Chapter 8

It took a while, but Jameson waited until every member of his small but determined audience had stopped arguing and returned to their seats. Even Flint was sitting. The switches weren’t what interested him.

Jameson faced them all, his voice measured. “I have a story to tell, one I’ve never shared with anyone. An unbelievable story, but I know that if each of you listens with your animal instinct, rather than your human brains, you will hear the truth in it.”

None moved, no one even seemed to breathe. Jameson plunged ahead. The moment would never be better. “The year was 1870. I was eleven years old.” Aven snorted and looked out the window, while Bryce shifted in his seat and popped a rare frown. All else only stared, waiting for more. There was no scent of disbelief in the room, not even from Aven.

Jameson went on. “I’d known I would be the next Keeper since the day I first shifted at four years old. My parents had not been worried about my late shifting, in fact, they’d been excited, anticipating that the delay was a clue to my destiny. To be chosen as the next Keeper was an incredible honor.”

An image of his mother and father, lost too soon, flitted through his mind. It had been so long since he’d seen them, heard their voices, but he still remembered the feel of their love. He lingered for only a moment before moving on. “Keepers have been born into the Montreat family for over a thousand years. The one born as the white wolf is always the Keeper, chosen by a process none of us understand. We do our duty, we don’t question it.”

Jameson’s heart turned over at the words. William, his uncle, the last Keeper, had said those exact words to him, his life blood draining out around the fingers at his chest. So many secrets about to be locked away forever behind his blueing lips, and still William had focused on Jameson’s commitment rather than what his duty entailed. Perhaps he had thought Jameson would find his own way… somehow. But all Jameson had was a book that could be neither damaged nor read, the ability to turn into a wolf twice the size of his person, and his story.

“I had a normal childhood, as was customary. I helped with the farm work but had playmates and an abundance of time to roam the forest, to sharpen my claws and my wit, to get myself into and out of scrapes, learning more of survival each year.”

“My parents spoke of William, my uncle, the then-Keeper with reverence, and all in the town treated him with respect. But he never talked to me about my future duties, in fact I rarely saw him. My apprenticeship was to officially begin when I turned twelve, when I would leave my family and work with him every day to learn what a Keeper actually did.”

Jameson took a deep breath. The sound of fighting rang through his imagination, the clash of switch and shifter and vampire coming to him as easily as it had the day after the battle, when he’d walked away with The Keeper’s Book tucked under his arm.

Bryce spoke up from the back of the room, trying to lighten the mood at exactly the wrong time. “You expect us to believe you’re over a hundred years old, J? I mean, I know you’re uptight, but even you aren’t that stuffy.”

No one laughed. Bryce would be the most likely to question the story as he was among the youngest in the room, along with Ryder and his sister, and one other. A lean mountain lion in the third row with a dangerous, almost ravenous scent. His skin was more ink than flesh tone; his black hair long on top, shaved on the sides and back, hanging over his eyes like a shield. Dangerous looking rings covered both hands. Strange. Shifters almost never wore rings. Jameson had seen the male in sparring before, even pulled him out of an unsanctioned fight. Riot, name was, although why anyone would name their young that, Jameson had no clue.

Riot could have been Bryce’s age of 25, or a few years older. He looked hard, useful, but unpredictable. Ryder looked the same. Cats always threw Jameson for a loop, though. he could never be sure he totally knew one. Raptors like Aven had it easier, being able to sense others’ motives.

Jameson ignored Bryce’s comment and steeled himself for the telling of his story. His eyes slipped closed and he relived it as he told it, the sights and sound of that time flooding back to him.

He’d woken to a noise. Something crashing to the floor elsewhere in the house. It was still night. Jameson jumped to his feet, knowing immediately something was wrong in the little house. He did not fear. Mother and Father were strong and could handle anything. The only emotions he felt were excitement about that day being his eleventh birthday, and an eagerness to discover if he could help. He pulled the covers on the bed down, revealing his little brother, still snoring lightly. Good.

Jameson crept silently down the hallway of the small farm house, his ears perked for another sign. A peek in his parent’s room told him they were out of bed, his baby sister still sleeping in her cradle. His parent’s bed was unmade, a blanket drooping to touch the floor. Jameson had never seen it like that before. Mother always made it first thing.

A strangled cry came from the kitchen and Jameson hurried that way. He pushed into the small but clean room to find his mother leaning against the door, her face hidden by her arm. She wasn’t… crying?

“Mother, what?”

She yelped and whirled. “Jameson, you scared me.”

Something was off. “Where’s father.”

Mother eyed him warily but didn’t speak, as if trying to decide what to tell him. Finally, she sank into a chair. “There is a battle raging on the other side of the forest. Father has gone to join it.”

Jameson’s fangs grew in his mouth at the words. “A battle. With the vampires? They’ve come to Five Hills?”

