The Hunter Family

The Hunter Family
Adolphus stood up and left.
Seraphina sat motionless on the bed, staring at the door Adolphus had just walked out of.
The room felt suffocating now, too heavy with the weight of what she had just learned.
Her family… creating werewolves?
It didn’t make sense. The Hunters—her people—had always spoken of werewolves as abominations, creatures to be put down before they could become a threat. She had grown up hearing stories of their savagery, their uncontrollable nature.
So why would her family be involved in something like this?
Had they been lying all along?
Did they hate werewolves, or did they fear them?
Seraphina pressed her fingers to her temple, willing herself to think. Then, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, she remembered.
—
She had been sixteen when it happened.
It was late at night, and the house was unnervingly quiet—until she heard the noise.
A sharp, muffled cry from the back of the estate. Something like a low snarl. Then a thud.
She had crept out of bed, barefoot, in her silk nightgown, pushing open her bedroom door to peer into the dimly lit hallway. The chandelier cast eerie shadows on the grand staircase as she descended, her fingers trailing along the railing.
“Miss Seraphina.”
She startled, spinning around to find James standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was tall, built like a soldier, his crisp black suit and earpiece giving away his usual role—her driver, her security, and sometimes, her shadow.
He wasn’t supposed to be inside the house. He usually waited outside, near the cars.
She frowned. “Did you hear that?”
James’s face remained unreadable. “You should go back to bed, Miss.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Something’s happening outside.”
“It’s nothing.” His voice was too even. “Just the guards handling a situation.”
“What situation?”
James hesitated.
And that hesitation told her everything.
Seraphina stepped past him, heading toward the back entrance, but his arm shot out, stopping her.
“Let me go,” she demanded, glaring up at him.
James didn’t budge. “Your father wouldn’t want you seeing this.”
Her breath hitched. “Seeing what?”
Silence.
Seraphina yanked her arm free, turning toward the door, but this time James moved fully in front of her.
“Go back to your room.”
Her heart pounded. “James, I swear—”
Then she heard it again.
A howl.
Not from outside.
From within the estate.
Seraphina’s blood ran cold.
She took a step back, looking past James, her mind racing. That wasn’t an ordinary sound. It was deep, guttural—raw with pain.
“What’s in there?” she whispered.
James didn’t answer.
And that was when she knew.
Something was wrong.
Terribly, terribly wrong.
####
Now, years later, sitting in a room she despised, wounded, and trapped in the presence of a man who claimed to want her yet had taken everything from her, Seraphina felt the past clawing its way back.
Her family had been creating werewolves.
But why?
To control them? To use them?
Or… had they failed?
Had they feared what they created?
Had they been hunting werewolves not out of duty—but out of regret?
Seraphina’s hands trembled.
She needed answers.

This is disturbing and embarrassing.