Joseph Coleman Novels & Stories

I promised, on Hana's life, I wouldn’t kill anyone. I haven’t been here in seven years, not since Siegfried took Suzu from me. My return to my old cabin by the lake was bittersweet—so many memories of her and the good times we had here. On the bright side, the current camp director, Rowan Moors, doesn’t know my face, so I had introduced myself as James Logan and got hired as the new groundskeeper. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m some lowlife drifter that was just looking for a temporary job and a place to stay. My gut tells me not to trust that prick. And my gut is rarely wrong.

Carson murmured as he considered what had been said. “Now that you mention it, I noticed that Elder Joseph did not have a limp the other night,” Cole shared. “Why is that relevant?” I questioned. Carson looked to Cole, before looking at me. “Elder Joseph had been attacked by rogues when he was younger. He never gained full use of his leg again after that attack,” Carson stated quietly.

Irene absorbed the weight of Joseph's revelations about the Hemmings werewolf pack, the conversation took an unexpected turn. Joseph, now seated across from her, hesitated before delving into a more personal narrative, one intertwined with his own family history. "My father," Joseph began, his voice carrying the weight of years of solitude and rejection. "Theo Hemmings. He was a werewolf, and my mother, human. A union that was never accepted."