Katarina

I am Katarina Penn, and I’m a Wolfhunter. My dad, Augustine, trained me to be one, but then he sent me away to live with my Aunt Mary—his way of protecting me from the people who killed my mom. His last words to me were, “The time will come, and one day you’ll be back.” Then, off I went.

Six years I’ve been away, but when Dad demanded I come back home, I couldn’t refuse. I can’t shake off the desperation in his voice. On the call, he said, “Katarina, the time has come. Come home.”

Now, I’m back. As I drive into the city, my eyes meet the signpost: Wolf Creek.

I take a deep breath.

So much goes on inside this city that the rest of the world could only imagine. In here, it’s real. I grew up in a world where werewolves exist. I know that because I saw my first one when I was only twelve—right in my living room, its eyes glaring at me, its presence threatening me. It was the worst day of my life, and it’s haunted me ever since.

I tried my best to fit in like a normal girl my age, yet I couldn’t help but feel like there was more out there for me. Aunt Mary wanted me to have a different life than my Dad’s, or maybe she was afraid I’d end up like my mother. Either way, I tried, and it didn’t work out—not in her house in a quiet neighborhood, and certainly not in college, pretending I was an ordinary Physiology student.

I’m the daughter of a wolf hunter. There’s nothing ordinary about that.

As I drive deeper into the city, I know normal is over for me. And for some strange reason, I love it. Something about the thrill of the hunt, the battle of wolf-hunters against werewolves, or maybe it’s the thought that with each strike, we rid our streets of the menace of those monsters. A part of me is also anxious to see Francis, my long-distance boyfriend, again.

Finally, I’m home. I take my box from the trunk and climb up the porch. The door is slightly open. That’s strange. Where’s Dad?

“Dad, I’m home,” I shout, loud enough for him to hear me.

No response. Just silence.

I glance around the living room, and I can’t help but feel it’s good to be back. Then, I hear a sound from upstairs. That’s probably him.

I head to his room and lightly push the door open. I can smell his cologne strongly, the same one he’s been using since I was little. He’s here for sure.

“Dad, I’m coming in,” I say, waiting for his response.

“Come in,” his voice growls from inside, with more authority than warmth.

I step into the room, and the sight shocks me. Dad is sitting on the edge of his bed, wiping blood off four vertical, deep cuts across his stomach. From werewolf claws, I’m sure.

“Christ!” I exclaim. “Dad, what happened?” I ask, shooting him a worried look. I sit next to him.

He doesn’t answer right away. He keeps wiping the wounds, his face showing no emotion, like he isn’t feeling the pain. Then, he turns his cold, piercing eyes toward me.

“We were on a hunt. We had the werewolves outnumbered. But their damn Alpha showed up to save them. He gutted me,” he says, groaning from the pain. “I’ve been through worse,” he adds flatly.

He’s in pain, and I feel pity for him. But I can’t show it. He hates pity.

“Dad… I missed you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lose you, Daddy,” I move closer and try to hug him, but he stops me with his hand.