Chapter 2

Luther felt woozy when he opened his eyes the next morning. The sun, although veiled as always, was up higher in the sky than he had anticipated. As he slowly became conscious of his surroundings he began to realize just how much pain he was in. He lifted a hand with some difficulty to his face. Blood. Everywhere. And by the smell of it, most of it was his.

A new wave of dizziness came when he pushed himself up into the sitting position. He was almost completely painted with blood. He looked around faster than he probably should have and his head swam. There was no one in sight. Thank God. He took inventory of his surroundings again, but slower this time. He was where he had fallen asleep when the wolf took over. The wolf had obviously lost the fight with the mystery shape, and it seemed it hadn't taken long.

There was no way that he could stand unassisted, so he slumped forward onto all fours and began to crawl back toward the fallen log and his essentials bag. Pain flared through him with every movement. He took inventory of his injuries. His skin was raw in some places, torn in others, and completely missing along half of his left thigh. Whatever had fought him didn't aim to kill. If it had, he would have been traveling through its digestive system rather than dead leaves. No. This was defensive. This was about territory. He wouldn't be hunting here again.

Luther's vision was severely blurred by the time he reached his essentials bag. His heart dropped when he found it open. He searched it. Nothing was missing, but someone had unzipped it and rifled through it. He searched for a scent beneath the overpowering smell of his own blood. There was an odor that he thought he knew. It could have been the thing from the night before, but it was hard to tell. He wasn't thinking clearly. In fact, he wasn't sure if he could get home under his own strength.

A familiar tug at his consciousness got his attention. The wolf pushed the picture of his house into his head, and then the image of his wolf self's flexing muscles. The wolf wanted to take him home, but he would have to give up control. He shook the thought away and reached for the contents of the bag. His hands were shaking violently. The wolf impatiently shoved the image of sinew beneath fur across Luther's eyes. He pulled the bottle of water out of the bag and, with some difficulty, unscrewed the cap. He sipped at the water and poured some into his shaking hands to clean the blood from his face.

He didn't trust the wolf. It obviously hadn't had a chance to hunt and was not going to be anything less than aggressive if it met someone on the way. He picked up the previous night's shirt and used it to wipe away the blood. He sipped some more water. It wasn't helping much. With a herculean effort, he managed to get dressed in his spare clothes. The feat was exhausting. He had some more water and tied the bloodied shirt around his thigh to slow the steady ooze of blood. The wolf forced the image again. It didn't like being ignored.

"Enough," Luther growled aloud as he pulled his bag onto his back, "I'm taking care of this."

Standing was a challenge. It took him a few tries to steady himself, but he finally managed it. He couldn't take the short way home. He was sure he looked like some kind of serial-killing maniac, and going back the way he had come would take him along some fairly busy streets. He would follow the edge of the woods instead. His dad had most likely already opened up his family's store for the day. He would skirt the woods until he reached the side streets behind the store. Hardly anyone took those roads. With renewed resolve, he picked up a fairly thick stick to assist him and began walking.

He made it halfway to the side streets before he collapsed in a dead faint. The lack of blood and food proved to be too much for him to handle. The wolf seized the opportunity. Both of them were too weak for another shift, but the wolf knew how to survive on very little. He opened Luther's eyes and stood him up. It was an uncomfortable thing, moving on two legs, so he returned to what he knew. Four legs provided stability even though his human body wasn't made for it. The wolf continued their course. Luther was foolish. He would need to learn that the wolf was his pack. His ally. He would have to show him.


Luther's dad flipped through an old book about wood carving. It was one of the many used books that lined the shelves in the little store. Business was slow that day, but then, business was slow just about every day before winter. He sighed and turned another page. He jumped when the phone rang. Hardly anyone called the store number. He picked up the receiver. His wife's words were a jumble on the other end of the line. He tossed aside the book.

"Easy, honey. Slow down. What happened?"

His heart sank at her words. Luther had not come home to get ready for school. He hadn't come home at all. Something had gone wrong. He immediately locked the register and began closing up shop.

"Stay calm and don't leave the house. If he comes home, he might need you there. I'm locking up now. We'll find him, honey."

