"Water."
One word was all I could manage. My throat had dried to the point of burning, and anything else came out as unintelligible mumbles.
I opened my eyes slowly. My hands and feet were tied tightly to the chair; I tried to move a hand but succeeded only in lacerating my skin with the rope.
How did I get caught up in this situation?
It was all because I came to this city in search of my family.
I was living with my uncle in a small town near the capital. Even though I was an orphan, my uncle tried to never let me feel the absence of my parents. I was always curious about them, as any orphan would be. Whenever I asked my uncle about them — which was often — he'd barely say anything before changing the subject.
Still, I was content— but good times never last long.
My uncle fell chronically ill around the time I turned eighteen a few months ago. On one of my visits to his hospital room, he did the unexpected: he was completely open and honest with me.
"Bailey, whatever I'm going to tell you today might sound bizarre to you. You may think whatever I'm spouting are the words of a sick old man who doesn't know what he's saying."
He was only in his fifties, but somehow looked twenty years older in that room.
"You can already sense the change within your body, can't you?" he asked.
I could. I'd always felt something different about my body, something... off. Even more so than other girls my age.
The flowers I'd brought on my previous visit had bloomed beautifully on the table by his bed. I stared at them to divert my nervousness; I both wanted to know more and was afraid of knowing more.
You could have given me a thousand guesses and I wouldn't have predicted what he said next.
"Your parents were werewolves, Bailey." His voice was clear and focused, not sounding like a delirious old man at all. "So are you."
My eyes widened, my breathing stopped, my mouth hung open.
Werewolves? Say what?
I wished for someone else in the room to have heard that, so I could be sure I wasn't the one losing my mind.
Would an ill patient in his hospital bed be making up stories?
"Your parents did not die in an accident," he went on. "They were... assassinated when you were just an infant. Who killed your parents and for which purpose, I do not know. But I was afraid that whoever it was would come after you next, so I suppressed your wolf to keep you hidden from the world."
Suddenly "werewolves" seemed like the most normal part of the conversation.
I felt my knees getting weak. I doubted if I could make it out of the room on my own power.
My uncle sat up and pointed to his bag from home, which sat on the bedside table. I handed it to him and he dug out a small, ornate jewelry box that I knew had belonged to my mother. He held it out to me with trembling hands.
My own hands trembled when I took it from him.
"I know it's a lot for you to take in at once, Bailey. Most of the things I said must not even make sense to you. However, my time in this world is coming to an end." He stared out the window like he was talking to someone not even in the room.
I opened the box to find an address on a small piece of paper.
"You must find your family since I can no longer protect you," he said, now looking at me again, smiling with unusual sadness.
My fingers tightened on the box as I found myself unable — or maybe unwilling — to say anything.
"You don't have to worry about me. I might die sooner than an average person, but I can hold on till you find your answers. I'm not that old yet, you know." His last words were followed by a coughing spell that made him hunch forward like someone in intense pain.
Tears filled my eyes when I looked into his bright blue eyes and pale face. If it were not for me, he might have had a happy life with his wife and children.
"Happy Birthday, Bailey," my uncle said as I was about to leave the room.
My eighteenth birthday was the next day. Did he think he wouldn't be around to tell me then? I had come of age — I was officially an adult — yet I was afraid whether I would be able to make it alone or not.
So, in the end I decided to go to the city to find my answers.
****
The train was earlier than expected as I stood alone on the platform. I wore my oversized striped shirt with a floral top and baggy blue jeans, my shoulder-length raven hair hanging loose. I carried my favorite Louis Vuitton black-gray checkered bag, which I received from my uncle on my sixteenth birthday — the only luxury thing I possessed. The next year he'd gotten me the camera that I had inside the bag.
"I will come back once I find all the answers," I'd told him in the hospital the day before. "You need to stay alive till then. Deal?"
"Deal," he'd replied with a weak chuckle.
I boarded the train, making my way to a possible new life.
As we entered the city, my eyes widened at the impossibly tall buildings. I'd seen big cities in TV shows, I just didn't know the immensity of one would leave me in such awe.
After disembarking at the city center station, which seemed like a good place to start, I moved around clueless for a few minutes. I didn't know where to ask for help. People appeared too busy to approach, passing by me like they were all in a hurry.
I finally came around to a port area after wandering aimlessly. Large ships were docked all in a row, with cargo being loaded and unloaded from each.
An old man working one of the smaller boats caught my eye. He was gasping for air while trying to work a massive crate down on pulleys. I moved closer to ask him if he needed help, not really knowing what an eighteen year old girl could offer.
He was startled by my sudden appearance as if he had seen a ghost. He lost his balance, and the crate fell to the ground.
"It's my fault. I apologize," I hastily said, bending over to offer him a hand up.
That was when I noticed what had spilled out of the crate, now littering the area around us.
Guns.
Guns of all shapes and sizes.
Suddenly, I heard voices from afar. Before I could proceed, a few thugs appeared — "thugs" is the only way to describe those brutish guys with massive bodies and scary scars on their faces.
"Please, don't kill me!" the old man cried out. "I swear I did not do this willingly. They asked me to do it!"
One of the thugs approached me and I stood, unable to move. "A rogue?" he asked, staring at me coldly.
Was he asking me a question? What was a rogue?
"They are probably working together. Tie these two up," he ordered.
I struggled as two others grabbed my arms. I wanted to tell them I had no idea what they were talking about, but before I could, something hit me in the back of the head, and I lost consciousness.
****
From my spot tied to the chair, I swiveled my head around as far as I could. I appeared to be in a basement. The tiny sliver of light coming from the top of the stairs revealed that there wasn't much in there besides me, apart from more crates stacked in a corner. A spiderweb hung up in a high corner.
I was able to spot a spiderweb?
Since when could I see so clearly in the dark?
I heard footsteps at the top of the stairs, and the door opened with a thud. My eyes burned with the sudden exposure to the bright light.
The man who came slowly downstairs had a face I had never seen before, but I doubted if I would ever forget it.
Was it even possible for mythical gods to come to life?
Standing over six feet tall, the blond man was impossibly handsome. His broad shoulders and perfectly formed abs were visible under the tight-fitting black suit. Veins were prominent on his forearms due to his sleeves being rolled up.
His complexion was pale, similar to mine. A strange feeling tightened my chest as his piercing blue eyes stared at me with burning rage.
He lit a cigarette and began to speak.