.

“So you don’t believe him,” I deduced.

Donny scoffed in response. “Sure, I also believe Santa is gonna shove his fat ass through my chimney, and the tooth fairy is the one who stole my molars in that bar fight ten years ago.”

Okay, Donny didn’t believe in good werewolves. So, noted.

“Why are you asking me this? Did you find a pack?” I could feel her interest piquing, her thirst for knowledge. Though she was a hermit, I could hear it in her voice sometimes—Donny missed the hunt. Not enough to leave her mountain, but almost. I wondered whether her past would keep her up there forever, hopped up on energy drinks, until she was too old to fight anymore.

“I’m not sure yet.” I tapped the steering wheel. I didn’t want Donny thinking I was an idiot who believed her surrogate family was the good kind of monsters. She’d lose respect for me. And she was the only one whose respect mattered to me.