He gave a quick goodbye and hurried to turn flip the cheery, "Come on in, we're open!" sign to, "Sorry, we're closed." His mind raced. It was Montana all over again. His mind conjured up the sight of Luther bleeding in the snow. He shook it away and tore open the front door. As he fished for his keys so he could lock it behind him, he heard a sound that made his blood turn to ice. It was a growl, but not just any growl. It was one he knew too well. It was the sound of a wolf trying to speak with a man's voice. It had happened with his father twice before, and each time resulted in tragedy. He turned to look for the source.

Luther was staring warily from around the corner of the bookstore. He was bloodied and his eyes shined icily. Luther's dad lifted his hands and dropped his gaze to the ground.

"Let him go so I can take him home," he told the wolf firmly.

He hazarded a glance at the wolf wearing his son's skin. His lips had curled back over bloodstained teeth and the inhuman snarl met his ears once again. Luther's dad hunched forward and crouched to show submission.

"I am not going to hurt him or you. Please, trust me and let him go."

The wolf went silent and Luther dropped heavily onto the sidewalk. His father pulled him up and half- carried half-dragged him to his truck.


Luther startled awake when he heard his mom's voice rise to hysterical levels. He blinked at his sterile white surroundings.

"What do you mean I can't see him?" his mother's voice demanded, "He's my son! You let me in there, or so help me-"

"Mallory," said his father's voice sternly, "the doctor knows what he's doing. If he says that Luther needs more time, he needs more time. How long do you think it will be, Carlisle?"

A softer voice that Luther had never heard before answered, "Not too long, I don't think. The nurse was almost done with the stitches. I'll let you know as soon as he is ready for company."

A door beyond Luther's sight opened and closed. The privacy curtain was drawn gingerly back and a pale man in a doctor's coat peeked in at him. He smiled.

"You're awake," he observed, "you are quite the fighter."

Luther's lips twitched in a small smirk. More than you could ever know, he thought. He paused. This doctor smelled off. There was a smell of decay about him that Luther was sure had nothing to do with treating sick people. The man before him was definitely dead. He had heard the name Carlisle before, and he was certain that the man was Alice's father.

"Thank you, Dr. Cullen," Luther croaked.

Carlisle stepped past the privacy curtain and pulled it closed, "How are you feeling?"

Luther examined himself for the first time since opening his eyes. He was positively littered with stitches and butterfly closures. His skin felt tight in some places and his left thigh was on fire.

"Sore," he managed to reply.

Carlisle chuckled, "Well, that is to be expected. You scared us for a while, there. You needed three blood transfusions and it was difficult finding blood your body would accept."

He lifted an eyebrow knowingly and Luther froze, "W-why was that?"

Carlisle's voice quieted to little above a whisper, "We don't have many werewolf donors. Some, but not many. You are very lucky."

"How did you-"

Carlisle tapped his nose and smirked, "You can smell what I am, and I can smell what you are. Though, you aren't a shapeshifter, I don't think. This really is very fascinating. I've studied werewolves for a long time, but I've never met a lycanthrope in person before. You heal remarkably fast."

Luther felt himself go paler, if that was even possible, "Please, don't-"

Carlisle held up a hand, "I won't tell anyone. I know the importance of secrets. I'll let your mother know you're ready to see her."

Luther flopped back against the coarse hospital pillows. His head was reeling. He had been attacked, on the brink of death, discovered for what he was, and introduced to some kind of supernatural doctor in the course of twelve hours. It was a lot to take in. Carlisle put his hand to the privacy curtain, but turned back to Luther before opening it.

"Alice tells me that you aren't a threat, but I am not sure if she can convince Jasper of that. I would keep my distance, just to be safe."

With that, he swept through the curtain and out the door beyond. Luther sat, dumbfounded. Alice knew, too? And she wasn't afraid? That was a first. His heart quickened and a smirk sprang to his face. She knew what he was and she wasn't afraid. But what was that about Jasper? Even though Luther could fight, he wasn't sure he wanted to anger the guy. Perhaps it would be best to lay low for a while. His mood sank.

In an effort to distract himself, he cautiously peeled back the blankets of the hospital bed. Several ugly sets of stitches wound down his legs and across his arms. He didn't dare look at the damage under his hospital gown. He scrambled to cover himself when his mother ripped back the curtain, but it was too late. She had already seen the state of him. Her blue eyes immediately drowned in tears and she rushed to fling her arms around his neck.

"Oh, honey," she sobbed, "what happened to you?"

His father closed the curtain behind him and looked Luther over with barely-concealed concern.

"What did this?" he murmured.

Luther felt his eyes flick anxiously to the edge of the curtain where Dr. Cullen had entered before. He returned his gaze to his father.

