I walk down the road with my hands warm in my jacket pockets. Sunlight filters through the forest beside me, bringing a kiss of heat to my face in the cold air around me. The cold doesn't feel so cold anymore, only a sensation that neither pleasures nor hurts me. I'm sure if it were snowing, I'd feel differently, but right now I am content. It reminds me of when I would wake up in the middle of the night, hungry. The chill from the fridge would caress me as I stood with the doors wide open. I would look over the same foods until my snack standards lowered. My problems used to be much simpler then—disappointment over the fact that my mother ate the last piece of that evening's dessert, or maybe, at the most stressful, a poor test score in one of my classes.

The quiet helps me as I try to sort through my thoughts once again. Every now and then a car will pass by, or a noise will call from the trees, but other than that, I'm alone. Privacy is one of Waindale's redeeming qualities. If I want to take a walk by myself, I can. There aren't people everywhere; I can feel isolated out in the open if I desire.

I stop suddenly along the two-way street that slices through the dense woods like a knife. I glance behind me, then to the side, then to the other side. When my eyes aim forward, there's a man. Not just any man—John Aymon.

Questioning my sanity, I stay put. My hands grip the fabric inside my pockets and my lips stay parted. I watch as he takes the few steps necessary until he's standing right in front of me. He's wearing a large jacket and hiking boots as if he's been out here for a while and didn't simply teleport to my location. I wait in utter shock for him to either speak or vanish.

"Wrenley," he says then, solidifying his presence, "I don't mean to scare you."

A breath flows into my lungs then back out. My mouth remains still.

"We need to talk. We didn't have the time to earlier, but I don't think this can wait much longer."

I blink hard. "How are you here? W-Where did you come from?"

John Aymon, with a genuine look on his timeless face, says, "I can explain everything if you let me."

"You've been in contact with my mom?" I ask because it's the only way he could know the things he knows.

"No. I haven't. Again, I can explain everything."

My warm hands lift to my face, making me realize how cold I am as my frigid cheeks surprise me. My hands wipe down suddenly. "What do you want? Why are you here? How do you know how I am?"

He sighs. "The diner is just down the street. Can we talk there?"

I walk just in front of him the few minutes it takes to reach the intersection where the diner is. In my mind, I'm trying to decide what I want to know first, but part of me is curious to know what he has to say without my prompting.

Once inside, we sit toward the back at a booth against the windows. I shimmy out of my winter jacket and stuff it into the space between me and the wall. Maybe I would be more nervous if I had known of my father for more than a day. I'm grateful for my calmness, though.

Laura greets me warmly. John watches the interaction but doesn't question how I know the waitress. I order a hot chocolate and my father asks for a coffee. When Laura leaves, we face each other. Before I can ask anything, he begins talking.

"I haven't spoken to your mother since the night we made you," he says. "I know this is confusing, but your knowledge of the world should make this easier to accept. As you grew up, I would check in on you every now and then, from afar. You never saw me and neither did your mother. I wasn't there to interrupt, only to see that you were doing well."

My fingers intertwine on the table. "Y-You stalked us?"

"I can see how it appears rather odd from your perspective. But I couldn't step forward, not until now, not until you're old enough to understand."

"Is that why you moved to Waindale? To meet me?" I ask, keeping my composure even though my insides are being torn apart. "You're here now because I'm not a kid anymore—you don't have to take care of me?"

Laura sets down our mugs. I wipe my face clear of distress to thank her. John Aymon continues once she's busy with another table.

"I came here for you, that's true, but not because all the work is already done. It's the opposite, actually. It was your mother's job to raise you, but now it is my turn to teach you the things your mother cannot."

"She knows about this?"

He takes a sip of coffee then shakes his head as he swallows. "You know that your mother is unaware of the things beyond herself, well most things, I suppose."

A breath gets caught in my throat and my heart drops. "A-Are you one of—one of them?"

