Chapter One

Why my mother had moved us New Hampshire I'll never begin to understand. New Hampshire was worlds away from where I'd grown up. Thankfully I'd graduated high school two weeks prior to our move, so I wouldn't have to worry about fitting in. I stared up at the two-story house and sighed.

"Emma," I heard my mother call. "Take the box you have straight to the kitchen. I'm pretty sure that's some more of my pots and pans." Looking up at the faded red house, I sighed again and climbed the porch steps.

The house we had moved into was smaller than the last; it still had three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but it was smaller space-wise, and, in a way, cozier. We had been carrying boxes in the house all day long, and the U-Haul was finally empty. Our phone having just been hooked up, my mom ordered pizza for our first new-home meal. It was only pizza, but this meal meant so much more than that. It was the first meal my mother, my sister, and I would be eating in this house, and it was lacking one vital component to make it a meal at all: my father.

My father was the reason for everything that had occurred in the last month and a half; the reason we had moved, the reason we had downsized our house and our garage, and the reason my mother had taken us way from everything we'd known.

My mother had lived in Arthur, Nevada, when she was younger, and my father just outside. They met when they were still young; he was nineteen, and she was celebrating her eighteenth birthday. They were married a year and a half later, and I came eleven months after the nuptials. My sister, Claire, was thrown into the mix when I was six. The two of us grew up on my father's tribal reservation, my grandfather and his friends telling us legends and stories that made us thankful to be tucked in every night.

When I turned sixteen, and was apparently old enough to understand the truth, my parents sent my mind into a whirlwind. My father was a protector, one of the creatures from my grandfather's stories. I had never been scared of the coyotes that crept over our lands even though they were larger than average coyotes; they steered clear of the houses, and we didn't hunt them in return. When my father explained what – and who – these coyotes really were, I was shocked; shocked is an understatement really. He and many of the other fathers on the reservation had taken their fathers' places as the protectors when a group of nomadic people began wandering near our homes.

These nomads claimed no harm, but my parents didn't feel safe anymore. They weren't normal, and after more explaining from my parents, I came to learn the truth of these wanderers as well. They were what kept my parents up at night, the only reason they worried about Claire and me.

The nomads were creatures who killed humans, feeding on their blood. These claimed to be different, that they only fed from animals, but my parents were worried. Six months ago, another nomad wandered through our lands, and tried to attack my father and sister.

My father fought him off; that is, until this nomad's friends showed up. My father's friends, in their glorious coyote forms, joined in the fun, Ralph, my father's closest friend, rescued Claire and brought her home. The wanderers joined forces, targeting my father for interrupting their meal. As they fought off the others, three of them attacked him.

I will never forget the terror in my mother's eyes when she heard the news that my father had died. She went into such a deep depression I thought she would never come out of it. Then my high school graduation rolled around, and it was like a switch flipped in her mind. She began the preparations for my open house at the same time that she began looking for houses farther and farther away from the reservation.

I admit that I was feared the thought of having to take my father's place, and I hoped with all of my heart, that we would be able to move before it happened, if it were to happen. I felt horrible and selfish for even thinking that, but I couldn't stand the thought of my mother going through the pain again of losing another person she loved.

Mom finally found the house I now stared at, for a more-than-reasonable price at that. My sister was heartbroken when my mother told her we were moving. She told Claire it was too painful to stay on the reservation, but I knew the truth. She was scared my sister or I would have to take our father's place in the pack, and she wanted us as far away from that possible threat as she could get us.

The first thing my mother unpacked in the house was the box of photos of my father. She hung at least one in every room; several in more than one room. She cried as she took each one from the box, took it out of its bubble wrap, and hung it on the nails she had pounded into the walls.

I carried the last box into the kitchen, and then climbed the stairs to my new bedroom to begin unpacking my own belongings.