Call of Duty

—Fenris. The name clicked in Marlon's mind.

The Fenris bloodline was one of the original werewolf lineages, descended from Lycaon himself—the first of their kind, cursed by the gods. Hunters knew there were two types of werewolves: the purebloods, born into ancient clans like the Fenris line, and the turned—humans infected through bites or dark magic.

The Fenris family was revered among the Royal Canine, an elite pack of purebloods who ruled over lesser clans.

"Last night," Marlon began carefully, "you said you weren't a killer. Was that true?"

Claire's breath hitched. "Yes. I swear it was my first transformation. I've never killed anyone!" Her voice cracked. "I'm not a murderer."

Marlon nodded. "Okay. I believe you."

"Please—I didn't choose this!" Her eyes glistened. "You have to let me go. I need to save someone before it's too late!"

"A human?"

"Yes. Danielle. She helped me escape my clan. Please, this is life or death for her!"

Marlon lowered his head, thinking back to the previous night. When he looked up, his expression was grim.

"Was she a red-haired girl?"

Claire's breath stopped. "Yes. You've seen her? Is she—?"

Marlon exhaled slowly, bracing himself. "We found her. But… we were too late."

Claire went still. "What do you mean?"

"The werewolf chasing you—we killed it. But Danielle was already gone by the time we got there."

For a long moment, Claire didn't move. Then, slowly, she curled into herself, arms wrapping around her knees as silent tears spilled over.

Marlon almost reached out—then pulled back, his hand hovering awkwardly. There were still so many questions, but seeing her like this, shattered and grieving, made them all feel trivial.

"I'll give you some time," he murmured, standing. "Call if you need anything."

Claire didn't respond. She just sat there, trembling, her face buried in her arms.

Marlon shut the door softly behind him.

Her first transformation… and she kept her mind intact?

That wasn't just rare.

It was impossible.

The moment Marlon stepped into the kitchen, he nearly collided with Aunt Agatha, who was carrying a tray of food.

"Where are you going, Aunt?" Marlon asked.

"To see the girl, of course," Aunt Agatha replied briskly, already moving past him.

"Wait, Aunt. I think she needs some time alone right now," Marlon said, turning to face her.

"She also needs food, Marlon," Aunt Agatha retorted before disappearing through the doorway.

As hunters, they knew well enough that werewolves were almost like ordinary humans—most of the time. After the full moon passed, they ate and drank like any normal person. But as the next full moon approached, their cravings shifted—toward human blood and raw flesh.

Most of them lost control during the lunar cycle, reduced to nothing more than savage beasts devoid of reason.

"You too, Marlon. Go eat your breakfast—it's already set on the table!" Aunt Agatha called from the next room.

Marlon exhaled sharply and grabbed his meal.

Hours passed. Outside, Thomas chopped firewood behind the house, Cooper lounging nearby.

Then, the sharp ring of the telephone cut through the air.

"Marlon, get the phone!" Thomas shouted to his brother.

Marlon had just stepped out of the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, and hurried toward the living room to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Marlon! Been too long since I last heard your voice," a lively young man's voice chimed through the receiver.

"Oh, it's you, Fowler. What do you want?" Marlon replied flatly.

"Come on, man, loosen up! You should come down to the city. It's been ages since you had a drink with the other hunters."

"Cut to the chase, Fowler. Is there something you actually need to tell me?" Marlon's tone remained unamused.

"Marlon the Ice Man—still the same as ever," Fowler teased.

"Listen, I just got a call from an old contact of mine in Coniston. He's a cop there."

"Okay. And?" Marlon prompted.

"He's stuck on a bizarre case—a string of deaths that keep piling up with no leads."

"Sorry, Fowler, but murder cases aren't our specialty. The police should handle that."

"Wait, hold on—my guy gave details that sound like it's right up our alley."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I mean—it looks like it, haha."

Marlon rubbed his temples as he listened.

"My friend, Timmy, said all the victims had one glaring thing in common before they died." Fowler lowered his voice. "People close to them said they'd fallen madly in love—to the point of losing their minds."

"But here's the kicker: the descriptions of the women they were obsessed with? All different."

