Free Blood's Shadow: The Lycanthropy Files, Book 3 by Cecilia Dominic Page B

drooping.
    “Tell me why my mother and I were in danger after my father died,” I said.
    He started. “Right.” He stood and shook himself, then sat on his haunches. “What do you know of the Order of the Silver Arrow?”
    “Not much,” I said. “I remember hearing something about it in school, but I thought it was dead.”
    “It was supposed to have died out long ago, but as with most secret societies, it still survives in some form, but its purpose hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s become more dangerous.”

Chapter Eight
    Back in the eighteenth century, the world was torn apart by war as the British struggled to expand and hold on to their colonies, and the colonies fought to be free of British rule. It was also supposedly the “Age of Enlightenment,” but there were those who resisted scientific advancement, and they also succumbed to a sort of xenophobia. The opening of the world frightened the Europeans, and the realization that some people were more than human terrified them.
    One of these creatures was a vargamore , a half werewolf, half wizard named Sir Dorian Wolfsheim. He had come from Germany and had fought and sailed for the British. He hated his wolf side, feeling it was crass and undesirable with all those messy emotions and urges, and was overly enamored of his wizard abilities. Rumor had it that he started the Wizard Tribunal, not as the governing body it is now, but rather as a punishing body to chastise wizards who were unable to resist their base instincts in the name of science and purity.
    Sadly, psychology was still barely a twinkle in the eye of scientific inquiry, so Wolfsheim could not realize his persecution of lycanthropes was an effort to eradicate that side of himself. He went at it with zeal akin to religious persecution with the blessing of the British crown, which had its own bloody history and frustrations with the Scots, who were once again revolting. The clans who fought with Bonnie Prince Charlie had the most lycanthrope blood in their number. Those who fought against the Great Pretender, as he was known in England, were primarily allied with the wizards.
    “My family fought on the wrong side,” David said. “And they were part of the packs who failed to show up where they were needed. Something confused and scattered them until it was too late.”
    “Wolfsheim,” I said. “As a vargamore , he could do that.”
    “Aye. And he did. And then he hunted us down systematically until only those of us who could seek refuge on foreign shores or disguise ourselves among those who had not fought for the Pretender were left.”
    A snapping branch brought both of us into alert stance and sniffing the wind for the scent of a creature big enough to make that much noise. A shiny object flew from the trees and embedded itself in a stump just in front of David’s nose. We dashed for cover away from where it must have come from.
    “What was it?” asked David.
    “I didn’t get too close a look at it.” I risked a glance behind us. I didn’t want to distract him from our flight, but I knew what I’d seen: a silver arrow. That someone could have gotten that close to us told me they had magical help. It seemed we had attracted the attention of a vargamore , and someone was in pursuit.
    We eventually circled back to my flat, changed back, and dressed.
    “How was that possible?” asked David when he walked into the kitchen. “How could someone have just snuck up on us? Someone armed?”
    “You know as well as I do,” I told him and handed him a glass with a generous pour of the Oban. “Direction of the breeze and possibly some extra help.”
    He knocked it back and held out his glass for a refill. I gave him a half pour. He scowled.
    “Don’t stiff a man who’s just had his life threatened.”
    “Unless you’re sleeping over, you need to be able to drive. And that silver arrow was a warning. They could’ve killed us both if they’d wanted.”
    He shook his head. “Just