Prologue

I can still vividly remember the first time I went into town. Four-year-old me was buzzing with excitement, as my mother wrestled me into a coat that I found too bulky and annoying. She was only half paying attention to my complaints on the matter, looking sideways at my grandma who was staring at herself in the mirror that hung on the kitchen door, adjusting a red collar around her neck.

"I'm not sure about this," my mom was saying, as grandma fastened the collar with a click, "He is still too young."

Grandma glanced at mom through the mirror's reflection, "He is old enough, Sally."

"Yes, I'm a big boy, I'm four," I declared to the two of them, proudly holding up five fingers. They ignored my mistake.

"Mom, think of the risks, he is not a normal pup he—" grandma interrupted her with a sharp look, "We will be with him; there is nothing to fear. Besides, you can't keep him cooped up here forever; he needs to be educated the same as any other child if he is to stand a chance later in life."

By that point, I was getting really impatient, and I pulled on my mother's shirt until I got her attention, "Mommy, when will we go?"

She smiled down at me gently, though even little me could tell there was something off in the expression, "As soon as we finish getting ready," she said, lifting me up and sitting me down on the kitchen counter, grabbing a red collar identical to the one she and grandma wore, but smaller, child-size, "Remember, Percy," she said, "To go to town you have to wear this."

I nodded solemnly, trying to contain my excitement. I really was a big boy! I got to wear a collar like all the big kids and the adults did when they left home.

I wasn't looking my mom in the eyes then, but I'm sure there was a mix of guilt and anger in them as she slowly adjusted the collar around my neck and shut it with a click. It was a lot more uncomfortable than I had anticipated, the material stiff and rough, the small metal box that was attached to the side of the collar digging into my neck, but I dared not complain. In case they decided not to take me with them—nobody likes whiny children, cousin Micah always said.

"Now, when we are in town, you can't be running off," mom told me sternly, her blue eyes digging into mine, "Under no circumstance, no matter how tempting, you understand Percy?"

I nodded eagerly, "Yes, mommy."

"And what are you supposed to call grandma?"

"I can't call her gran-gran," I answered, confidently reciting back all the instructions she had given me for our little adventure, "I must call her Aunty."

"Yes, and what else?"

"I can't talk to strangers, and I must be on my very best behavior!"

She hesitated for a second, as if trying to come up with another question but coming up blank. Pride mixed with guilt and worry on her face, as she settled for just giving me a hug. By that point, I was kicking my feet with impatience, "Very good Percy," she whispered into my hair, hiding her shaky voice, "Very good, I think you are ready ."

Mom sat on the passenger seat with me in her lap as grandma drove the old land rover down pothole-ridden roads. My hands were firmly plastered on the car window as I observed the passing forest, determined not to miss a second of this great adventure.

I had never left home. From the day I was born, the expanse of the world for me had been my grandparents' house, where my mom and I lived, and Aun Joanas and Uncle Caleb's houses. The three buildings were mere meters from each other on a small patch of decently flat terrain, perched up high in the mountains and away from civilization and prying eyes.

For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but forest and an old unpaved road that my cousins had told me eventually led into town.

I only knew what the outside world was like from seeing it on the box T.V in the living room and from asking the adults and my older cousins. It seemed so wonderful, so mysterious and big. I desperately wanted to see it for myself and explore its many mysteries.

"Is it like Sesame Street?" I had asked Micah, who scoffed at me, "No, silly, it's nothing like that."

That had been a major letdown, but oh well, Micah wasn't so much older than me; he had only gone into town two times. Perhaps he was wrong. I still held on to a tiny bit of hope.

The journey was long, though I barely felt the time pass, too engrossed in looking out the window, and when we finally hit the paved road, my excitement only doubled, "It's so smooth! The car is no longer jumping, mommy," I remember shouting, to the mild amusement of the two women.

The closer we got into town, the more questions I had, "What is that?" I asked, for what seemed like the twentieth time in the past half-hour.

"That is a road sign, honey," mom answered, with the patience of a saint.

"And that?"

"Those are guardrails."

"Why are they there?"

"To stop cars from falling from the road if there is a car accident," she explained.

