Fenced In

Filthy Bloodsuckers

"If these sheets were the states, and you were miles away, I'd fold them end over end, to bring you closer to me." -All Time Low: If These Sheets Were The States

Hello beautiful people! This is my first story, so if you have any feedback or criticisms, please comment them and I'll try to fix them! Thanks!

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Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The loud smack of skin on rough canvas echoed through the dark ring. Will squinted as he stepped closer and closer bright pool of light in the center of the ring. Through his rapidly-adjusting eyes, he could see a tall, willowy figure in the center of the square giving a battered punching bag a beating.

"Sam, it's 3:00 in the morning, don't you think it's time to come home?" he tentatively ventured, preparing himself for whatever rebuke he was about to get.

"I'll be home soon. Tell Maddie and Mason not to wait up," the figure said, her voice a low growl almost lost amidst the loud smack of skin on canvas.

"Sam, it's really not healthy-" Will began, but got cut off by the girl.

"WILL, I SAID GO HOME. I'LL BE THERE WHEN I AM." Piercing ice-blue eyes threw daggers at him, and the wolf inside him cowered at the anger and command in his Alpha's voice. If looks could kill, he would be a blonde shadow 6 feet under.

"Okay, okay, sorry Alpha. I'll go home." He muttered, at odds with himself and his commands. Flinching at the look his Alpha threw him, he hurried out, wrinkling his nose at the salty scent of the blood staining the punching bag and dripping over his Alpha's knuckles.

He was worried for her. The rogue attacks over the past month had been more violent than anything else the pack had ever experienced, and he knew Sam blamed herself fore every injury and every death. The latest had been her cousin Callie, and he worried that it had pushed her over the edge.

Something nudged the edge of his thoughts, lassoing around his worries and prodding him to the door. An unspoken command told him to go home.

And he did.

//Samantha//

I was bleeding.

I hadn't noticed until I saw Will's nose wrinkle as he left, and only then did I smell it. But it was alright. The pain kept me going, and beating the shit out of a punching bag kept my mind off the real problem.

The 15 deaths and countless injuries I could have prevented.

I could have stopped the rogues if I hadn't been so distracted with the strange book I had found in the library. The book that had kept me cooped up in my room 24/7 and shut me out from everything else.

"Samantha Prince. What did that punching bag ever do to you?" A silky voice murmured from a dark corner, a hint of laughter infusing the undoubtedly masculine voice with quiet amusement.

I scowled, the intensity and force of my punches increasing, smearing more blood on the sweat-stained white canvas and letting it drip to the floor.

"Markus. What the hell are you doing here?" I growled, not looking at the tall, dark haired figure that had appeared in the edge of my vision.

"Oh, I just wanted to see how my favorite werewolf was doing. As I recall, last time we saw each other, I think you were trying to rip my head off. Right?" Markus said, leaning gracefully agains the ropes that blocked off the boxing ring.

 Hah. Yeah right. I thought, stopping my hits. I turned to him, and with a scowl, told him, "Markus, I sure as hell know you didn't show up at a dingy old gym to talk about our past. What do you want?"

His eyes trailed hungrily over my body, and I suddenly regretted wearing just a sports bra and sweatpants. "Well, I heard you were having trouble with some rouges. Maybe you need some help?" He murmured, stepping closer to me.

"My pack does not need your help, vampire. I snarled at him, anger simmering beneath my skin. How dare he insinuate that my pack needed help from him and his filthy bloodsuckers!

"Dios, calm down. I was just asking!" He chuckled, putting his hands up in quiet surrender.

"Leave. Now. And I maybe won't rip your throat out." I growled at him. He smirked, and with a quiet fwish sound, he vanished.

"Fucking vampires." I muttered, returning to my punching bag with a renewed anger.