"No. I do not transform into a wolf. This is why I'm here, Wrenley, to teach you of all the things you have yet to discover. We are different than everything else."

"Different? How?"

I'm on the edge of my seat. My body shakes with anticipation and shock and excitement and so many other things that I can't decipher. I feel like I'm dreaming, like I fell asleep on the bed while I waited for Adam and never really woke up.

John Aymon takes a breath. "There are many things you have yet to learn. There is more than humans and shifters—I am one of the other things, and I am the only one of my kind, that is until I decided to create you."

He takes another sip of coffee which irritates me because instead of drinking, he could be speaking. I'm not sure whether I believe John Aymon or not, but either way, his story is incredibly intriguing.

"I arrived when inhabitants of this planet started following deities, which is quite a coincidence. I arrived through something of a meteorite as it came crashing to Earth."

My brow furrows and I sit back. "What the hell," I mumble.

"Did Adam not tell you of celestial beings?"

"Adam? How do you know—"

He says briefly, "I know everything."

My chest rises and falls slowly. "So you're telling me that you aren't from this planet. You weren't born here. And you happen to be thousands of years old?"

"To make a long story short, I suppose."

A murmur leaves my lips concerning my gullibility. I look back at him and question, "You really think you can tell me all of this crap like I'm seven years old? You can't win me over with this nonsense."

"Did you have a similar reaction when finding out about the shifters?" He asks, undisturbed. "The unbelievable remains that way until it isn't."

"Yes, I doubted them. Being able to transform like they do—it's crazy—but this is a whole other level of insane. What you're telling me—I could never believe you. There is no way you are some celestial being or whatever."

"Your mate and his kind, they believe in the moon goddess," John says, drifting off-topic. "If told that the moon goddess is real, would you believe it?"

My forearms rest against the table as my hands wrap around the mug of hot chocolate that isn't very hot. "I don't know. Maybe."

"She is real. She gifts the shifters their ability. The shifters are her creation."

Beginning to feel far too overwhelmed, I lift the drink to my lips and focus on the taste rather than his words.

"You see Wrenley, the moon goddess is aware of you as she is of me. She is always aware of what you are doing. When I came to Earth, I threatened her creations. I threatened many forms of life on this planet, and I still do. The beings beyond you, beyond me, even—ones such as the moon goddess—they try to contain us. They try to control us because we threaten all they have created. I've come to you now because you are old enough to understand, that is true, but I come with increased urgency because you are being contained by them, by her."

"I-I can't bel—"

His face has morphed into one of distress and torment. I nervously eye the people around the diner to make sure we have not caught any unwanted attention.

"It is Adam. She mated you to one of her own because it gives her a sense of control over you. You're vulnerable, susceptible to her power when restrained from your highest potential, which I am guilty of doing."

"John, please," I breathe. "I don't want to hear any more of this."

"No, you must listen," he insists. "I am here now because it is time to release you of my hold. When you were born, I restrained you from your power to protect you as you grew amongst the humans."

"I-I don't believe you," I say, louder than expected. A few eyes glance over, but I shoo them by collecting myself.

"None of this—I don't believe any of it. I'm done listening to your stories. I came here to find out why you're here, and how you know me, that is all. Please, just tell me the truth."

John Aymon rests back against the booth seat and his fists on the table clench. "Perhaps you are not yet wise enough. You do not know enough. Your mind has been contaminated with the human's limited beliefs. Tell me, what can I do? I have been waiting for this moment to come and feared your failure, but please, prove me wrong." His hands reach over and take my own in them. A bizarre sensation infects my hands and spreads up my arms. "You are my only child. Too much depends on you."

Going out on a limb, with little to lose, I say, "Prove it. You can tell me anything, but I can't believe it until you—"

"Do you feel different? Stronger?" He asks. "I loosened my hold on you to make this conversation easier. Do you feel your potential?"

I try to take my hands back, but his grip is tight. "That was you? You caused me to feel different?"

