Eleanor

01 | un

A werewolf living amongst humans was uncanny but not completely unheard of. Others couldn't handle the pack life and broke away from their packs and moved to the city, although not completely broken away. Most were meant to keep a link with their packs as though not to be mistaken for rouge. Usually this link was through a brand located on the upper right hip. Brands varied from pack to pack so werewolves could distinguish who belonged to who.

It was a form of slavery, in my opinion; to be branded and "belong" to a pack. It was possession and the man who controlled those under his influence was known as alpha.

Alpha. The man who chooses how to rule over his possessions. He could be cruel or kind and his pack would still show the utmost loyalty to him.

I retract my previous statement. It's not slavery, it's a puppet master controlling his puppeteer and stringing them along to do his bidding.

It was psychotic and that's why I had made it my mission to stay as far away from pack life as possible.

Glancing in the mirror I looked at the scars along my own hip where I once held a symbol bonding myself to a pack.

"It was the price to pay for freedom," I reminded myself as I gently ran my finger along the broken skin that seemed never to heal just as the scars running down my back.

But freedom came with its own costs.

I quickly pulled my shirt down as not to relive memories from the past. That was the last thing I needed.

I jumped, startled as my home phone went off. A cell phone was far too risky. They would find me.

Picking it up I waited for the other end to respond.

One thing I've learned is that you should never respond first when there are people after you.

I was met with a shrill "Hello," and I almost collapsed in relief. The anxiety never truly leaves, nor does the fear.

"Hello Marissa." I never thought I'd appreciate hearing the squeaky voice of my co-worker until this very moment.

"Ellie you're covering my shift tonight and you're closing."

Marissa McCarthy. 27. With a head full of poorly dyed red hair and clothes tainted with the lingering scent of cigarettes and sex, she wasn't the worst person I've encountered but that didn't necessarily mean if, given the chance, I wouldn't snap her neck as if it were a mere twig.

There was really no point in arguing with her because one way or another she'd get her way, whether it was spreading her legs for the boss or screeching in the next person's ear.

"Fine."

And with that I slammed my phone back into the receiver and began prepping myself for the hours of hectic busywork ahead.

••••

I'm slowly starting to get back into the hang of things so I apologize if this chapter is extremely short.