The Rogue's Human Mate

Prologue

Lily White's POV.

For a four year old, I had a pretty good memory, though it wasn't good in the sense that it was a memory to be cherished and more like forgotten.

But I guess seeing your parents killed in a car accident did that to you.

I remember it very distinctly. The metallic smell of blood and smoke, my mother's blonde ringlets splayed against the airbag as if she were sleeping and my father covered in a deep scarlet. It was traumatizing, and 'till this day, I still have random nightmares of that night.

Despite my parents dying, I came out of the dreadful night with a few scratches and bruises. I barely understood the whole concept, just knowing that my parents were hurt, but it wasn't until some strange looking woman took me away from the hospital whispering softly into my ear, "I'm afraid you will never be seeing your parents again."

And that's how I understood.

After being taken care of by the social worker, it was just a few days that I stood before two unburied graves. I was dressed in black, staring unblinkingly at the graves with mixed feelings. A large part was screaming for my parents back, another angry that they had left me with this strange lady who owned way too many cats, but there was that tiny, tiny part of me that had accepted it.

Nevertheless, I still bawled my eyes out in the end when the social worker attempted to leave with me in tow.

While the lady struggled with ushering back into her car, a woman dressed in a long black gown stared at me with wide, red-cracked eyes. I would always remember the first time I saw her because I was at a sudden loss of breath at her beauty.

She was flawless in every way with tanned, unblemished skin and a pair of blue eyes framed with thick lashes. It was the sight that would send any teenage girl into a jealous rage.

But as I passed her, I halted. A strange feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as warning bells were alarming my instincts. Her and the tall, muscular man with the black eyes were sending me signals that screamed out one word: Danger.

As the social worker dragged me away, I casted a glance over my shoulder and stared at the woman and her companion. So entrancing, yet so deadly, I remembered thinking.

"Hurry up, Lily," The social worker rushed, and I forced my eyes away from the couple and stumbled after her.

*~*

That strange couple?

They adopted me.

From what I was told, Maria, my foster mother, was attacked by a Rogue wolf, before my mother had discovered them fighting while she was patrolling in her police car before shooting a bullet between the eyes of the wolf. That was how my mother came to know Maria and where their friendship began.

This story was recounted to me at a young age.

I remember snuggling beneath my Dora the Explora quilt as long, elongated shadows flickered with the movement of the candle. Maria sat on the foot of my, gazing at me with a fond, motherly look in those warm blue eyes. Whenever she stared at me like that, I was always reminded of my mother embracing me comfortingly.

After she had retold the story, my eyes became droopy and tired and I had forgotten the haunting look of the scary shadows that chased at the light.

Maria had leant over and kissed me on the forehead before whispering, "We're Werewolves, honey."

I didn't truly know what a Werewolf was until I was about ten. It was about the time I had become interested in books and I had began reading stories about Were's. I made a new discovery each day, learning their agile abilities, their senses, feelings, mates and their timeless beauty.