In Love With An Enemy

I observed my father's careful preparation as he laced his dagger with Wolfsbane, a toxic plant known for its unique ability to render a werewolf lifeless. He had ground it into a fine powder and transformed it into an oil. Wearing rubber protective gloves, he meticulously coated his dagger, patiently awaiting nightfall.

Wolfsbane, also known as Aconitum, is an extremely toxic plant containing alkaloid compounds. Ingesting or coming into contact with the skin can lead to skin irritation or, worse, poisoning.

Wolfsbane wasn't a rare plant. My uncle, Adam, cultivated it for a living, selling it to wolf hunters and those in need for medicinal purposes. It was often used to treat pain, fever, and rare ailments.

My father turned to me and said, "We will leave at night. Go inform your sister." After speaking to me, he headed outside to the balcony, a place where he often reflected on my late mother while gazing at the lush grass surrounding our small bungalow.

My mother, Sophia Noah, was a fair-skinned woman with blonde hair, known for her exceptional height, slightly taller than my father. Her life came to an abrupt end one night as my parents were returning from the opera. Their Mercedes Benz C300 was attacked on a country road by a pack of wolves with the uncanny ability to transform into humans. While my father survived the attack, my mother did not.

Her death fueled a burning desire for vengeance within my father. I vividly remember how he left my sister, Emma, and me in the care of my uncle, Adam, for a year to learn how to hunt and eliminate werewolves. Upon his return, he embarked on a mission to eradicate hundreds of werewolves in the countryside. Despite the mayor's ban on hunting, my father's thirst for revenge surpassed any obstacles.

I made my way to my elder sister's room and found her seated in a revolving chair, reading a book on werewolf hunting. Her hatred for these creatures matched our father's in intensity.

Taking a seat on her bed, I began, "Dad said we're leaving at night."

She sighed, flipped a page in her book, and replied, "Good."

"Don't you ever get tired?"

"Of hunting down the creatures that took my mom?"

"I mean, of going out every week. Normal young adults go clubbing or even travel."

"This is more meaningful than all of that, Emily. How was school today?"

"The math teacher seems to dislike me even more now," I chuckled. "There's a new guy in class though."

"What happened to the last one?"

"He stopped coming."

"He might have been a werewolf," Emma laughed lightly.

"But do you really believe they live among us, as humans?"

"Emily, where do we hunt werewolves?"

"In the woods, in Westify Hills?"

"It's not like they have a separate kingdom. They live among us, probably even in your school."

I chuckled and said, "I wish mom were here."

"Me too... Me too."

My sister, Emma Noah, had graduated high school. She was the spitting image of my mother, with blonde hair and pale skin. Much like my father, Emma was a dedicated werewolf hunter, devoting her time to studying their history and methods of elimination.

Unlike me, Emma had experienced a more typical adolescence. She had multiple boyfriends, went clubbing, and even had a history of run-ins with the law, including a driving ticket. She was a free spirit, unapologetically seeking fun and all things joyful.

Sadly, Emma's world shattered when she received the news of my mother's death. She became withdrawn, distanced herself from friends, and battled depression. My father's struggles left him unable to provide much support. Her recovery was credited to the hunting lessons she undertook in the field. Her only passion was hunting and killing werewolves.

I left my sister's room and joined my father on the balcony. He was seated in his familiar spot, an old wooden rocking chair crafted from the finest oak trees. His grey hair had grown wild, his beard concealed his face, appearing unkempt. He wore his favorite black long-sleeved shirt, covering his arms, while his brown trousers matched the chair's color. His black sneakers showed signs of wear, a testament to his relentless pursuit of his wife's killers in the woods. His eyes appeared weary, as if they yearned for sleep or, better yet, a long respite. Placing his right hand on his jaw, he seemed lost in thought, observing the deserted surroundings. I knew he was too engrossed to notice my presence, so I quietly settled in a chair near him.

"Dad, you really need a haircut," I remarked.

He touched his hair and said, "Wow, I completely forgot I haven't had one in months."

"I told Emma; she seems ready to help."

He sighed and said, "Something keeps telling me I'm close to finding him."

"The werewolf who killed mom?"

"The one who took my wife. I believe he was the Alpha of that pack."

"And if you do find him?"

"Words can't express what I'll do to him."

"And afterward?"

"I'll burn the entire pack, every single one of them."

"Dad, have you ever considered finding love again? It's not too late."

"How many times must we discuss this, Emily?"

"You just look exhausted, Dad. This isn't good for your health. I know you want revenge, but please, you need rest."

"I'll rest when I'm finished."

My father, John Noah, claimed to have seen the pack of wolves that orchestrated my mother's death, led by one massive werewolf he believed to be the Alpha. According to him, the Alpha transformed into a man before beheading my mother. The image of that creature never left my father's mind. He attempted to draw the Alpha's face multiple times, but no artist seemed to capture it accurately.

The night was rapidly approaching, and I prepared myself for the horrors that awaited me-a bloodbath of wolves.