"Hmm." Marlon's frown deepened.

"Some of their friends said these women were too perfect—like their exact dream types."

Marlon hummed in understanding.

"So? You're the smartest among us. Any ideas?"

"Sounds like a Siren," Marlon said simply.

"I can give you some tips on how to kill one." He adjusted his slipping towel.

"Here's the thing, man—our team's swamped right now."

"Monsters have been unusually active lately. We're stretched thin."

"Really? Or are you just trying to free up your weekend?" Marlon's suspicion was palpable.

"I swear, this time it's legit! Come on, I've never dealt with a Siren before. Shouldn't this go to the experts?"

Marlon sighed. "Fine. Thomas and I will head out tonight to check it out."

"Yes! Knew I could count on you! You guys are the best!"

"Yeah, yeah. Anything else?"

"Actually, yeah. Think you could convince Thomas to reconsider taking over as hunting captain?"

"Old Man Sith can barely stand straight anymore, haha!"

Marlon groaned. "Yeah, alright."

"Great! Send my regards to Thomas and Aunt Agatha. Stay safe, hunters!"

The line went dead.

Marlon exhaled sharply. "Just one problem after another…"

"Who was it?" Thomas called from outside, peering through the window.

"We've got work, Thomas!"

"Oh, come on! We just started resting!" Thomas swung his axe into a log in frustration.

Marlon turned toward his room—

THUD.

His towel slipped and pooled at his feet.

And there, right in front of him, Claire sat frozen on the floor, her eyes wide as they locked onto the very exposed center of his body.

"KYAAAAHHH!"

She scrambled up and bolted, slamming the door behind her.

Marlon snatched the towel, hastily rewrapping it.

"STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU PERVERT!" Claire's muffled shriek came from Aunt Agatha's room.

Outside, Thomas's roaring laughter echoed through the window, his hands clutching his stomach.

"What the hell, Thomas?! Why'd you take off her cuffs?!"

"HAHAHA—Relax, Aunt Agatha did it!" Thomas managed between gasps.

Marlon scowled, tightening the towel around his waist.

A few seconds later, Thomas wheezed, "PUT SOME CLOTHES ON, YOU PERV!"

"Hilarious," Marlon muttered, flipping him off.

Back in his room, Marlon stared at his reflection in the old wardrobe mirror.

Twice in one day she's called me a pervert. Do I really look like one?

He groaned. This is just my luck.

And what was Aunt Agatha thinking, letting a werewolf roam free in the house?

I'll have to ask her when she gets back.

…Ugh. I'm too embarrassed to face Claire again.

His thoughts spiraled deeper.

By evening, the Holter brothers bustled around, loading hunting gear from the basement into their car. Cooper trotted after them, tail wagging as if helping.

Claire, however, remained hidden in Aunt Agatha's room, too mortified to step out.

From the driveway, the familiar hum of Aunt Agatha's navy-blue Volkswagen Polo approached, its horn giving a short beep.

Aside from her work with the hunters, Aunt Agatha held a long-standing administrative job at the city hospital—one she'd kept since Marlon and Thomas were boys.

"Where are you two off to this time?" She rolled down the window, engine still running.

Thomas set down his load and started explaining while Marlon busied himself with the car's oil change.

Soon, Aunt Agatha parked and called out, "Inside, all three of you. We need to talk."

"Th-Three?!" Marlon paled, the morning's disaster flashing in his mind.

Thomas snickered.

Marlon shot him a glare and hissed, "If you tell Aunt about what happened—"

"Relax, my perverted little brother," Thomas teased, dodging a half-hearted kick before darting inside.

A few moments later, Aunt Agatha, Thomas, and Marlon gathered around the dining table—six chairs arranged neatly, with Aunt Agatha seated at the head and the brothers side by side on the right.

The air was thick with unspoken tension.

Then, Aunt Agatha called out, her voice warm but firm.

"Claire, dear! Come here—there's something we need to discuss."

Marlon's throat tightened as he swallowed hard. Thomas shot him a sideways glance, eyebrows knitting together in amusement.

"Did she just call her 'dear'? Am I hearing things?" Thomas whispered, nudging Marlon, expecting shared bewilderment.

