Secrets of the Wolves

Chapter 1: Merriweather High School

A/N: Chapter One! Sooo I wrote the prolouge and this while I was trying to find and design a cover, so I haven't started on chapter 2 yet, but I am going to soon! Promise! Thanks for reading!! -SKatInk

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I sighed and heaved another box out of my dad's truck and into the house. What city were we in? I think it's something like Merriweather, but I'm not sure. It never matters anymore. It could've been Atlanta for all I cared. I tromped up the stairs to my new room. As I walked in, I took a quick survey. Pale, faded blue walls, a large window with a tree outside it--perfect for sneaking out, I noted--and a walk-in closet. Not too shabby. Too bad it wouldn't last.

My mom followed me and sighed as she dropped a box on my bed. "Here are your clothes, honey."

I flashed her a quick smile. "Thanks, mom."

She peered around and put her hands on her hips. She nodded. "Nice room."

I gestured around. "Yeah. I like it." This time I grinned genuinely, but her face fell.

"I'm really sorry about moving all the time," she said and she took the box from my arms, labeled 'Sigrid's Delicates'.

I shrugged, not looking her in the eyes. "It's not a big deal. Really." I'd grown so accustomed to not having friends that it wasn't a problem anymore. My younger sister had provided perfect friendship once Marcus had gone off to college three years ago. He would graduate next year from Brown University. Can you say smartypants?.

She looked sympathetic. "If there was anything I could do . . ." she started. "If there's anything I can do . . ."

"Mom," I interjected, rubbing her weathered hands. "I'm just glad you aren't killing any wolves."

A smile briefly complimented her face. "Me too, Sigrid. Me too." She turned to my delicates' box and opened it. She pulled out a picture frame. I was sitting on the sand, half in the water, with my sand castle washing away. I looked completely horrified in the picture. I was five.

"I love this picture," she said softly. She set it on the bed and pulled out another. This one was of the six of us--my parents, my uncle, and both of my siblings--at Yosemite. Cassidy had been four and never could remember most of it. She was a pain for everyone then, though. My mom smiled and set it next to the other frame. The third held a picture of an eight-year old me in an angel dress for Halloween. She grinned at me. "You were the cutest little thing."

Gloom settled on my heart. Too bad you don't know your daughter is a werewolf. I couldn't imagine how devastated she would be if she ever found out.

She kept going through them--me first day of school, me and a brief friend I'd had that I'd long forgotten the name of, me in an orchestra I'd joined for three months before we had to move again. Me going to my freshman homecoming dance because my mom would have a conniption if I didn't. I was wearing a long blue dress that brought out my dark indigo eyes and looked very shy in our front yard. I couldn't even remember where that had been. I could remember being scarred, seeing the biggest throng of grinding I'd ever seen in my life. I had spent the remainder of the evening wandering the halls of the school--the ones that weren't locked up--hoping not to stumble across tongue-thirsty couples. Unfortunately, there had been a few.

Cassidy came in with her freckles and glasses, dark blonde hair and blue eyes, and held up a box labeled 'Books'. Even though we move all the time and they're quite heavy, I collect books. I can't stand reading digitally, unless it's online. I have to feel the book in my hands, see the page number I'm on and not a percentage. I don't know; I'm weird.

"Where do you want these?" she asked.

I pointed to the bed. "The bed's fine."

She lumbered over and grunted as she dropped it. "Mom, have you found me a karate studio yet? I almost got my purple belt last time." She was fourteen and obsessed with self-defense. That was my uncle's doing. He hadn't taught her the hexes, but driven her crazy with ideas of self-defense. It was a good idea, I admit, but often questioned why he didn't teach her the hexes.