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I
just ignored him and followed Dawson up the steps to the door. He
didn’t unlock the door; it was already unlocked. I was a little
surprised. Normally people locked their doors, but I guess being a
werewolf made Dawson a little less worried than the usual
person.
    I followed him into the house. The
place was surprisingly clean. Again it did not seem like the type
of home Dawson or Mason would keep. They seemed a little rough and
tumble for the place. “This is nice,” I said, as I looked at the
pictures. There were a variety of landscape and farm scenes. It
seemed to go with the house. The furniture was all antique;
farmhouse-looking. It all seemed to go with the overall theme of
the house.
    “ Thanks, I haven’t really
changed anything since our parents lived here,” Dawson said, as he
flipped lights on.
    I was considering asking him where his
parents were, but I didn’t want to bring up any bad memories. It
was very possible they were dead, and I didn’t want to upset him or
Mason. I decided on a less personal topic. “How big is your pack?”
I asked casually, as I walked over to one particularly interesting
painting. It was a painting of the woods, and there was a wolf in
the trees. If you weren’t looking carefully, it would be easy to
miss.
    “ It’s not the biggest, but
we have a decent number of members. We are growing, slowly,” Dawson
said, proudly. It was obvious he enjoyed being pack leader. I
imagined it would be something like being the patriarch of a really
large family.
    “ I don’t understand why
Mason doesn’t help you,” I said, looking from Dawson to Mason. It
didn’t make sense. I would think if one was the pack leader then
the other would be there to support his brother.
    “ He used to. Then he
betrayed me,” Dawson said darkly, as he glared at his
brother.
    Mason blushed, slightly obviously
feeling chided. “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled as he shoved his
hands in his pockets. He looked like a little boy that just got
caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
    Dawson scoffed. “Of course you didn’t.
Does anyone want a beer?” Dawson asked, changing the
subject.
    “ I do, and she doesn’t
drink alcohol,” Mason said, mockingly. It was almost as if he was
making fun of me.
    I looked over at him, and the grin on
his face told me he was making fun of me. I decided not to say
anything. He was going to do what he wanted regardless of what I
said.
    “ Would you like something
else to drink?” Dawson offered, watching me.
    “ Coffee, if you have it,”
I said softly; then I went back to observing the
artwork.
    “ I will get some started,”
Dawson said; then he walked down the hall that I assumed led to the
kitchen.
    “ Did you live here with
your brother before you went on the run?” I asked Mason. I was
trying to kill the silence. Normally I enjoyed silence, but like I
said before, Mason and silence didn’t mix. I felt odd when he
wasn’t talking.
    “ Off and on,” he said
casually, as he sat down on a bench. He seemed reluctant to give me
much information. He usually liked to talk until we started
discussing his life and his family.
    I walked into the living room. I knew
I shouldn’t be looking around without permission, but I was
curious. When I imagined a werewolf’s dwelling, this was not what
came to mind. I walked to the fireplace, where there were a variety
of family photos. I could see the strong family resemblance between
Mason, Dawson, and the man that seemed to be their father. Mason
had his father’s eyes, and Dawson had his mother’s eyes.
    “ What are you thinking?”
Mason asked from the doorway.
    I didn’t even hear him get up. I’d
assumed he stayed out in the hall. He didn’t seem like he was in
the mood to talk. I glanced at him, then back at the photos. “I was
thinking you and Dawson look like your father, but Dawson has your
mother’s eyes,” I said casually.
    “ Wow,” he said, shaking
his head and smiling.
    “ What?” I asked as I