But Marlon's mind was elsewhere—his fingers twitched toward his pocket, pulling out his phone in a poor attempt to feign nonchalance.

Footsteps approached.

Claire appeared in the doorway, her posture stiff. "Yes, Aunt?" she murmured politely.

Then her gaze flickered to Marlon.

In an instant, her face flushed crimson. She hurried to the opposite side of the table, sinking into a chair with a scowl that barely masked her panic.

Aunt Agatha's eyes darted between them, sensing the discomfort but choosing not to pry. Instead, she cleared her throat.

"Ahem."

The sound cut through the awkward silence like an axe. Thomas bit his lip, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"This morning, I spoke with your father," Aunt Agatha began. "He's well, but still… preoccupied."

A shadow passed over Thomas's face. "Of course he is."

Marlon said nothing, but his grip on his phone tightened.

"I mentioned Claire's situation to him," Aunt Agatha continued. "He's in Germany at the moment—Claire, isn't that your homeland?"

Claire's fingers curled into her skirt. "Y-Yes, Aunt." She kept her body angled away from the brothers, as if the mere sight of them burned.

"There seems to be some… unusual activity there regarding monsters. Roger didn't elaborate." Aunt Agatha's voice turned grave. "I hope it has nothing to do with you, Claire."

"I'm sorry, I… don't know anything about that."

"That's alright." Aunt Agatha softened before turning to the brothers. "As for you two—your father had a message."

Thomas scoffed.

"He was shocked to hear a future werewolf queen is under our roof. He didn't explain further, but…" She hesitated. "He insisted we protect Claire. And to tell no one—not even other hunters."

Claire's shoulders hunched. I'm just a burden to them.

"I trust you both understand."

Thomas grinned, slapping Marlon's back. "No problem here, right, Marlon?"

Marlon stiffened, shoving Thomas's hand away. "Yeah." His voice was ice, but Thomas saw right through it—the way his fingers tapped nervously against the table.

Claire still refused to look at either of them, her eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.

"Good. We'll discuss this further when you return," Aunt Agatha said firmly. "Including what happened to you in Germany, Claire… and last night."

Claire's breath hitched. "…Okay."

With a relieved sigh, Aunt Agatha patted the table. "That's all for now."

Claire bolted up—but before she could escape, Aunt Agatha called, "Wait, Claire. Help me with dinner."

Claire froze, then trudged back, standing rigidly beside Aunt Agatha as she unpacked groceries.

Thomas smirked. "You're not gonna help too, Marlon?"

Marlon stood abruptly and strode outside, pretending not to hear.

--------

The sun bled orange-red across the horizon as they finished packing. Aunt Agatha lingered by the front door, arms crossed, while Cooper circled Marlon and Thomas's legs, whining.

"How long will you be gone?" Her voice wavered—no matter how many hunts they'd survived, her worry never faded.

Thomas heaved the last bag into the car. "Two, three days? If things go smoothly."

Marlon slid into the driver's seat, engine rumbling to life. Thomas joined him, slamming the door shut.

Aunt Agatha stepped closer, resting a hand on the car's roof. "You're sure you didn't forget anything?"

"Pretty sure," Marlon muttered.

"Oh—and Marlon?" Aunt Agatha's lips quirked. "Watch your brother. Siren songs are… dangerous for him. We all know how weak he is to women."

Marlon smirked. "Don't worry. I packed earplugs. And if necessary, I'll blindfold him too."

Thomas rolled his eyes but didn't deny it.

Aunt Agatha's expression sobered. "Listen. I'll never stop saying this—if anything goes wrong, call me. And if you need backup, reach out. Understood?"

Thomas flashed an OK sign.

With that, they pulled away.

Hunting was routine for them—dangerous, yes, but no more than firefighting or policing. Every job had its risks.

The British government secretly funded hunters, handling cases too grotesque for the police. Secrecy was paramount; panic was worse than monsters.

Centuries ago, hunters were revered—guardians standing between humanity and the dark. Every village had one.

But technology had changed the world. Monsters retreated into shadows.

And now, they hunted a Siren.

The last time they'd faced one, Thomas had nearly died.