Charity Rain (Charity Series Book 5)(2)

By: DeAnna Kinney

I continued to push harder in order to keep up with my dad, and I couldn’t let my brothers pass me. They looked up to me. As the oldest, I had to be stronger. At least that’s the way it sometimes seemed. I felt my second wind and pressed on but was soon passed by our lanky dog, Fang. He loved a chase, especially if it was my brothers and I. He had been chasing after us from the time we could walk. And it seemed he had no intentions of slowing down anytime soon.

If you were doing the math then you would probably be wondering how Fang was even still alive after all these years. In dog years he would be more than 126 years old, and he wasn’t even a puppy when my mom found him on the side of the road all those years ago. It’s an odd story really and one we still couldn’t explain, but I’ll try:

When my brothers and I were 10 years old, we were playing in the clearing of the forest, like we did on most days after our schoolwork was finished, when we startled a black bear and her cub. The bear rushed at us, preparing to attack, when Fang flew out of nowhere and attacked her. We were so scared and shocked that we didn’t know what to do. We watched the scene before us and willed our legs to move, but they were frozen to the spot. It all ended as suddenly as it began with one last slash to the midsection of our beloved companion. The bear hurried off as our dog fell to the ground, defeated. We were then spurred into action, and I lifted the injured dog into my arms and rushed him to my dad—and Doc.

My mom burst into the room, tears filling her eyes as she assessed the situation. She and Dad then pulled us into their arms to comfort us as Doc explained that Fang had lost too much blood and was dying. It was Deacon who refused to allow it as he jumped onto the table and grabbed a handful of our dog’s fur and then bit into his flesh. With tears streaming down his face he was trying to shift into a werewolf and bite his dog, to save him. It almost looked like he might change too, but then he collapsed onto Fang’s chest and cried, begging him to stay. Fang lifted his head weakly and looked up at him with sad eyes, as if saying ‘I would stay if I could, but thanks for trying.’ It was what happened next that surprised us all. My dad ripped off his shirt like Superman and began making growling noises as his skin then became covered in brown fur. He shifted into a full and massive werewolf and yet gently picked up our injured dog and bit into his flesh. Fang didn’t even whimper. He trusted my dad completely and had seen him as a werewolf more times than my brothers and I had. Afterwards, he laid him back down onto the table and stepped away. As far as we knew, no werewolf had ever tried to heal an animal before. Actually, werewolves had never had pets before. That would be kind of weird—animals with animals as pets. But that was before my mom started rescuing animals from the side of the road. At last count the pack had ten dogs, seven birds, six hamsters, and three snakes.

All was quiet for a few moments as we anxiously watched Fang for any active movement. There was none. Even my dad sighed in disappointment. All three of us boys ran back into our mom’s arms and began to cry like little babies.

We turned when we heard whimpering coming from the dog. We watched in thrilled amazement as Fang quickly stood and began shaking his fur with fierceness. A cheer rang out as the realization hit us that Fang had indeed been healed. And he hadn’t aged a day, or even slowed down since that day.

Chapter Two


“You cheated again!” Deacon shouted with laughter in his voice, clearly winded as the three of us raced into the parking garage. He jumped on my shoulders and began digging his knuckles into my scalp.

“Ow! Get off me, you loser!” I laughed, grabbing him from my back and body slamming him to the concrete.

He did a quick flip and was on his feet. The tussle was on.

“Hey! Wait for me!” Dixon shouted, jumping into the action without further delay, giving Deacon a wet willie. This was our normal routine after a run. It was all just play and fun until someone got hurt—and it usually wasn’t me.

In the dining room, I grabbed a plate and piled it high with ham, scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and biscuits, and that was just for starters. Saturday mornings, Chef Barney was sure to lay out a nice breakfast buffet for us. After a run like we just had, hungry didn’t begin to describe what we were.

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