From Angels to Demons (gxg)

4

As Phoebe ambled out of the clearing to find a quiet place to shift, the sickening sound of bones cracking and joints crunching began to fill the air.

She took a deep breath, still struggling to accept that this was her reality, and ducked behind an old oak to shift. 

She lay reeling on the forest floor for a moment, blinking away the blinding rays of the morning sun out of her eyes.

Her senses were back to normal but her body still ached in places she didn't even know possessed nerve endings. 

She breathed hard, gathering herself up and trying to reorient her body. She stumbled, clutching the oak's bark for support, and realized one main problem.

She was butt-ass naked with no recollection of where she's left her duffel bag. 

She stumbled toward the general direction she knew it was in, and passed a group of completely naked boys. Some of their bones were still popping back into place. They laughed and talked like the entire situation was completely ordinary. But as she passed, they fell silent and their gaze weighed heavy. 

Phoebe averted her eyes and dragged her feet forward. But she passed countless other groups exactly like them. She assumed the staring was because she was new, but the blatant nudity was rather unfamiliar to her. Was this just considered normal to them?

Finally, she came across her duffle, still sat agianst the tree where she left it. 

She crouched down and dug through it to get to her clothes. She hurriedly yanked a cami over her head and pulled on a pair of sweats. Then, she crouched next to a small stream to examine her reflection.

She looked like hell, really. There were dark purple bags beneath her eyes and her hair was tossled.  

Pale like a notepad, stick-straight sheet of white hair, long-limbed, and with dark eyes and freckles across her nose; Phoebe had always stuck out like a sore thumb. In more ways than one, too.

She'd never been particularly alike to her mother, favoring her father in almost every way, from genetics to personality. But fuck, she'd adored her mother. Her mother, with her slim eloquent fingers and sheet of perfectly curled dark hair. Skin a rich brown where Phoebe's was sickly white. And never had a blemish appeared on that woman's skin, even when she was in the thick of her disease. 

Miriam Macauley. 

Their lack of resemblance made her feel even more like a distant memory to Phoebe. The only thing had in common was their eyes, dark as the night. 

She still remembered all the doctor's appointments, her mother fussing over her incessantly while her father crossed his arm and tapped his foot, shooting them that same worried look. They'd been convinced she had albinism, for fuck's sake, but after hours at the optometrist, the pediatrician, even that odd-smelling alternative witch doctor's quarters, it was determined she didn't, she was just pale. The black eyes were evidence of that. The doctors had just put a lollipop in her chubby toddler hand for all her troubles and sent them on their way. 

Phoebe cupped her hands into the stream, and brought the cool water to her face. Then she rose and threw her bag over her shoulder, marching back toward the clearing with her still-bare feet.

Len was waiting for her. 

She could only tell it was him from his scent, since he looked so different as a wolf. But his person did mirror his...other form in some ways. They both had an angry stalk-like walk and glared at her in the same way. 

His skin was brown and his dark hair was  twisted into short locks. He was wearing a pair of shorts and not much else. She adverted her eyes.

"Let's go" He grumbled