Chapter 2: Kate

By the time I leave my thicket, Logan is already in human form, waiting for me. We were late getting back from our last day of school, and he’s still wearing his uniform. Mom bought it new this term, and the pant legs already show a half inch of sock while the polo shirt strains over his shoulders and biceps. A year ago, Logan and I could share clothing. Now he could share Dad’s. Not that he does, of course—my brother is decidedly more fashion conscious than our father.

As for me, I inherited Mom’s build, which means I didn’t wear a bra until I was fifteen, and I still need a belt to hold my jeans up because my hips sure as hell aren’t doing the job. I also inherited her height. I’ve nearly caught up to her five-ten, and I’m hoping to pass it.

Strolling across the lawn, I smile when the house comes into view. As the name suggests, Stonehaven is made of stone, a mansion surrounded by acres of forest, the perfect home for werewolves. The Danvers have always lived here, and they’ve always been werewolves. I’m a Danvers by name—Jeremy Danvers having raised Dad after he was bitten as a kid.

The back door clicks, and there’s a canine yip as our dog, Atalanta, comes running. We usually take her on our runs, but she’d been sleeping after a jog with Mom. As she races toward me, I break into a run. Logan bears down, his footsteps thudding.

“Give it up,” I call back. “You might be able to shift faster than me, Lo, but you can’t run faster.”

And, of course, as I say that, I stumble. I recover, but not before Logan yanks on the back of my T-shirt.

“Cheat!” I call.

“Cheating is party A starting a race without informing party B.”

“Blah-blah-blah.”

From the back door, Mom smiles as she leans against the doorframe to watch. She hasn’t failed to notice the growing gulf between Logan and me. I tell myself this too shall pass, but it still hurts. Hurts me. Worries Mom. Yet the gulf isn’t so wide that we can’t still reach over it, racing across the yard like kids again.

Mom wears blue jeans, sneakers and an oversized plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She’s tugged her white-blond hair into a high ponytail. From across the yard, she could be mistaken for a teenager. Up close, you’d guess she was in her late thirties. She’s actually fifty-one. Werewolves age slowly. Dad’s six years older, and girls at my school still check him out, which is really gross. A moment later, he appears beside Mom, in his usual outfit: worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt, old sneakers, and a few days of beard scruff.

I skid to a stop, hand reaching to tag the doorframe. “Home!” “Really, Kate?” Logan says. “How old are we? Five?” “I wasn’t racing myself there.”

“I was humoring you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good excuse.” I swat his shoulder as he walks past, and he tosses me a very Logan smile, his lips barely moving but his eyes twinkling.

“I’m glad to see you both in good moods,” Mom says as she and Dad back into the house, Atalanta tumbling after them.

I slow and eye her. “Because whatever you have to say is totally going to ruin it?”

“I hope not.”

I slide a look Dad’s way. His expression is studiously neutral.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Language, Kate,” Dad says.

I flip him the finger. He only grins. Growing up, I heard those two words a lot from Mom. I wasn’t the only one relieved when she finally stopped bothering. If Mom doesn’t call me on my language, Dad no longer has to watch his. Let’s just say I come by my profanity-propensity honestly.

We head into the study, site of all family conferences. It’s my favorite room in the house. Pretty sure it’s everyone’s favorite—it’s certainly where we usually hang out, despite the number of options, and I think that’s why it is my favorite. It’s where my family will be, and where I want to be, even if I’m just studying on the floor while Mom or Dad or Jeremy reads, not a word exchanged. I’m a werewolf, and this is my Pack, and I like having them around, however seriously uncool that might be.

Speaking of reading, that’s what Jeremy’s doing. Without looking up from his novel, he lifts a hand in greeting. I high-five it. Logan just says, “Hey, Jer.”

Technically, Jeremy is our grandfather since he foster-raised Dad. We never called him that or thought of him like that. He’s just Jeremy, as much a part of our family as Mom or Dad.

I sit on the other armchair. Logan and Dad take the sofa. Mom stands by the fireplace, which means this is a “serious family discussion.”

“Do you guys remember that youth conference I mentioned?” Mom says.

“You mean the bullet we dodged?” I say.

Mom came to us a couple months ago with this “cool new idea,” sponsored by the supernatural interracial council. A leadership conference for supernatural teens, where we were supposed to hold hands, sing Kumbaya around a campfire and come to a better understanding of one another. I’d rather start my summer facing down hell hounds.

I have total respect for the council. Mom’s the werewolf delegate, and I’m named after the witch leader—Paige Katherine Winterbourne. The part I like, though, is the idea of supernatural races banding together to kick ass as a unified front. I can totally get behind that. The touchy-feely togetherness side, though? Really not my thing. And this conference was clearly all about the touchy-feely.

Mom had wanted us to go as werewolf representatives. I’d been considering it, by which I mean awaiting divine intervention in the form of a thunderbolt that burned down the conference center. At the same time, those in charge of the conference—who were not on the actual council—had debated whether they should allow werewolves.

Before they could make a decision, all the spots were miraculously taken. Yeah, among supernatural races, the only ones less welcome than werewolves are vampires. We’re bloodthirsty monsters, don’t you know, likely to slaughter you in your sleep if we get a case of midnight munchies.

Bullet dodged, like I said.

That’s when I realize there’s only one reason for Mom to be bringing this up now.

“Whoa,” I say. “Wait, no. Don’t tell me—”

“Two spots opened up.”

“But they don’t want us, remember?”

