"Find anything?" Darvin asked, eyes closed as he relaxed on an outdoor bed in the garden just beyond the second door of his bedroom. He had sensed Regal's presence long before he arrived, both through sound and scent.
"Nothing, sir," Regal replied. "Since the Narrole family left the country ten years ago, there hasn't been a single wolf sighting."
"I figured as much," Darvin muttered, sitting up. A worried look crossed his face as he continued, "Do you think my father sent him?"
"That would be the most likely scenario," Regal said thoughtfully. "You're the next in line to lead the pack. Your father is concerned about the future, what might happen if power falls into the wrong hands."
"He smelled different," Darvin interrupted, dismissing the topic Regal had brought up as another realization dawned on him.
"Keep searching," he ordered, rising to his feet. He gave Regal a firm tap on the shoulder before turning to walk away.
"Your father will be here soon," Regal added, causing Darvin to freeze mid-step.
A low growl rumbled in Darvin's throat as his anger surged.
In an instant, he transformed, his body expanding into his wolf form. He raced towards Regal, furious, but halted just short of an attack.
His body vibrated with barely restrained rage as he circled Regal, a thunderous snarl reverberating through the air. Regal wisely remained still, knowing better than to provoke the gigantic Alpha, who now towered over him, big and monstrous.
"Don't ever keep things from me. Do you understand?" Darvin snapped, his voice edged with danger. With one last piercing glare, he shifted back to his human form and stormed away, his anger still visible.
*****
As they stepped into the mechanic shop, the familiar scent of engine oil, diesel, and grease immediately hit their noses, a potent reminder of the place's purpose. The shop was a chaotic mix of metal and machinery, with tools scattered across every surface.
Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with wrenches, bolts, and other mechanical parts, while a variety of car engines, tires, and half-disassembled vehicles occupied the open floor space.
In the far corner, a rusty old table caught Jane's eye, instantly pulling her back to a memory she'd rather forget or maybe just keep hidden.
The table hadn't changed at all; its surface still bore the scratches and dents from countless repairs. But what made her cringe and blush slightly was the memory it invoked: a moment of impulsive passion when they had let the heat between them take over, their bodies tangling in a frenzied need, right there amidst the smell of gasoline and motor oil.
The thought made her stomach flip, not just from the memory itself but from the sheer recklessness of it.
She quickly looked away, trying to shake off the lingering warmth that had crept up her neck, hoping Mark hadn't noticed the subtle flush on her cheeks.
A man slid out from underneath a car, glancing to the side before catching Jane's eye. A smile spread across his face as he got to his feet.
"Hello, Bobu," he teased, using an old nickname as he wiped his hands on a rag.
"C'mon, not you too," Jane laughed lightly, moving in for a hug despite the state of his clothes.
"Hey, man," Ethan greeted Mark over Jane's shoulder as they hugged.
"Hey," Mark replied, extending his hand for a handshake.
Ethan pulled away from Jane and gave Mark a hearty handshake.
He turned back to Jane. "How long has it been?"
"One year?" she guessed, though uncertainty lingered in her voice.
"Two years since you stepped into this shop, and over a year since we last talked."
"That long, huh?" Jane mused more to herself than to him.
"You didn't just feel the sudden urge to see me after all this time, did you?" Ethan asked, his tone hinting at a mix of disappointment and realization.
Her expression gave him the answer he needed, and he nodded, perhaps in resignation.
He pointed to a bench at the side, signaling them to sit. As Jane took another look around the shop, she sat down, Mark quietly following suit.
Ethan's shop was rugged and worn, just like him. The walls, once white, were now gray from years of oil and exhaust. Faded posters of classic cars hung on the walls, their edges curled.
The workbench, cluttered with tools, parts, and coffee cups, was the heart of the room. The place felt held together by routine.
"Jenny is dead," Jane began, her voice soft as she gauged Ethan's reaction. He now sat opposite them, his expression unreadable.
"We're questioning people around the neighborhood for the paper," Mark added, trying to break the awkward silence.
"There isn't much I can tell you," Ethan said, his tone flat. "Jenny was a nice young girl..." He paused, looking directly at Jane. "We three go way back."
"Did you hear anything, see anything, or notice anything strange? Maplewood is small, and news gets around," Jane pressed.
"The good old gossip town, huh?" Ethan chuckled softly to himself. "I hadn't seen Jenny since the last time she delivered milk to your mom last week, on Tuesday.
I heard she was seeing a boy, but I wasn't sure. The day I saw her, she had bruises on her body. I figured that her drunk, idiotic father had hit her, but when I asked, she denied it. So, I let it go. I hadn't seen her since then," he recounted.
Mark and Jane exchanged glances, trying to digest the information.
"Thank you, Ethan. This was helpful," Jane said, breaking the silence.
"They said she was attacked by a werewolf?" Ethan asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.
"We're not entirely sure," Jane replied cautiously.
"There hasn't been a sighting in years, according to what we were told," Ethan said, looking at Jane for confirmation.
"Those were just stories our moms told us to scare us," Jane insisted, though doubt lingered in her voice. Deep down, she felt there was more to it.
"Well, if you say so," Ethan said, leaning back. "You were always big on stories, even now. Let me know what you find out about Jenny, okay? I feel for her. I want to know what happened, too."
"I will," Jane promised, standing up to leave, Mark following her lead.
"One more thing," Jane added, pausing at the door. "I'd love to get my car fixed. It's been getting really noisy."
"When will you come to get it?" Ethan asked.
"Friday would be great," she replied.
"Friday it is, then."
"It's right outside. Thanks," Jane said, tossing the keys to him.
"Thank you," Mark echoed as they turned to go.
As they walked out, Jane couldn't shake the feeling that Ethan was hiding something.
The Ketles' farm was a long walk away. Surrenton was a big area, split over time into three parts: Crescent Heights, Maplewoods, and the outskirts, where the Ketles farm and the Narrole estate sat far apart.
The farm used to be full of life. Jane remembered workers everywhere, animals roaming, and the smell of freshly baked jelly buns and boiling milk. Now, as they walked through the rusty gate, silence filled the place.
The buildings, once lively, were now neglected and falling apart. The energy was gone, replaced by memories.
"Doesn't feel the same, does it?" Jane muttered under her breath, mostly to herself.
They spotted Mr. Ketles seated in a rocking chair in front of the main house, a short walk from the barn area. His eyes were closed, and his appearance was pale and drained, as if life had been sucked out of him.
The sound of their footsteps approaching made him stir, and he slowly opened his eyes as they drew nearer.
"Hello, Harry," Jane greeted formally, trying to mask her disgust.
"Good evening, Mr. Ketles," Mark added, his tone professional. "We're here on official duty from the City Newspaper. We have a pass and would like to ask you a few questions about Jenny." He held out his press pass, and Jane followed suit.
"I just lost my daughter. To hell with your passes, you can shove them up your ass," Harry spat, his voice thick with the slur of alcohol.
"We just want to ask a few questions and look around, if we may," Jane requested, her patience wearing thin.
"How—how dare you, bitch! Why can't you let the dead rest?" Harry staggered to his feet, attempting to confront Jane.
"Hey, old man, step back before I punch all the alcohol out of your system," Mark warned, his voice edged with anger as he moved between them.
Feeling threatened, Harry stumbled backward and collapsed into his chair. He reached for the bottle beside him and took a long swig.
"Down the hall, left door on the right—do whatever the fuck you like, and then get out!" Harry growled, gesturing vaguely toward the house's main entrance.
They exchanged a glance, silently agreeing to proceed with caution.