I, of course, had follow-up questions, "But why—"

My first look at OakCreek town came as we made a sharp turn, and there, in all its glory was the mythical place of "Town".

I was mildly disappointed that there were no skyscrapers, like the ones in New York City, despite having been informed by everybody whom I had asked that the higher building in tow was three stories tall. In my defense, three stories sounded pretty tall to me back then; I would soon find out that it was only a bit taller than our houses.

Oak Creek is a very small town, barely big enough to have an elementary and middle school, and the two shared a building. With a growing elderly population and not many births, it was slowly dying, most young people leaving the moment they got the chance, few coming back. This mattered little to be back as OakCreek was still the biggest place I had ever seen, and I was fascinated.

"Percy," mom said, gently pulling me away from the window so she could get my attention, "You have to drink this," she said, handing me a sippy cup.

"I'm not thirsty," I protested, trying to pull free to go back to my gazing.

"It doesn't matter," Grandma said, briefly taking her eyes away from the road to look at my squirming form, "You have to drink it if you want to see the town; remember, you promised to behave, so do as your mother tells you."

Threatening me with not being able to see the town up close certainly did the trick, as I was suddenly too eager to comply, drinking the contents of the small green cup in nearly two gulps before I realized this wasn't normal water. It tasted funny, but by that point, I had nearly emptied the cup, which seemed to be good enough because they didn't make me finish what was left.

"I don't like it," I said, pushing away the cup, "What is it?"

"Water," mom said, taking it away from me, the content sloshing softly.

"It tasted wrong," I muttered, crossing my little arms across my chest, trying to get the point across.

"It's a special kind of water," she tried to convince me, "It's…," she seemed to get hit with divine inspiration, "It's town water, that's why it's different."

Town water? Huh? Well, the town is a very different place, almost another world, so perhaps it makes sense that its water tasted different from the one we got from the streams back home. It was a good enough explanation for little me, at least, because I was soon distracted by the nearing town, the supposed "town water," quickly forgotten.

As we drove through the town's busiest streets, I remember feeling almost drowsy, my mind hazy. I knew I was supposed to be really excited; I was finally seeing a Town, the place I had yearned to see so badly for so long. There were humans on the street; everything was new and exciting, yet it was like I couldn't really get excited anymore.

"I think you gave him too much," mom said, as I had lost all interest in looking out the window and instead sat down and cuddled into her arms, looking out lazily at what I could see of passing buildings.

Grandma activated the blinker, not looking at her daughter for fear she would see the flash of guilt in her eyes, "It doesn't hurt to be careful, Sally; it's his first time after all."

Mom carried me down the street while Grandma walked beside her distractedly, reading off a list of everything we needed to buy or get fixed and mended while we were here. It wasn't like these trips were frequent, and the idea was to avoid having to come back too soon.

I was looking around with mild interest from the comfort of my mom's arms, staring with subdued intrigue at everything. I had never seen humans before in person, not to mention so many of them. It was strange yet fascinating, seeing how varied they could be—some so very short, some taller, some much wider than others. Unlike us, their cheeks had turned red in the cold, their noses runny, as they scurried around the place, wrapped in many layers of clothing, rubbing their hands and muttering about the cold.

Their skin had blemishes, wrinkles, and scars. Some were losing their hair, and others had crooked teeth when they smiled. Their eyes could be bloodshot or bright, an energetic sprint to their step or a slowness and weariness that came with old age. There were so many little things that were normal, things that made them human, yet that I had never seen until then.

My first introduction to humans had come through the T.V, via children's shows and occasionally the News broadcast when an adult changed the channel. That had not exactly prepared me to see up close just how varied and unique humans were.

"Don't stare, Percy," Grandma whispered, as I looked in wide-eyed fascination as a woman with graying hair hurried past us, adjusting her glasses as she intently studied the ground to avoid making eye contact with us.

"Why do people look so old?" I voiced; apart from Na-Na back home, this was the first time I had seen older people. Grandma may have been well, a grandma, but she looked the same age as my mother, who looked radiantly young. In fact, nobody back home looked to be past their twenties. The exception, of course, was Na-Na, but even she looked young in comparison to some of the people here.

