Sharks and Wolves

Dedicated to Dadelik for inspiring me to write my own "Rejected Werewolf/Mate" story but with my own twist, with mature and legal concepts, and now I am able to write my own version of the popular plot. Hopefully it's as good as her own story, "Paying for his Mistakes," and if you haven't already read it, go. NOW! It's amazing. You won't regret it.

Dedicated to my best friend, who is not only my friend on Wattpad but I see her in my school hallways everyday. Though we see less and less of each other as assignments and work smother our social lives, I know I can always talk to her without feeling embarrassed or ashamed. She is an amazing writer with a broad perspective on life that I really admire and respect. She's certainly one of the kind. So this is to you, for supporting me and helping me since Jr. High. Thanks Thamy. :)

Kayla Schaefer

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The harsh poundings against wood startled me, distracting my attention from the plate in my hand. It slipped from my grasp and crashed onto the tile floor, shattering close to my toes. I shrieked as glass shards scattered everywhere, too close to my naked shoes, and I leapt as far as I could to avoid the shrapnel. A slight burn under my soles made me wince uncomfortably and I cursed under the breath, realizing a small shard had embedded itself in my flesh. Limping with a sneer, a exited the kitchen and passed through the living room to open up the front door.

I was instantly greeted by a huge gush of the frosty, late fall air and my neighbor's wet face, her daughter clinging to her knee-length skirt's hem. I was instantly concerned because the sky was clear of clouds, the silver moon dominating the sky, obviously not raining, yet her face was glistening with a wet substance staining her cherry, swelled cheeks. Without words, I stepped aside and waved them in furiously, closing the door behind them with a slam and welcomed them into my living room, warm from the fire blaming brightly, cracking and snapping loudly on the other side of the room.

She sniffled, her nose red as a cherry, and offered me a pathetic smile as she led her daughter onto my couch, letting the little girl sink into the gleaming black leather and blanketed her with a faux-sheepskin throw over I had rested over its arms. The seven year old clutched the soft material close and cocooned it around her frail little body. Her mother caressed the young girl's head of chocolate locks and kissed her forehead while I automatically turned on the TV for her to watch, tuning the channel to cartoons. She gestured her daughter to stay put as we left her alone in the living and isolated ourselves in the brightly lit kitchen.

I instantly acknowledged her disheveled state. Her hair was out of place, greasy and limp, lifeless over her low shoulders. Her eyes was accented with purple bags under her thin lashes, her eyes wet, and her cheeks glistening with small streams over a pink blush overwhelming most of her face. Her body was covered in goose bumps, pale and wind bitten. Her white skirt was dirty, splattered with green smears from the lawn and splatter of brown, assuming it was dirt. Her shirt was loose and a faded rose, covered with a lazy sweatshirt with the NAVY logo on the left breast.

"What is it Emma?" I asked her as I readied a glass of fine red wine from the counter.

She collapsed in a chair and rested her face in her palms, a choked sob escaping her lips. Her slender form shook and shivered. I grabbed the half empty glass from the granite surface and rushed to her side, instantly pulling her close and rubbing her rigid shoulders. Her head fell on my shoulder and her unruly hair curtained my face. I couldn't understand her words she mumbled out, her loud sobs slurring her speech.

"He wants her," I managed to hear from her lips.

"Who? Who wants who," I demanded, snatching her face in between my steel grip and forcing her to stare at me. Her wide blue eyes were red with tears and angry with burst vessels. She gulped and the once shattered young mother suddenly reassembled, eyes tightening and narrowing. Not at me directly, thank god, but at whoever forced her to refuge at my house for the night.