Chapter Three

I needed to punch something.

Bad.

If there's something I hate more than bragging or hot stalkers, it's being lied to.

I can't believe these people could look me in the eyes for almost eighteen years and not feel guilty!

"Honey, calm down!" I just realized I had a death grip on the wooden table, which was groaning in protest to the added pressure.

"Your parents made us promise to bring you here by the time you turned seventeen. We almost didn't do it, but we figured we had nothing to loose. Your dad's job wasn't looking so good, and I was laid off, so we moved here."

So many questions that had to be asked.

"What happened to them? Did you know them? What were they like? Did they say why I had to be here? And why did yo-?" My mom cut me off with a hand over my mouth, which I promptly licked.

"Slow down! All your questions will be answered to the best of our abilities!

"We had known your parents for almost two months. You were about a week old when we met them, they'd just moved form Russia. They seemed like they had a edge to them, but they were always polite and friendly. I don't know how else to explain it. They were nice people, but yet they didn't seem it…" Mom looked to her husband for guidance.

"I agree," he confirmed, "All that matters is that they were good to you."

I snorted. Yeah, that's why they gave me away.

"We always knew they were in some sort of danger or trouble, but that's as close as they would let us into their lives. They asked if we would watch over you for a while until they got things sorted out. We agreed without hesitation." Dad paused to collect breath, but mom took over.

"We didn't receive any word from them for almost a year. Then, out of the blue, we got a call from your mother. She was delirious; saying all sorts of things. Two things came across clearly: One, that your father had been murdered by some gang." She took a ragged breath. I felt my eyes tear up. I hadn't known them, but I was caught up in the emotions overtaking the room. My parents had truly cared for them.

"And two," Mom soldiered on, "That she feared she would be next. She asked if we would take care of you, and that we'd have to move out of state to keep safe. We readily agreed, because we'd fallen in love with you all those months ago since you came to us.

"We asked if we could do anything to help, even to just call the police, but she refused. She said there was nothing the police could do to help. She also told us to move back by the time you turned seventeen. Saying something like 'They'd have to help you.'"

I pulled my hands away from the center of the table where my mom was cradling them. It was just too much to take in at once.

I guess it does make sense, given how I'm all round nothing like my 'relatives'.

I stood up, and was about to walk out of the room when I thought of the most obvious question ever. I probably would have kicked myself if I wasn't more concerned about certain other things.

"What are their names?" Yeah, like I said, I should have asked that a while ago.

"Cassandra and Brian Kozakov. You look just like your dad." With names like that, it couldn't be hard to dig up any information on them.

"Did they say anything about the gang that killed them?"

"Only that they were located somewhere around here, and that they called themselves the Pack." My dad -should I still call him that? I think I should- supplied helpfully.

"Thanks," I whispered quietly, and I meant it more than ever before.

If it wasn't 9:30 p.m. I would be out, doing something useful. But since there's nothing I could do outside the house, I did what any American teenager does when they need answers.

I Googled. I Googled like I never had before.

I'm the type of person who actually likes lists. I guess I'm just weird like that.

So that's what I did while my computer went through its century long loading process. I wrote down any thing my parents said about my other parents- this was gonna get confusing- that crossed with what Logan said, because I knew this thing was not a coincidence. I also wrote down any unknown words or ones with possible double meanings. Then I wrote what they could mean.

- Pack- gang? (Dictionary definition is group of dogs, wolves, etc.)

- Danvers- surname, as in Logan Danvers

- Bit- ?

- Female mutt- as in dog? (Fits with possible meaning of Pack…)

- Mom and dad said Pack was around here. Logan said to leave New York. Pack territory?

And this was my sad excuse meant to answer all my questions that were rocketing through my head.

By 11:00 I could only add a little more to my list of 'answers.'

There was no record of any murders /unidentified bodies / disappearances in the year my parents died, or any recent year after that that tied in with my other information. And my supposedly dead dad didn't even have an obituary.

Maybe they didn't actually die?

The naïve hope of ever finding the truth was squashed when I hacked into a few low-level government databases- what, did I forget to mention those particular set of skills?- There weren't even records of a Brian or Cassandra Kozakov.