"I can prove myself, Wrenley. But, you have the capability to prove everything on your own. My blood runs through your veins. Your mother is a human—I decided that because it contaminates my blood the least. You'll age and die as a human does, that I cannot change, but I passed great power to you."

"B-But I don't have power. I'm a human."

"You have been restrained since birth. I had given you the slightest bit of your power earlier. Focus. Listen to what I am telling you," he urges. "If I free you, you'll be at your full potential."

Without thinking, I say, "Free me. If all you're saying is true, free me."

He lets go of my hands then. "I will. Not all at once because it... To free you at once may kill you, but I will slowly return more and more of your power once you can handle the current amount."

"How much do I have now?" I ask, oblivious to all other things.

"Are you able to withstand more?"

I nod. "Will you give me more? Will this prove all you have said?"

John's eyes close then. I stare at him as my heart thumps heavily in my chest. My palms grow sweaty, then I feel it. It feels like a million little needles poking into the skin on my fingertips. I flinch and ball my hands into fists. The sensation subsides, and when I peer up, John Aymon is looking at me. His silver eyes bore into my own.

"I felt it," I say softly. "I felt it in my hands."

He looks at me like a father who just taught their child how to walk.

"What can I do?" I ask, my eyes bright.

He leaves money on the table then takes me outside. When I shrug on my jacket, he shakes his head. "You won't need it," he says, "but wear it so others don't question you. The cold, the heat, you won't succumb to it."

A single, airy laugh escapes my lips. "I won't get cold? That's just like Adam. He doesn't get cold."

"Melt the snow," he says and motions to the side of the parking lot where a rim of ice sits against the curb from last night.

"What?"

"Go on."

I walk over to the curb then turn back to him. "How? What do I do?"

John Aymon, who's pleased with my curiosity, says, "You know how."

I face the ice and crouch down. My instincts tell me to touch it, so I reach my hand out, but before my finger comes into contact, the ice melts away from me. I open my hand and aim my palm at it, and it melts more as I move. More laughs leave me. I spring to my feet and spin around with an expression of pure wonder. The first thing that comes to my mind is Adam and how desperately I want to show him.

"I can't believe it!" I call to my father and hurry back. "There's no way this is happening. There's no way that this is real life. I'm dreaming, aren't I? This has to be a dream."

I watch as he bends down and picks up a brown leaf from the cement. He takes my hand, opens it, then places the dead thing on it. "This is your most powerful gift," he says. "Restore it."

I place my other hand on top.

"Think of your intention and make it so."

My desire to bring this leaf back to its green, fleshy glory fills my mind. It doesn't hurt. It isn't hard. I feel the leaf move against my hands, and when I open them, there is a leaf so pristine that it appears to have fallen from a branch only seconds ago. A smile engulfs my face and I jump in my spot.

"It's real," I murmur, "all of it is real. All that you said—what does this mean? What's going to happen?"

My father says, "Enjoy. Discover. Become comfortable with what I have given to you until you are able to accept more. I must warn you that there is responsibility that will be coming, but for now, prepare yourself. And I must ask that you do not approach your mother with any of this. She must not know. What you have told her is already too much."

"For her own good?" I ask.

He nods. "It's best if you keep this to yourself."

"Oh," I breathe. "What about Adam?"

"Are you able to restrain yourself? I know the moon goddess has given you no choice when it comes to Adam, but you shouldn't trust anyone."

I swallow and put my magic hands back in my pockets. "Well, if I'm honest, I don't think I can. I can't help it."

He seems upset by this, but not at me.

Our entire conversation hasn't settled yet. I'm still convinced that I'll wake in Adam's bed any moment now because I'm having a hard time remembering everything my father told me. There was something about the moon goddess containing me—perhaps he's upset with her.

I wonder if she'll be mad at me. I wonder if what I have done is the workings of evil things as Imogen once warned me about.

What if my father is evil in their eyes?

What if I am too?

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This is a double update. Please continue onto Chapter 37.