The wolf within her

IVY   I didn't remember getting behind the wheel.   I only remembered driving.   The trees sped past me as I got closer to my home. I faintly recalled the ambulance dropping me off next to the car park and speeding off into the distance, probably going to help another set of deranged teenagers attacked by wild animals.   I could give them a few tips.   It was daybreak and the streets were silent. It didn't make any sense. We had neighbors with kids and businessmen who felt more productive than others when they woke up at the crack of dawn.   In summary, it was too quiet.   By the time the car was rounding the familiar corner to my house, I finally saw what was wrong.   Cars.   Matte-black, armored vehicles sat in a wide semicircle around the compound, parked with surgical precision. Military-grade and windowless. The kind of cars built to carry men who didn't knock. They blocked every entrance, every exit, hemming the house in like it was their prey.   I brought the car to a stop close enough to assess the situation but far enough to avoid unwanted attention. Stealthily, I turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car as slowly as I could.   "Please be quiet. Please be quiet," I pleaded as I made to shut the car door.   The universe must have been on my side because the door shut with a small click and I felt a surge of relief.   Then the keys fell to the ground.   "Shit," I bellowed. "Shit, shit, shit."   I crouched next to the car and darted my eyes around to see if I had garnered attention. When I realized there was none, I shoved the keys and my phone into my back pocket.   The commotion was still far off so I crept closer, finding cover behind one of the decorative bushes my mum had planted in our yard over the years. Forcing my pulse to steady, I peeked through the leaves to assess the situation.   Next to the cars stood a formation of men armed to the teeth with weapons that were too otherworldly for me to even comprehend their purpose. They arranged themselves into a triangular pyramid, a practiced kill formation. The distance between us couldn't have been more than twenty feet. Shifting my eyes to the rest of the space, I focused on my parents, my vision finally cutting through the gray morning haze as the adrenaline sharpened my focus.   My mother held a stance at the foot of the door, shoulders squared and a rigid expression on her face. She leaned slightly to her left and I could see that she was hurt.   A pained grunt interrupted my quiet perusal.   Dad.   Unlike mum, he was battered and bruised, already waning. He stood at the tip of the pyramid, the object of their attention. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the blood trickling out of his side.   "No." I told myself.   Sinking back to the ground behind the shrub, I wrapped my arms around my knees. Heart hammering, I shook my head fiercely hoping to erase the image. Panic clawed its way up my chest, shattering every calm layer I had constructed this morning.   My mother's scream penetrated the haze of my emotions, anchoring me back to a reality that I refused to accept.   I snapped my head in her direction. In the time that I was losing my mind, my mother had taken down a dozen of the men and had moved over to my father's side protecting him.   But now, a long-barreled contraption rested in the hands of one of the soldiers, aimed in my parents' direction.   His finger brushed the trigger and I snapped.   Looking back now, I couldn't tell you exactly what happened, nor could I explain how I had positioned myself in front of my family before the bullet fired. Time dilated around me; the bullet seemed to hang in the air, giving me a fraction of eternity to reach them.   I could tell the moment my father sensed my presence. His eyes widened and his body shuddered, each movement sharp and uncontrolled.   It didn't take long before I felt the repercussion of my actions. Tilting my neck to the side, I glanced at my shoulder.   A silver bullet was embedded in the meat of my shoulder.   Everyone froze, every eye fixed on me, waiting for me to falter.   My mother's whimpers rang out. Even the men dropped their weapons.   I turned to face my dad and pulled the bullet out of my shoulder.   His eyes snapped open, denial and disbelief wrestled in his gaze, followed by the faintest trace of realization.   I stared down at the spot where the metal had been; the skin was already smooth and closed, as if the injury had never existed. My mind refused to catch up.   "Wh-what just happened?" I stuttered.   How could something meant to kill leave me unharmed?   My dad's gaze dropped from my face to the wound, to the blood staining my sleeve, to the empty skin where the silver had lodged seconds ago. Slowly, impossibly slowly, he straightened. "Wait," he said. "I can expla-" The men around us shifted. Murmuring and whispering in low tones, they moved back a step. Some of the bolder ones took a step forward and my mother and father stiffened. I glanced in my mum's direction and saw the same wound in her side just like my dad's. She looked up to me and gave me a sad smile. The shock seemed to have worn off the rest of the soldiers because they began to circle us once more, although they now targeted my parents. My mum rose shakily to her feet, supporting herself with my dad's arm. "Ivy, leave. We'll handle this," she said. I held in a scoff. "Why? So I'd return to see you dead?" I stared at her. "I'm not going anywhere." I heard my father groan again, a sharp ragged sound. His muscles twitched under his skin, and it dawned on me that he was trying to shift-- but it never came. As if realizing my father's weakness, the men moved forward, each step deliberate and synchronized. Their boots pressed into the wet grass with a dull squelch. Tiny droplets from the morning dew clung to their weapons, sparkling briefly as if they were mocking our situation. My father's voice broke the silence, steady despite the blood soaking through his shirt. He looked to me. "You shouldn't have come." I swallowed, tears in my eyes. I was so done with this day. Nothing was normal, every moment it felt like I was battling something, like my body was unlearning its usual habits and learning something new.  My throat felt raw. "I heard you scream," I sniffled. Something passed over his face then.    Grief. Resignation. "Wipe your tears, my princess," he placed his hands on my cheeks. "Nothing will happen to us." He looked past me, at the men who had come to attack us taking in the shadow of their expressions. He met my eyes again, and for the first time since I'd arrived, I felt the weight settle fully on my chest. The soldiers moved forward relentlessly and the ground seemed to vibrate beneath them, the scent of crushed earth rising, and I could feel my pulse matching the rhythm. My father stepped forward and shielded us, like he knew he wouldn't make it. It was like my world was turning upside down. I couldn't let them die. I'd been weak and quiet for too long, ducking, and hiding in the shadow of others. I couldn't stand still. They'd die and I couldn't- "Stop." The men halted. Unwillingly, might I add. "Move," I instructed. Their bodies shuffled backward in synchrony, the grasses beneath their feet pressed to a mush. I don't think my parents had fully realized what happened. My father  shook his head in disbelief, placing his hand on my mother's shoulder. "Evelyn," he said quietly. Just her name. Nothing else. My mother turned, her breath catching as her eyes followed his stare.  When she saw my shoulder, her face drained of color. "No," she whispered.  The word didn't sound like denial. It sounded like understanding. She glanced at the ring on her finger and looked up at me; the charm on the ring had lost its shine. At once, she tilted her head to the front door where we both now realized that the charm wasn't, although at the time, only one of us knew the implications of that. The man holding the long-barreled weapon lowered it without being told. Another one followed. Then another. No one spoke a word. "Why are you here?" My voice penetrated the silence. My mom moved to speak but one of the men beat her to it. "Your father is being exiled for murder."