Mom patted me on the head, "That's because humans age differently from us, dear," mom explained gently as we turned a corner and came into sight of the one grocery store in town, "But that is not very polite to say, okay?"**

But how was it not polite? I wanted to know; I was just pointing out the obvious. Na-Na never minded when I told her how old she looked; she would just throw her head back and laugh, then playfully pinch my cheek and tell me I was the cutest little imp. I was yet to figure out what "imp" meant, but I was guessing it was good, since it came from Na-Na, and everything she did was good.

Grandma grabbed a grocery cart while mom attempted to explain that most people didn't like to be told how old they looked. It was bizarre; surely humans had mirrors? They knew what they looked like, so what was the matter with just commenting on it? Aging wasn't bad, it was good! Or as Na-Na would say, she was proud of every wrinkle and every gray hair. When I had asked if I would, one day, have wrinkles and gray hair like hers to be proud of, she had looked down from her cooking with a chuckle, telling me perhaps, but it would take a very, very long time, an awful long time.

At the time, I could only count to thirteen, so I had asked if it was more than that, since all numbers seemed unfathomably big and mysterious past that limit. That had just made her laugh more, "Oh dear me, yes a lot more, I'm afraid."

By the time we exited the small grocery store, that was by far the most incredible place I had ever seen up to date, and I would have gladly spent the next few days there, examining every display shelf in close detail, if not for being dragged out, mom had allowed me to now walk beside her hand in hand instead of being carried. It took some getting used to, walking with shoes; they were uncomfortable and foreign, and I ended up waddling like a penguin down the street.

I knew better than to complain that I wanted to take them off though , so I just endured it in silence, glaring down at the bright red shoes with a pout and kicking at a small pebble that went skidding down the sidewalk. As I looked after it, I caught my first glimpse of something I had been hoping to see since we arrived, a welcome sight in a sea of adults, another small kid.

Shoes temporarily forgotten, I only had eyes for the family walking towards us. There was a woman with a baby in a stroller; that must be mom, and the dad was leading a girl that looked my age by the hand.

She wore a bright purple jacket, her dark blond hair pulled into two pigtails that swung merrily as she skipped rather than walked, pulling at her father's arms, trying to make them go faster. As the Peeple bounced towards her, she looked in its direction. Temporarily forgetting to pester her dad, that is when she noticed me, dark brown eyes locking on to mine. Her step faltered.

I was so excited to finally find another kid; I didn't think of what I was doing as I timidly raised my hand and waved.

In an instant, her expression changed from surprise to fear; she started crying, clutching at her father's leg who picked her up. His expression had gone from tired, yet gentle and bemused with his daughter's antics, to one I was not used to seeing, and had no name for, but it scared me. Noticing what had happened, the mother had, in one quick motion, grabbed the baby from the stroller and into her arms, holding it protectively, as if she expected there to be trouble.

Confused and scared, I had looked up to Grandma and mom but didn't get the chance to ask what was going on as mom scooped me up.

"We are so sorry," Grandma was quick to say, in a soft, almost pleading tone I had never heard from her, a drastic change from her usual authoritative and commanding voice, "He didn't mean to scare her."

"He only waved at her; he was being friendly," my mom was fast to interject, "You know how kids are—"

The man didn't look convinced as he tried to calm down the crying child in his arms, "Well, he must have done something; can't you see how scared she is?"

"Even if he did," Grandma tried to counteract, making a calming motion with her free hand, a bag of groceries in the other, "It must not have been intentional; he looks big but he is only four; he is still a baby."

I could feel the tension escalating, people on the street stopping to stare, some holding their phones in their hands, as if ready to do something with them, though I wasn't sure what. The little girl had yet to stop crying, and all the murmuring from the growing crowd, and the smell of fear and anger coming off mom and Grandma was getting to be too much. I buried my head into mom's shoulders as tears began pouring down my face, soon evolving into sobs that shook my entire body.

The man seemed to grow further irritated by my crying, as my wails joined in with his daughter's and then the baby, who had woken up thanks to all the noise. It was aggravating, and it only served to further worsen an already tenuous situation. Before he could do anything, however, his wife had placed a hand on his shoulder, her expression one of fear as she cradled their crying infant, whispering something under her breath with a hiss. Whatever she said seemed to make him deflate, though the anger didn't quite leave his shoulders, his expression still full of sharp angry lines.