"We should talk about it at home."

His father turned to look where Luther had been staring and slowly nodded, "I see."


Luther was exhausted on many levels when his father finally helped him upstairs and into bed. He had told his parents all that he knew, which didn't amount to much. The wolf had been fighting him since he woke up in the hospital. It was not satisfied with the hunt, which meant the whole next month would be a living hell. He would be struggling against surprise shifts until the next full moon. And, to add to it all, the pain meds were starting to make him drowsy.

He rubbed his face and absentmindedly began to pluck at the stitches on his arms that no longer served any purpose. If his condition was good for nothing else, at least his body had a handy way of mending itself. When he had removed the useless stitches on one arm, he turned to the other. Something beneath his pillow crinkled. Confused, he reached beneath it. His fingers met with paper, which he pulled from its hiding spot. When he saw the paper he swallowed hard.

We know. Stay out of La Push, was scrawled in hurried handwriting.

He quickly crumpled the note and shoved it under his bed. That was the last thing that either one of his parents needed to see now. Whoever this was and whatever they wanted, he would get to the bottom of it himself. His parents, his mother in particular, had been forced into horrible circumstances in Montana and it was his fault. That wasn't going to happen again in Forks.

Before he could think too deeply about who or what was threatening him, his cell buzzed on his bedside table. It was Mike.

didnt c u at school. did u really get attacked by a bear?

Luther smirked and shook his head. News traveled fast in this town.

I think so. I didn't get a good look at it but it was big.

im coming over.

Don't bother. My mom won't let you up to see me. Maybe tomorrow.

ok. c u 2morrow

See you.

He tossed the phone back onto the side table and resumed contemplating the note. Who could possibly know? There was Carlisle, but he didn't seem like he was upset with Luther at all. And what would he want with La Push, anyway? It was a reservation, and Carlisle was obviously as far from native american as they came. There was Alice, but she was nothing but nice to him. Jasper, maybe? Threatening Luther seemed like something he might do, but that still left him wondering why Jasper would care so much about La Push.

He groaned and slid further under his covers. He wasn't getting anywhere. A soft knock came at his bedroom door.

"Come in."

Bruno, his older brother by two years, poked his head into the room. He was still in his waiter attire which stank of grease and burnt toast from the diner in town. He gave a sympathetic half-smile.

"Rough hunt, huh?"

Luther raised an eyebrow and stretched out his stitched arms for his brother to see, "That would be an understatement."

"Mom said it was a bear. And here I thought you were a badass when you survived getting shot," Bruno grinned, stepping into the room, "way to show me up."

Luther shrugged, "I'm not sure if it was a bear. It didn't smell like one."

Bruno flopped into the computer chair at Luther's desk and spun lazily back and forth with an outstretched foot, "It sure as hell wasn't a rabbit. If it wasn't a bear, what else do you think it could have been?"

Luther's brow furrowed and he pushed his pale hair out of his eyes, "I don't know. There are some weird things living in Forks."

"Weirder than you?" he teased.

"Shut up," Luther growled playfully.

Bruno stood, ruffled Luther's hair, and made his way for the door, "I'm glad you're alright."

He paused and looked back at his brother. His face was uncharacteristically somber when he said, "I thought for a second that it was Montana all over again. I was ready to kill whoever did this to you. Just... you know. Thought I'd tell you."

He turned to leave, but Luther stopped him.

"Hey. Thanks, man."

Bruno shrugged, made a strangled noise somewhere between a sob and a cough, and slipped out the door. Luther stared up at the ceiling. He had often times wondered if it would have been better for everyone if he'd just run off and disappeared. He was trouble, just like anyone else with the illness. But then there would be brief moments of clarity, most of which came from Bruno, that made him feel like he belonged. He could never thank his brother enough for that.

Eventually, his mind wandered back to the note that lay in a ball under his bed. He would stay out of La Push and the forest near the school, but that left him only a few other options unless he traveled out of town. Unless he somehow managed to get a car, that would be nearly impossible. The shift was too unpredictable for him to be caught somewhere between hunting grounds when it happened. At least with a car he could cut the travel time down and lessen the possibility of disaster. He would have to find a way to convince his parents that he needed a car without telling them anything about the note. This was getting complicated.

Thankfully, the pain meds put him to sleep before he could think too much more about it. He slept so hard that not even the wolf could stay awake.