Malia
Ty and I walked out into the living room hand in hand, to face my mother who was now covered in ropes on a dining room chair. “Malia,” she whispered as I got closer to her, but as I met her eyes I felt I hardly knew this woman anymore. So much had happened this summer, it was like looking at a stranger. I turned back to Ty who gave me a nod. His had pulled on a black sweater that covered his wound but I knew it still hadn’t entirely healed.
“Hi Mom,” I said, looking down at her.
“Malia, please let me explain,” she pleaded with me, and as much as I just wanted to turn and head for the door leaving her in my past, she was my mother and I at least owed her this. So I nodded my head, indicating for her to keep talking.
“Your father is a werewolf,” she began. “There’s werewolves i