"I won't make trouble now," he said, placing a protective hand on his daughter's head, "But you better keep an eye on that kid."

Even though we had only done one of the things on Grandma's long to-do list, the ordeal was enough that she decided to cut the trip short and head back home immediately. I was scared, confused, and still sobbing as we walked back to the car. I knew I had done something wrong; why else would that man have looked so angry? But I couldn't figure out what, and now, every face that I found on the street seemed to look at us with hostility. Even in my mother's arms, I felt small and scared in a world too big for me.

As our car's engine coughed to life, I had managed to finally calm down enough to hiccup out a question, "Did…did I behave badly?" I had tearfully inquired.

Grandma backed the car out of the parking slot rather aggressively; she wore a tight, angry expression on her face, and I feared her anger was directed at me. I buried myself further into mom, preparing to receive an earful; however, that was not what happened.

"You did nothing wrong, Perseus," she said, "You behaved very well, but…", she seemed to carefully consider her world before settling for a simplified version of the truth "Humans don't like us—".

I stared, wide-eyed, between the two of them, "They don't like us?" I repeated back shakily, "But why?" I scrunched up my face, deep in thought, quickly coming to the only logical explanation for this horrible revelation, "Is it because we are werewolves?"

Mom passed a hand distractedly through my hair, looking somewhere far away, as if she couldn't bear to look me in the eye as she shattered her toddler's innocent vision of the world, "Yes, sort of, it's more complicated than that, honey; they don't know we are werewolves, They can never know that, it's too dangerous, so we have to hide and pretend to be something else" she explained slowly, "They think we are Lycans because of this_," she tapped the red collar around her neck, "You see, all Lycans must wear one of these collars."

Subconsciously, I pulled at my own collar, suddenly acutely aware of just how uncomfortable it was, "But why?"

Her eyes were troubled as she tried to come up with an explanation that I could understand. "To tell them apart," Grandma finally filled in for her, "So they can't hide what they are."

Hide? But why would they want to do that?. " Na-Na is a Lycan; and she is good, why would Lycans hide being Lycans?".

"It's not a bad thing; no, but humans don't see it that way, and that is why she lives with us, so she doesn't have to be around them" Grandma answered, "But out there, in town, and in the rest of the world, she would have had to wear a collar, and that would make humans treat her differently, sometimes badly" Grandma looked briefly at me, her expression a mixture of compassion and weariness, the eyes of an old woman.

"You have to understand, Percy, The world is a complicated place," she began gently, "Humans don't like anybody that is different than them, like werewolves and Lycans; wolfbloods in generally, they are afraid of us, and when humans are afraid, they may act badly towards others, like that man today. It wasn't your fault, Percy; that little girl had probably just been taught to be scared of Lycans and so she reacted as she was taught."

The sound of the engine was the only sound as I tried to process everything, struggling to comprehend new and strange, terrifying concepts such as being hated for simply having been born a particular way, up until now I hadn't thought such a thing was possible,

There were so many emotions passing through my little brain, so many complicated feelings I had no idea how to deal with or properly voice, "But…but it's not fair," was the only way I could think to put it, my voice swelling with emotion.

They didn't contradict me, "You are right; it's not," Mama told me, cupping my head in her hand and planting a kiss on my teary cheeks, "But that is why we live far, far away, so we don't have to deal with unfair people."

Suddenly, her words made me realize our houses, up there in the mountains, didn't seem so boring and monotonous anymore, if the alternative was a world that hated us. I pondered this for a while, finally coming to a firm decision, "Well, I'm never going back to town, never, ever, ever again," I declared firmly, "I'm going to stay home forever and ever."

Something like anguish crossed my mother's face as she suddenly scooped me into her arms, gently rocking me like I was still a small baby, "If that is what you want," she told me, "You don't have to leave home. Not ever, ever, ever."

I searched into her deep blue eyes, looking for reassurance, "Promise?"

Her gaze shifted into the distance for a second, as if steeling herself, before looking back down at me, with a sad smile, though her voice never once wavered as she spoke, "I promise."