The Girl With Werewolf Blood

I ran down the stairs as screams filled my ears and terror flooded my veins. I sprinted to the front door of the pack house and flung it open— revealing rogues and pack members everywhere tackling, biting, ripping, and killing each other. My eyes squeezed shut, and my hands plugged my ears, praying that this was not real. After taking a few deep breaths I peeled them open again, but nothing has changed, and I began to panic. With only one thing on my mind, I was now determined to fight with everything I had.

Sprinting across the open field, no one noticed me; they were too busy fighting, killing. I made my way through the endless trees searching for my siblings. I don't understand; they should have been in the pack house with me. How could they have been so foolish to leave?

Hiding behind a thick tree, I heard someone coming near. I peeked out from behind the bark; it was Stella's wolf.

"Stella!" I harshly called as I motioned for my sister.

Her wolf's eyes went wide when she saw me, filled with pure terror and regret. She shook her head frantically, and tears slid down her face. All of a sudden another wolf tackled her, teeth ripping into her throat in a flash.

her lifeless body laid limp on the forest floor. Prying my eyes off her, I couldn't make myself look for any longer. My sister, she's gone forever.

evil and rage in its eyes. With no brake to even mourn the loss of my siblings, they started running towards

I didn't think twice and ran deeper into the woods. My sister's cold, dead eyes fogged my brain, making it impossible to stay focused. What am I supposed to

came up to more rogues battling and quickly hid behind another tree. With a racing heart, I peeked out yet again and briefly glanced at the lifeless wolves on the floor. That's until I stopped breathing and became motionless. Oh, goddess.

rip every single one of those damn rogues to pieces. They take my sister, my brother, and my best friend; my mom—my mother! How dare

Why? Why couldn't

the sweat and tears, but the memories will never fade. My brain is forever tattooed with the images of their dead bodies. Over the past months, I've

I switch the shower on and step under the downpour. I relax as the hot water streams down my shaken body, almost as if it's washing away the visuals

father was also killed; his life meaning nothing to his murderer. The

my chilled frame and walk back into my room, glancing at the clock resting on my bedside table. It is five o'clock in the morning, so I might