Thirty five

He inhaled. Exhaled. And repeat. Satake stepped out of the doors of the De'crescent hotel and stalked his way down to his motorcycle. The cool evening breeze seemed to soothe his catastrophic mind. He had always been a man attuned to all his senses but as he saddled on his helmet, Satake's mind was attuned to all but one. He couldn't get his mind to forget what that warlock has said. All he could see was that disappointed expression on that charmingly handsome face.

"Witchphobic..." Isaac had accused but he truly knew nothing of what Satake had endured in the hands of a particular witch. He had managed to conceal it while they had worked their little spells but something sinister within him cursed Satake for letting him go. That little voice at the back of his head wanted to gut them and watched them struggle and wither away just like his parents had that unfortunate night. And the strange thing was Satake almost succumbed. His wolf might have refused to surface since his birth but Satake felt the beast within. It was a feral abomination. Perhaps that was why the moon goddess had chosen to seal it in. But that nasty voice at the back of his head seemed to go quiet when that warlock boy looked his way. There was just something about Isaac's remarks that made Satake feel...good. So good that he even tried to apologize for his actions. So good that he allowed them to walk out of that room unscathed. Satake hopped on his bike and kick-started the engine which revved loudly on command.

The heavy wind crashed against his skin, the sound hitting his helmet came as music to his ears, his skin tingled with every blow of the harsh cold evening breeze as the distinct scent of gravel and exhaust filled his nostrils.

Satake stopped the bike in front of Crow memorial. A gated mass of land filled with the corpse of the unfortunate souls that perished that perilous night. The gate creaked open as Satake pushed against it, his sight blurred by the tears he was desperately trying to hold back. He strode through the many gravestones that stood erect. Bodies of innocent people were killed. The Silverlaws had managed to get the law officials to tag the twisted murders they committed as mass suicide orchestrated by Lucius Crow, an infamous cult leader. Remembering those dark times in his life made Satake boil and that was the essence. Satake wanted to retain that anger. The rage that the warlock boy had managed to melt away with his stupid smile and remark. Satake stopped upon arriving at a gravestone with his parents' names inscribed.

Chase and Tora Crow.

"How are you doing up there?" He asked. It was more of a hopeful wish. "It's been so long since I was here Mom and Dad. The funny thing is, I am not here because I miss you. I do miss you both but I only came here to fuel my anger." Satake was going to continue talking but he suddenly sensed that he wasn’t alone. Someone was approaching him from behind. His heart leaped and his instincts went to work. He reached out for a switchblade tucked behind his shirt and turned to face the intruder, prepared to puncture them.

The stranger took a step back, surprised that he had a weapon. Her lips shivered and she whispered. "I do it too."

He eyed her suspiciously, taking in her appearance. She was pretty. The first thing Satake took notice of was how stunning her eyes were. They were a shade of honey gold that complemented her features. Her skin was tanned– almost gold like her eyes – and her hair was a fiery orange. She looked almost exotic. The nervous smile she had plastered on convinced Satake that she was no threat.

"What?" Satake said as he put back the knife.

"I said, I do it too. You know, visit my Dad just so I can invoke my anger so you are lot alone or weird."

"I don't need your affirmation princess." Satake snarled. His gaze settled on the girl. He immediately took note that she was not a shifter. There was something off about her. "And what the hell are you doing here? You aren't a Crow."

A smirk formed on her lips. "I am not a werewolf. I'm a witch."

Satake's defenses hit the roof. He took a fighting stance and redrew his switchblade. "This isn't witch territory."

The confident smirk didn’t leave her face for even a moment. "I'd put that down if I were you." She warned. The hue of gold in her eyes hinted that she was the real deal.

Satake frowned, annoyed by her audacity. "Quite the balls to walk into a mausoleum filled with bodies your kind helped finish off."

The girl stepped forward, closer to Satake, and leaned her head toward his. "I know. My father is here too."

She looked serious causing Satake to wonder if she was telling the truth. She seemed to notice the confusion on Satake's face so she offered her hand. "The name is Ginger. I had a werewolf father."

Satake wearily took her hand. "Satake Crow."

"Nice to meet you Satake. Jason has told me a lot about you."

Satake was taken aback. She knew Jason. That wasn't the most shocking part of it all. A part of their togetherness had involved a conversation with him as the subject matter. But the worry about the stupid things Jason could have blurted out to the witch vanished when Satake realized 'Ginger' was still a witch and witches could not be trusted.

He traced a thumb over his jawline. "Isn't it convenient that I bump into you? They say lightning doesn't strike the same spot twice. I'm not buying your story nice witch. Why are you really here?"

"To see my Dad," The witch maintained whilst stifling a chuckle. "I'm guessing you came here to rekindle your hate for my kind?"

The voice in his head lingered. It told him to go for her throat and snap it. Her throat was thin and she looked like such a fragile thing. If he was swift. He could crush it before she could even mutter a spell. His murderous thoughts for knew frightened him. Perhaps rekindling his hate for the magic practitioners was an overkill.

"Did Jason tell you that?"

"No," She admitted. "Just a lucky guess. I hate witches too."

Satake scoffed. "Why in the world would you hate witches? You are one. Are you not?"

"You aren't the only one who has been through a lot in the hands of witches." Ginger said. "My father was put in the crossfire because a witch sought power. I was trafficked and almost became soup because of the unnatural power that flows within me. I have every right to be mad at my kind."

Satake rolled his eyes and did a one-eighty, not quite in the mood to play whatever game this stranger was obviously proposing.

"Goodnight, Ginger." He said finally and he began to walk back to the gates.

"Wait," The girl pleaded between gritted teeth and Satake slowly turned to give her an audience.

"Well?"

"Your parents...they want you to know..."

Satake growled and pushed her to the ground, effortlessly pinning her to it by leaning his full weight against her. It felt like he was trying to crush her ribs and every other internal organ she had. But it was a little trick he had picked up from experience. The witch would be too busy trying to stop her lungs from collapsing and muttering a spell or even an attempt to do so would simply mean suicide.

"Enough!" Satake shrieked. "Say one more thing and I promise you, witch, you are dead."

Ginger gathered all the strength she could to lift her hands. When she succeeded, she touched his chest, the part where the heart resided then she whispered hoarsely. "Remember."

Satake found himself wondering exactly what she wanted him to remember. But he was suddenly overcome by the sensations that were surrounding him. His senses took everything in at once. He heard the rustle of the dead leaves scattered across the earth, felt the dirt beneath him, smelled the rot and age of the place, tasted the sour taste of his mouth, and saw a familiar figure cradling his face.

"Mom?" Satake whispered.

"My little boy," Tora whispered as she cried. "You must run. You must run as fast as your legs can carry you and don't stop until you are safe."

No! Satake refused to accept it. He couldn't live in hell for the second time. He was barely able to gasp, much less scream. He went from sensing everything to sensing absolutely nothing. All that remained was night. Pitch black darkness.