The day you turn 19 is supposed to be a happy day. That day should be filled with loving family members, laughter, parties and friends. But it shouldn’t be filled with heartache, loss, and grief. It shouldn’t be the day that you have to bury both of your parents and learn that you’re being sent to live with an older brother who you’ve ever met in your entire life.

          I should introduce myself. My name is Ruth Isabella Boaz. My parents are, were, Steven and Sherry Boaz, and my older brother is Jubal Talon Boaz. He lives in the freaking middle of nowhere, a small town in Montana by the name of Dixon. Apparently, he was the head of police there. I’m guessing he was important. He called Uncle Dolph just days after the accident, and told him that I would be moving in with him.

Uncle Dolph didn’t take the news to well, but because he had been declared my legal guardian by my parents, Uncle Dolph couldn’t do anything to keep me with him. In return, he didn’t show up at the funeral. And I was glad; I wasn’t ready to see him just yet. Half way through the graveside service, the dark clouds finally let the rain they held captive free. Uncle Randolph and Aunt Reagan, my parents’ best friends, stood beside me.

          My family and I are special. Both my father and my mother have a secret. You see, we are shifters, at least my mom and I are. My father is a werewolf, and as far as I know, Jubal is as well. They can trace their linage all the way back to Lycaon. He was the king of Arcadia who was turned into a werewolf by Zeus. My mom is a were-liger. She had an affair and I was born. But my father never knew.

          I turned out to be a liger as well, but my dad always thought I was a human. Mom gave me a special necklace to hide my scent from wolves. Most of the time, all weres get along, but there are a few who hate ligers because we’re a mix breed, and because we are kind of unique. If we had a son, he would become whatever his father was. But if we had a daughter, she would become a liger, no matter what her father was.

          I just found out last year that mom cheated on dad with Uncle Dolph. They were having a conversation in my hospital room after several of my classmates, who happened to be the sort of wolves who hated ligers, ganged up on me. They thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. I was good at pretending.

          Suddenly, a hand rested on my shoulder causing me to jump a little. I relaxed when I realized it was just Uncle Dolph. The priest was rambling about something my dad did, but I was just blocking him out. My eyes were burning, but the tears wouldn’t fall. For the past two months, I haven’t been able to cry. Aunt Reagan wrapped her arm around my waist and squeezed.

          I laid two blood red roses on their caskets and let my aunt and uncle guide me to their car. Uncle Dolph and I were leaving for Montana in the morning. He was driving me because, “Airplanes aren’t reliable and you could get kidnapped.” But I knew the truth. He wasn’t ready to let me go, and he knew that if I went alone, I would never show up in Dixon.

          Before the accident, I was happy, funny, outgoing, vibrant and mischievous. But the day my parents died, I locked that part of me away. I became a girl who was shy, terrified, and reclusive. I used to make friends at the drop of the hat, but now I was petrified to be in a room filled with people I didn’t know. I no longer talked to anyone, including my aunt and uncle. I kept everything inside of me, and I stopped showing any emotions. Someone had described me as a living, breathing stone statue. And that’s how I felt.

          When we got back to their flat, I go to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I just lie on my bed and stare at the glow-in-the dark stickers on the fan. I didn’t want to leave New York, but I didn’t have a choice. Curling into a tight ball, I close my eyes and drift to sleep. Things would always work themselves out as my mom was apt to say. But I didn’t believe it would. Life just loved causing me grief had pain to change now.