Running With The Boys (Finished)

Chapter One

1678, England:

Hear the bones cracking. Feel the fiery pain. Muscles stretching and contracting. Listen to the screaming.

The first change was always the worst- but they never did get much better- and took place on your tenth birthday.

They chained her, binding her human legs. She struggled, yelling and kicking. She didn't know what was happening or what they were doing to her. They left her there, to fight off the pain by herself. It was a cruel action; to leave someone to survive such an ordeal.

She felt the stirring in her very soul- the need to be free. Free of human flesh, of the form that bound her.

A loud crack- like granite hitting granite, like a tree falling- filled the silence. She had changed. For better or for worse, she was on her own. Howling to the moon, she took off- leaving only pain behind her.

This was the first change, the first She-Wolf.

Other's soon followed.... a Pack in the making. Scared of the curse they bore, they hid deep within the mountains, never wandering home, never walking on human legs.

Until one day, when a Man stumbled upon the thirty She-Wolves as they bathed in their human form of the first time in years. Suddenly, he felt it too. The Stirring in his very Core- his Soul.

The women, scared, ran. Only to hear a wolf howling. That was the first of the Werewolves.

Years later, more Werewolves joined their ranks; the women baring Pups.

This was the start of it all....

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My room still looks the same, although a little more dust covered than I remember. My bed is still as un-made and messy as the day I left it; books scatter the floor, some open and dog-eared, some closed; clothes still hung out of my cupboard, showing my rush to pack before I left.

I breath in the familiar musty lavander scent, letting it consume me. It's good to be home.

I step into the room cautiously, running my hands over the dresser, leaving finger marks in the dust. Photo's adorned the walls: My Mother and Father, My Brothers.... Me. I pause before a photo, taken the day before I left. My loose, wavy blonde hair hanging around my face. I'm baking something: Brownies. Flour covers the front of my shirt, a line of coco powder above my brow.

I smile weakly at the memory of five years ago, moving further into the room I left so long ago.

It hasn't been touched since then, I can tell. I take a step forwards, my converse crushing something, which makes a crinkling sound under my foot. I look down. Roses.

Someone left me roses. I pick them up, breathing in the lingering scent. How many years had they been there? Since I left? A note flutters to the ground as I smell them. Frowning, I pick it up, opening it between my fingers.

In memory of John and Lisa Evans. Beloved Parents of Maison, Patrick, Brodie, Oliver, Ben and Mia.

 Pause, reading the note again. They're dead? My parents are dead? I pull the note up to my face, kissing the curved hand writing, knowing it's Maison's. I miss him. And Ollie, and Brodie, and Patrick...

I pull back, tears silently making their way down my face. Ben? Whose Ben? I close my eyes, remembering.

"Mia, sweetie, we have some good news!"  Mum crows, standing in my doorway, a smile on her face.