5. Moonlit Secrets

“Oh I'm fine, just checking if I'm actually 70% water, which I'm not” Jackson says still bleeding profusely. "You always have something to say, don't you?" I reply "Well, if I didn't, life would be dreadfully boring, wouldn't it?" Jacob retorts. "You're impossible!" I say "Impossible? Nah, I prefer to think of myself as 'selectively cooperative.'" Jacob says "Selective cooperation? You should put that on your resume under 'Special Skills.', I say, ‘I hear employers really value versatility." "Oh, absolutely! It's right up there with 'master of delegation,' which is just a fancy way of saying I'll find someone else to do it!" he says flexing his alpha status. "Ah, the true art of leadership—delegating while maintaining plausible deniability. A skill not to be underestimated!" "Well, if it works for presidents and CEOs, it should work for me, right? I'm just practicing for my empire!" "You and your empire aspirations, huh? You're hopeless. Come on, let me help you clean up that wound." I say bringing our banter to an end. In the midst of our banter, I realized that finding the safety kit to help clean Jacob's wound wasn't going to be an easy task. It was stored on a top shelf, just out of my reach. As I stretched on my tiptoes, attempting to reach the kit, Jacob, seeing my struggle, stepped closer and effortlessly retrieved it from the shelf with a smile. "Need a hand, clumsy?" he teased, his tone surprisingly gentle. I couldn't help but blush at my own lack of height. "Maybe just a little," I admitted, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. Jacob handed me the safety kit, and we both crouched down to tend to his wound. As I carefully dabbed at Jacob's wound with a cotton swab, he winced slightly, but his teasing smile remained intact. "You know, for someone who packs such a punch, you're surprisingly gentle with that swab." Jacob says. "Well, I wouldn't want to accidentally turn you into a vampire with a rough cleaning job, now would I?" I reply. We shared a soft chuckle, our banter lightening the mood. "You know, I've had worse nights, but they usually involve chasing down rogue werewolves, not a wine-soaked run-in” he says "Well, they do say a little chaos keeps life interesting." I reply Our lighthearted exchange continued as we tended to his wound. Curiosity gnawed at me like an insatiable beast. How had Jacob, the alpha of the Silver Moon Pack, ended up so badly injured? Hurting an alpha wasn't a simple feat, and it raised a flurry of questions. Was his life in jeopardy? If so, why hadn't this incident sparked a full-blown war among the werewolf packs? My mind was a whirlwind of uncertainties, and I longed for answers. Interrupting my thoughts, Jacob leaned closer, his eyes reflecting a mix of weariness and determination. He said, "I know you have a thousand questions, but for now, let's just say that the moon has its mysteries, and some battles are best left unspoken.” He says as he tidies himself and gets up to exit the room. "Jacob, I get it, but if your life is in danger, if there's something bigger at play, we can't just ignore it.” I say Just as he is about to exit he turns back and says "Listen up, and listen good. Keep your nose out of this, or you'll regret it. This is my business, not yours. Got it?" WOW, UMMM RUDE MUCH? I couldn't help but notice the abrupt shift in Jacob's demeanor. It was as if he had done a complete 180-degree turn, and I found myself wondering what had caused this sudden change in behavior. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me after the eventful day, and I knew I couldn't endure the party any longer. I bid Tyler a tired farewell and made my way home, craving nothing more than the comfort of my bed. As I approached my home, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The next day dawned with a sense of calm after the whirlwind of the previous night. The sun bathed my room in a warm, golden light, and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled the events of yesterday, so much had happened in a day. It felt like a week’s worth of drama yet it had only been a day. Last night, my father sent me a text, inviting me to join both of our families on a trip to the Wintermoon Farmhouse today. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, wondering what sort of drama might unfold during our visit to the Wintermoon Farmhouse. The Wintermoons were the stuff of legend in our town, their wealth and the stories of their famous farmhouse the stuff of local folklore. To the best of my knowledge, my father and Jacob's father, Mason, hadn't exactly been on friendly terms, but they weren't outright enemies either. It was a delicate balance, given that Mason led one of the most influential werewolf packs in all of Europe. I had visited their farmhouse as a child, and while my memories were somewhat hazy, I could still recall a sense of opulence that surrounded the place. I didn't have any recollection of meeting Jacob during that visit. He had a reputation as a bit of a troublemaker, whereas I was more of a goody-two-shoes who tended to keep to myself. However, I did have one vivid memory from that time - I had made a friend at the Wintermoon Farmhouse. As a chronic insomniac, the stillness of the night was my familiar companion. That night, curiosity gnawed at me as I heard a sudden commotion outside. Unable to resist, I ventured out to see what was causing the ruckus, and to my surprise, I stumbled upon a fierce confrontation between two rival gangs. The moon cast an eerie glow on the scene, turning the confrontation into a surreal, almost otherworldly spectacle. The two gangs clashed in a violent frenzy, fists and weapons flying through the air. Shouts and curses filled the night as the fight escalated. Amidst the chaos, I caught snippets of dialogue, exchanges of threats and accusations that only added to the tension. Gang Member 1: "This is our territory! You had no business here!" Gang Member 2: "We'll never back down, not to your kind!" In the midst of the gruesome melee, the figure of Jacob's father, Mason, emerged like a dark specter. His presence alone sent shivers down the spines of both gangs. The violence seemed to pause for a brief moment as all eyes turned toward him. Mason: "Enough!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos like thunder. "This ends here and now." With an air of ominous authority, Mason approached a gang member from the opposing side. His expression was cold and unforgiving as he issued his judgment. Mason: "You've crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed." In one swift, brutal motion, Mason ended the man's life. As an 8-year-old, fear and trauma had gripped me during that horrifying scene. Before I could fully comprehend the horrors unfolding before my eyes, someone had gently covered my eyes with their hands, shielding me from the gruesome spectacle.