The Rejected Luna (bloodline of a zeta wolf)

            “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

            Demetrius nodded at his mother’s question. It’d been two years in the official capacity of guardian and she was no less inclined to worry.

            In truth, that night would be one of the easier investigations. The original target was out of town on business but it presented the opportunity for him to gain some secondary information. If things got sticky, he didn’t suspect he’d have a difficult time making an escape and returning with backup.

            “The first sign of trouble, you contact your sister, understood?”

            He nodded again.

            “It’s getting late, go.”

            The boy shrunk inward, taking his form as a black cat. Tail high, he trotted from the house and out into the cool October air. He’d been to the target residence once before to canvas the area and knew he would need to move in through the second-floor balcony.

Demetrius rounded the house, listening to ensure the secondary-target was alone before scaling the tree and leaping over to the balcony. The action startled the girl, forcing her up from her previous slouch. She calmed with the realisation he was only a cat, sinking into her chair once more.

“Oh, you again,” she said.

On his last visit, he’d befriended the younger sister. A harmless stray had an easy time impressing an eight-year-old and he’d been given free rein of the little girl’s room. The results had been disappointing to say the least.

She was decidedly human.

The jury was still out on this one.

Demetrius sat back on his haunches watching her. Sapphire eyes bore themselves into the unsuspecting girl. She didn’t appear strong, nor did she appear quick but looks could be deceiving with that sort. She may have already discovered his true nature. It wasn’t easily hidden from those with the senses to detect such differences. She could already be planning her counter strike; there was little time to waste.

Demetrius stretched back into the form of a boy, an action that sent her scrambling from the chair and bolting for the safety of her bedroom. It was the first of many peculiarities.

The boy watched her shove pieces of furniture before the door—a futile effort if nothing else.

Curious.

“Dad!” she called. “Dad!”

Demetrius nudged gently at the door, testing the integrity of the shield she’d created for herself. Flimsy. Surely, she didn’t think it would be enough.

She pressed against the door on the other side of the room, not daring to take her eyes off him for more than a second.

“You can stop screaming; he went out,” he said. “Now, open up; hunting’s hard enough without a door standing in the way.” 

“S-Stay away from me.”

“Look, we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. What’s say we start over? Name’s Kyle, I just moved into the neighbourhood and was looking to make some friends. You seem alright so I—”

“Go away!”

“Right.” There would be no civilised discourse.

Demetrius shattered the fragile sense of security she’d been clinging so desperately to with one effortless shove that saw the door opening. It made a dull cracking noise, breaking at both the lock and the hinge so that the left door now sagged noticeably. With an equal lack of effort, the boy nudged the pieces of furniture clear of his path. He turned then to the now busted door with an exasperated sigh.

“Shame. Didn’t have to come to that.” He shook his head, arms folded as he appraised the damage. “Not sure how you’ll explain it to your parents. It’s not exactly something duct tape will fix, y’know?” He hadn’t been trying to leave evidence of his visit and the broken door certainly complicated that.

Demetrius turned to her, deciding he would deal with the door another time. “Jamie, right?”

She remained silent, her eyes darting from place to place in search of an escape. Rather than lash out and confront the danger he presented, she looked ready to pass out.

“I’m Jason.”

His second introduction wasn’t enough to coax any words from her lips. Demetrius considered it an abundance of caution. Perhaps she’d been better prepped for such a situation than he’d first thought. A mother as careful as hers had been, it only made sense that she would proceed with the same level of carefulness.

“You’ve got a nice room; the bed looks comfy,” he said. “May I?”

Without waiting for a reply that wouldn’t be coming, he flopped front first onto her bed. The boy rolled over, losing himself in the softness of the sheets, and for a time, it appeared that he had forgotten anyone and everyone outside of himself and the memory foam that bowed to his every contour. It was the scent he was after and short of getting close enough to get a big whiff from her, the bed was the next best option.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” He pulled himself up into a sitting position and his gaze locked on her once more. It was time to get to business. “Where’s your mother?”

“What…?”

“The woman who gave birth to you? Ring any bells?”

Jamie shook her head, trying to dispel the haze that had fallen over her. If she persisted in her reluctance to cooperate, he would have to employ more…assertive methods. It was something he’d rather avoid until he learned her true strength but it was becoming a greater certainty.  

“Look, my boyfriend texted that he’s on his way,” she said. “He’ll be here any minute now so you’d better—”

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” he interjected. “Would you like to try another lie? I’d be happy to help you. Lemme just grabbed a pen and some paper.”

Demetrius launched off the bed and began making his way around her room, shuffling things about in his search for the stationery items.

“You’re messy, for a girl,” he said, organising as he went. When he got to her book bag, the boy pried it open and began his search anew. “Ah, here we go.” He sat cross-legged on the floor, his eyes turning to her expectantly. “We’ve already got boyfriend that you don’t have being on his way…” He scribbled while he spoke, seeing the exercise as a means of breaking through the ice that kept her tight-lipped. “Hmm…we could add security cameras that your parents haven’t installed—your neighbour’s a policeman! I reckon most would be deterred by that one. You could threaten that just one scream would send him over here—conveniently this would be his night off so you’d be sure he was home. I like that one.” He went on scribbling, talking more to himself than her as he mused on about the different excuses that would send the average trespasser running.

Was there ever a more helpful and docile home invader?