Mother nodded, her face solemn.

“I’ll go as well,” Jameson said, heading for the door, not thinking that his feet were bare and he was wearing nightclothes.

“Not you,” Mother said, in a voice that gave him pause.

He turned back to her, trying to think of how to convince her. “I’m big Mother, as big as any alpha male. My wolf is twice as big and strong. I can fight.”

She nodded gravely, her face breaking. “You can, and you will fight to protect the family.”

Jameson swallowed hard. Surely the vampires would not be able to find their farm? All shifter and switch houses were protected from vampires with strong magic. But if they had found Five Hills…

His mother stood and pinched his chin, bringing his face down to look at her. He was only eleven, but he was five foot, ten inches tall already, and his mother stopped several inches short of that. “Until Father returns, you will help me protect the young. The vampires have-” She broke off, shuddering, then forced herself to speak again. “They have a new weapon that can create an unhealable wound in a shifter, even through the change. We may be running by day’s end.”

True fear of the vampires threaded through Jameson for the first time in his short life. They’d always been a possibility, a story told by his friends to scare each other, only a distant menace that lent meaning to who he was, but now they were in his forest, and the look of agony on his mother’s face said shifters were dying, and more would be slain before the day was over.

Jameson fell into a chair, trying to keep his voice strong. “If we run, where shall we go?”

“Away,” was all his mother would say, and not another word was spoken between them until a knock came to the door.

Mother shot to her feet and Jameson loosed his wolf, shifting quickly and cleanly, knocking the chair he was near over, standing taller than the table. He growled at the closed door. No vampire would take his family.

“It’s William,” a muted voice said from the other side.

“William,” Mother gasped, and yanked at the door. Jameson waited until he saw and smelled that the male was alone, then he shifted quietly, pulling his simple clothes back on and tying their clever slip-ties that let them escape damage when a wolf had to shift quickly. While he dressed, he studied his uncle’s face.

William looked like all Montreats. Oversized. Bulky. Sharp lines at cheek and jaw. Wide face and striking blue eyes. He embraced Jameson’s mother, then held her arms as he solemnly told her, “I must wake the Steward now, and Jameson must go with me.”

Jameson shook his head. It was too early. Not for another year would he start his training, and his family needed him more than the Steward!

But his mother hung her head and wrung her hands and… nodded.

Jameson pulled himself away from the past to study the detached group of shifters inside the Black Bear Outfitting Company’s back room, measuring their response, trying to see in their eyes how many knew of that battle, the Reckoning, although how it had gotten that name, Jameson didn’t know. It had wiped out the entire town of shifters and switches. They had fought hard, and vampire numbers had been decimated as well, but not as decimated as switches. Every switch in the region, which was 98% of them, had come to fight. And to die. The vampires must have named the event, The Reckoning.

He met eyes with several in the crowd, measuring them. Not enough knew of it, and maybe none of them realized how easily vampires were thriving in the modern world. He swallowed hard, knowing that if they didn’t know that, they also wouldn’t have noticed how many vampires were running for government positions. Which to Jameson, meant something big was happening. Something that had been hidden until now. World domination? Human farming? None of it seemed beyond the vampires that had swept the forest that day.

Jameson was unique in his ability to discern a vampire by sight. Their red eyes were somehow hidden to all other shifters, although all could smell the pine and bitter herb odor of a vampire. It was as distinctive as the smell of a bear versus a wolf, but most shifters Jameson had questioned had never encountered anyone who scented that way. They couldn’t scent through the TV, so if the red eyes were hidden to others, none but Jameson would know exactly how high into the American government vampires had infiltrated.

Which was why he was here, finally sharing this story no matter how crazy it looked to these males and female, most of whom had been raised in families that never spoke of vampires. But that ended now. Even if there were no switches able to make the final kill, they, the shifters, still had a job to do. He would marshal the descendents of those few who’d made it through the Reckoning, and they would figure out how to control the vampires. Somehow. Jameson slipped back into his story

“Mother, no!”

“Yes, Jameson. Your duty comes before all else. It is our very purpose and we shall honor it as such.”

“Mother, you-”

She shushed him then. “I shall strike out with the pups this morn, for Asheville. The vampires are not going there.”

Jameson dug in his heels mentally. His first duty had to be with his family. William could take care of the Steward.

Before Jameson could speak, William’s head shot up and he moved near the still-open door of the house. “We must hurry,” he murmured.

Jameson’s Instinct, normally a slight whispering in his chest, roared to life, sparking him mercilessly. (go with William,) it demanded. Jameson had never experienced a message with such intensity from inside him before and it threw him for a moment, scattering his thoughts.

But will my family be safe? He asked the Instinct, knowing the Instinct answered no questions.

(Go!) it roared.

He knew he must obey.