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.

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

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

to stay focused. What am I supposed to do? How am I expected to tell everyone?

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

the forest floor slain next to my brother, their bodies ripped to pieces, my eyes stung with endless salty tears. I wanted to scream; I wanted to go out there and rip every single one of those damn rogues to pieces. They take my sister, my brother, and my best friend; my mom—my

heart jerked, and I couldn't breathe. Why?

almost every night. I'm used to 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

my pajamas, 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 of my constant dreaming.

after the attack that my father was also killed; his life meaning nothing to his murderer. The pack fell

wrap it around 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