“They’d changed their mind about that, remember?”

“They changed it in the same breath as saying ‘whoops, we’re full,” I say. “But now two kids canceled and the council found out, right? As sponsors, they’re insisting we be allowed to take those spots, despite the fact the conference staff doesn’t want us there.”

“All the more reason for you to go. Prove them wrong.”

Easy for Mom to say. She’s not the one being asked to spend a week where she very clearly isn’t wanted.

“I’m allergic to team-building exercises,” I say. “Also crowds.”

Dad snorts.

“Yeah,” I say. “Wonder where I get that from. Maybe the guy who grumbled and stomped and snarled about going to New York last month to give a lecture . . . which he’d agreed to give.”

“I agreed to a class of thirty,” Dad says. “Not three hundred.”

Logan’s lips twitch in a smile. “Imagine if that got out. The most feared werewolf in the country can be laid low by the prospect of interacting with humans.”

Dad twists fast, grabbing for Logan’s arm. Logan dodges and swings to his feet. When Dad tries again, they end up locked together. Dad flexes, testing his hold, considering the possibility of still throwing Logan over his shoulder. He could do it, but not nearly as easily—or gracefully—as he once could.

“Shit,” Dad murmurs.

“Yes,” Jeremy says, gaze still on his book. “One day soon, Clay, you’re going to try that and find yourself flying onto the sofa. Your son is growing up fast.”

“Nah,” I say. “Dad’s just growing old fast.” Dad spins on me.

I stay on the chair, lounging back. “Try it, old man.”

Dad takes one slow step toward me, his eyes glittering. I grin, ready for the attack.

“Do I need to kick you out of the room?” Mom says. “Yes, Kate,” Dad says as he stops short, “behave yourself.”

“I’d like to be kicked out of the room,” I say. “But I think she meant you.”

“Never.” Dad feints left, grabs Mom and drops back onto the sofa, plunking her on his lap. “Continue.”

Mom only rolls her eyes before turning to me. “Yes, I suspect there will be team-building exercises, but I’m sure the camping part would compensate for that.”

“They could provide an open bar,” I mutter, “and it wouldn’t compensate for team-building exercises.”

“Good thing there’s no open bar then. And the other kids are supernaturals your own age, which might be good.”

A chance for new friends she means. I drifted from my friend group in the last couple of years, and I haven’t replaced them. Mom might also be hinting about boys, since I broke up with my boyfriend recently. I definitely have no plans to replace him. First serious boyfriend, first serious romantic humiliation.

“I’m good,” I say, sinking into my chair.

Logan looks at Mom. “Is there any reason we both need to go?”

I nearly bolt upright. Logan go without me? We don’t do that. We’re the Danvers twins.

Does Logan want to go without me?

Mom glances my way. “As your mother, Kate, I’d like you to attend the conference. As your Alpha, I will not insist on it. Sending one representative is enough. Remember, though, that if you choose to let Logan go alone, it tells the supernatural world which of my children aspires to a leadership role . . . and which does not.”

I squirm at that. Logan and I aren’t competing for Alpha-hood. We’d co-lead before we’d fight one another. Yet I do want to be Alpha someday. I just don’t think it requires “youth leadership” conferences.

Mom’s right, though. Logan going alone sent a message. The wrong message.

I glance at my brother.

“It’s up to you,” he says, his voice neutral.

I flinch. He's hoping I'll stay home. We aren't in middle school anymore, the inseparable Danvers twins. Back then, I’d been the popular one, kids trailing after me like I was the Pied Piper, even when I just wanted to hang out with my brother. I was the girl who said what she liked and did what she liked, fierce and fearless, confident in her cloak of rebel-cool.

Then we hit high school, and it felt like everyone changed except me. I was still that girl, and suddenly, it wasn’t cool. It was just different. Weird.

Some kids embrace their uniqueness. I used to, but then . . . Stuff happened, and the last month at school has been hell, and I’m exhausted from pretending I don’t give a shit.

Now I’m listening to that neutral tone of Logan’s, and I know what it means. He’s okay with me staying home. Perhaps more than okay. Maybe, just maybe, it’d be nice to go someplace where he doesn’t need to deal with the baggage of being Kate Danvers’s twin.

“Maybe it’s better if Logan goes alone,” I say carefully. “If they have a problem with werewolves, I might just make things worse.”

He frowns at me. It’s a genuine frown of genuine confusion, and I love him for that . . . and miss him a little extra.

“One werewolf might be easier to accept,” I say.

“Are we supposed to make this easier for them?” Logan says. “Also, if there’s only one, then they can say I’m the exception.” He meet my eyes. “It would be better with us both there but if you really don’t want to go with me ...”

“I will.”

The words come before I can stop myself. If Logan wants me along, then I’m there. Then I remember where “there” is. An interracial leadership camp. Where I will be an outsider, unwanted and unwelcome at a time in my life when I have never felt more of either.

I open my mouth to take it back, to pretend that I meant something else, but Mom’s face lights up. Then Dad twists to glance at me, mouthing a private “thank you,” with a wry smile that says he knows I don’t want to do this, and he appreciates me making the effort for Mom’s sake. It pleases her, and so it pleases him.

Shit.

I take a deep breath. “When do we leave?” Mom and Dad exchange a look.

“First thing in the morning,” Mom says.

“What?”

“The actual conference started tonight. Your uncle Nick has business in Pittsburgh, so he’s offered to drive you. You’ll leave after breakfast.”