I also found that there wasn't any group, gang, or organization called the 'Pack' anywhere in the state, excluding New York City. But the ones there didn't really match up with what I knew about the group that killed my parents.

I searched up the surname Danvers, too. There were tons in the database I used, but I managed to narrow it down by location. There was only one Danvers in a 50 mile radius of here, and that was a property owner by the name of Jeremy Danvers. Presumably Logan's relative. According to the site, the property has been in his family for generations.

I scribbled down the address for future reference. Because if I didn't find the answers I was looking for, I would be knocking on his door in the near future. But not unless it's absolutely necessary. I got the distinct vibes that Logan could be very dangerous this afternoon when we met. And believe it or not, I don't try to get into fights or put myself in dangerous positions.

The only definition I could find in my search for 'mutt' was a cross between two breeds, specifically dogs. But last time I checked, I wasn't a dog, or any canine for that matter. That definition, however, does support the literal definition of pack.

But alas, -I love that word - my research, in reality, got me nowhere.

With that somber conclusion, I decided to fall back into my old routine I did whenever I felt hopeless, confused, or just can't sleep. I mindlessly drove around.

Since my parents would kill me if they knew I snuck out regularly just to waste gas, I went out my window.

It wasn't that hard. I used to do it when my bedroom was on the second story, now that it was on the first, I didn't even have to jump.

Our house was built on a hill, so I quietly pushed my truck about twenty feet down the sloped driveway. It really wasn't necessary since there was a steady trickle of cars that went by our suburban house until about three in the morning, and it was only 11:30. But I guess it's true when they say old habits die hard. When we lived in our old house, I'd have to push my truck down the road a bit so my parents wouldn't wake up at the sound of the engine.

I checked to make sure I didn't see any lights on in the house and started up the vehicle. Still no lights, good. My foot pushed the pedal just enough to ease it down the street, without making a sound.

And then I remembered why everyone was asleep this early. We had our first day at the new school tomorrow.

Damn it!

This created a whole new set of problems, but at least these were the normal new girl problems. Like new friends, new teachers, what I'm going to wear the first day, and just the all around dread of school.

At least you'll be a senior this year, I tried to tell myself optimistically. It didn't work.

But I had bigger things to occupy my mind with right now.

Like my real parents, or lack there of.

I couldn't help it, I never even knew them, yet I couldn't stop thinking about everything I didn't know about them.

Were they kind? Loving? Beautiful? Fun? Careless? Neglegent?

There was so much I didn't know, or even what they looked like.

Maybe mom and dad (the adoptive ones) had a picture of them. I'd have to check tomorrow.

I hadn't even realized I had been crying as all those thoughts flashed through my mind. Since I liked to think of myself as a safe driver, I pulled over to the side of the road to ride out this rarity of an emotional outburst.

I noticed that to the left of me, was an open field, while to the right was a forest. It stretched off into the far distance, and the only word for it was breathtaking. The trees had begun their seasonal color change, in preparation of autumn. A thick woodsy scent hung heavily, and I inhaled hungrily through the open window.

I wanted to remember this place, so I glanced at my dashboard clock, getting a feel of how long it took to get here. I had driven about an hour, going roughly north. My photographic memory would serve me well as to what roads I had taken to get me here.

Even though it was dark, and I should have been getting sleep for school, I couldn't resist the pull of the forest. So I hopped out of the truck and locked my car.

As I got further into the woods, something caught my attention.

The smell.

It was the unmistakable scent from my encounter with Logan, the one that left me gasping.

This time it was so strong I was doubled over. Looking between my feet I noticed a paw print. It was definitely canine. But I wasn't going to stay around to see if its owner was friendly.

It didn't take me long to leave the cocoon of the forest and get into my truck. When my headlights turned on, they were reflected back at me.

There, about ten feet away on the side of the road was a mailbox, with those little reflector things. On the side of the box was stenciled the name Danvers, but the fact that my mind had subconsciously taken me here wasn't the freaky part.

No, it was the blonde wolf with the beautiful blue eyes sitting next to the mailbox that really got my attention.