Protector

Chapter 1: Pressured

****** Okay so this I my first story and I'm really nervous about it. Please tell me what you think, and I'm open to suggestions as well. Please help me out. Thank you. :)***************

Chapter One: Pressured

Pulse rising, ground's a blur underneath me, the wind whipping through my fur. It's just me and the forest; no one else to disturb me and my moment of freedom. The trees whipping past me, I'm going so fast its as if I was in a sea of green and the waves were crashing all around me in a peaceful manner as if there were music playing. Peaceful classical music, violins more like, sweet soft violins. Their strings playing softly as they are being plucked by their masters; obeying every chord not muddling up a note.. Feeling myself getting in the zone, my mind put at ease when I suddenly heard a small whisper snake its way into my closed mind.

I quickly pushed the intruding thought away, trying my hardest to ignore it. Although it did tense me up again, I could feel the knot between my shoulders tightening up once more. Not replying to the little voice in my head but as if talking to myself I thought,

No. Not yet. Just a few more minutes.

I promptly gained speed, scurrying faster, hoping that just maybe the deeper into the forest I get; I'll no longer hear the call.. But morosely, I was painfully wrong. This time the thought was more insistent and demanding. There was no escaping this not so "little voice" anymore as it no longer gave me the privacy of my own mind like it had did in the beginning.

"Addison. Come now. Your father needs to see you." My mother demanded.

"Oh come on mama. Please, just a little longer?" I begged. I was moderate at getting what I wanted. Whether it was staying out late or getting out of grounding, it's a straightforward deal usually as my parents are pretty relaxed.

"No. Home. Now." That was her final word on it. My mother was hardly ever stern with me; it must be important. She wasn't the type of person to be candid; always the quiet, reserved type my mother is. But nevertheless, when my mother was vocal, you listened.

I sighed, turned around and headed back from which I came. No time to enjoy the free from strife scenery that I could gratefully enjoy on my first trip through it. I couldn't hear the violins anymore, just the whistling of the wind whipping past my ears.  I couldn't just have one day of uninterrupted armistice could I?

Rushing back, I quickly came upon the little shack that had my clothes stowed away in it. The shack was an adequate size, big enough to fit 6 people in it maybe, but it was of that size because of how big our wolves were. We had to be able to fit 1 of us in there. The shack was about about 7 feet high, made of rusted tin, but well put together for it to be as old as it was. It was built by my eldest brother Jose when we were younger, such the goober, but a crafty one really. That was back before he became a douche and always moaning and groaning about being alone forever and never finding his mate. I shifted back to my human form and walked in, slipping my clothes on slowly, procrastinating going back to the life of intense responsibility; I didn't want to go back, so I stretched the time as far as could without getting into more trouble.

I walked out of the tiny shed, onto the dewy grass, and started to trudge across the yard, when I sniffed the air. The air was filled with wonderful scents, it's like I could see the aromas dancing as they made their way into my nostrils. It was spaghetti and bread sticks! That was my all time favorite dish, especially due to that it was one rarely cooked. Father never really cared for the dish too much, it was traditional for it to be made on days like my birthday, or a day we were celebrating something that I've accomplished. That's what kind of threw me for a loop actually. My birthday wasn't for another two weeks and I haven't accomplished anything here lately. Something's up and I can't figure it out. Why make my favorite dish unexpectedly and we aren't celebrating anything? It doesn't make sense.