Super Wolf

Super Wolf to the Rescue

Vote, comment, and follow! If you get confused by this, ask me about it in the comments and I'll try to clear things up.

Dedicated to TeAmoAeturnum for (a) reading and voting on my other books (which I appreciate very much) and (b) being a really amazing author!

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If you'd ask me to describe myself in three words, I probably look at you as if you were an idiot. Actually, if you were talking with me in the first place, it wouldn't be hard to conclude; you're crazy. And if you're asking me personal questions... you, my friend, are clearly delusional. 

I'm kidding!

We're not friends.

And unless I was terribly irritable that day, I'd probably answer you this: awesome, awesomer, and awesomest. 

That was me. 

It had nothing to do with some typical teenage-girl identity crisis, or the fact that I unhealthily romanticized comic-books when I was younger (which I did). It had to do with the fact that I was stronger than ten full grown human men combines, and then some. Maybe it had to do something with the fact that (while I thought worrying about appearances was utter bullcrap) I was confident in how I looked, unlike every other single female in our high school's population. And it had to do a whole lot with the fact that I had no friends. 

You think I'm asking for a pity parade? 

Well, you'd be wrong. Did you not hear me earlier? I'm miss awesome, awesomer, and awesomest. I wasn't some intolerably awkward loser who has nothing except for her glasses and virginity. 

Though I can affirm with strong fervor that I do possess the latter. 

Reguardless, my point is I have a lot of time on my hands. Sure I was in school, but when you have a higher-functioning brain like mine, homework was a breeze. I never had to study, and I never would. I had eidetic memory, and I loved it every day of my life. 

Now, everyone else with photographic memory would use their free time for something useless, right? Like hanging out with friends until they forgot what it was like to be alone. 

My problem is, people disgust me. Not because they smelt (which they did) or because they were irritible (though they were) or even because they were primitive (especially when it came to matters like sex.... Gag). 

People disgusted me because I had seen the worst sides of the worst people. 

Now, I entirely brought that upon myself. But it wasn't my fault that I wanted to use my fortunes for good. 

Well, let me explain. 

My name is Brinley Easton and I'm a werewolf. 

That's right. Half human, half canine. I burst into a big fluffy ball of fur when something sets me over the edge. I can smell nearly five-hundred scents at a time, and identify each source without even batting an eye. I can see the painfully obviously details of your face, like the tiny pores Candi Wilson (or as I affectionatley called her, Candi Mc-my-virginity-is-lost-somewhere-with-my-non-existant-self-respect) tried to fill in with heavy foundation about three shades darker than her real skin tone. I can run three times faster than any racecar in Nascar, and I can do it with more agility and grace. I can hear the little whispers the crowds of the pathetic humans in my highschool from across the cafeteria--- though I try not to listen. The gossip humans spread is so unintellgible just the sound of it would probably lower my IQ. 

So, in short, I wasn't joking when I said I was awesome. I bet you agree with me now, eh? 

And even if you don't think I'm awesome (and you'd be terribly wrong), I can confidently say there are hundreds of grateful people that do. Now, now. I'm not the most personable werewolf around, and definatley not the most tolerable. I can go Hulk when you piss me off. And no, that's not a warning. Its a promise. 

Speaking of 'Hulk,' here comes my personal favorite part of being me. 

I'm a self-proclaimed mother-effing superhero.