I walk away form the school as if I had a purpose. When I'm sure no one is looking, I dash into a little inlet of forest that runs right next to the school. In fact, the whole town is surrounded by forest. I love it.

I’m not supposed to go home this way, because James says we might be seen, but I hate crowds. They make me edgy, which is very dangerous. I’m pretty careful anyways. So I just take the shortcut. Once I’m deep enough into the trees that no one can see me, I stop. This is the part James absolutely hates: I turn wolf. I hate the actual transformation, because it feels like I’m being ripped apart. But once I change, it’s a wonderful feeling. I feel free, especially when I start running. And that’s what I do. My jet-black form speeds through the trees, the breeze ruffling my fur. I never feel happier than this.

I’m at my house within a few minutes. I didn’t even break a sweat. I change back and walk into my back yard and into my house. Both of my parents are gone, so the house is quiet. I set my bag down by the kitchen table and look around for something to eat. I grab a couple of cookies from the cookie jar and sit down to do my homework. My mother comes home about an hour later. She comes up to me and kisses the top of my head.

"How was school, sweetie?"

"Eventful." I answer coolly.

"Aye? How?" she asks, so I tell her. After all, she deserves to know the daily struggles due to my heritage. She is my mother.

"Oh, if those boys really knew. Then they would learn their place." I grin, because she knows that will never happen.

My mother is a lot like me. Or actually, I’m a lot like her. I get my personality form her. She’s Irish, and you can definitely tell it from her curly red hair and green eyes, and her accent. And her temper. It’s hard to get her mad, but when it happens-well, I wouldn’t want to be you then.

She tousles my hair. "We’re having pork chops tonight." My mouth immediately starts watering.

"They’re cooked. Fried." No matter, my mother is an excellent cook. My pack frequently stops over for dinner, when we don’t decide to hunt.

"I’ll still be waiting." She smiles and tousles my hair again, the gets up to start supper. I finish my homework soon after- it’s never really all that hard- and head upstairs to my room.

Before we go farther, there’s one thing I have to tell you: I have a passion for drawing. I have an easel in one corner of my room, and my works absolutely cover my walls.

I sit down at my desk, pull out my drawing pad, and start sketching. James’ birthday is coming up and I want to make him something special. So, I decide to draw us, the whole pack, in both human and wolf form, under a full moon. I’m sure he’ll love it. He always likes my art.

I’m busy sketching in the second human figure when my dad comes up the stairs. I grunt a "Hello," focused on my work. My father grunts back, knowing better than to interrupt me while I’m working. I get the werewolf form my dad, who’s almost pure-blooded Navajo. He wasn’t a werewolf, but my his father was. My father explained when we first found out about me, that the gene seemed to skip generations. But, even so, my dad is extraordinary for a human. He’s a cop and a good one.

I’m almost finished with the last human when the smell of fried pork chops creeps into my room. I instantly slam my sketchbook shut, get up and gallop downstairs. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. After all, I’m half animal- so therefore, instinct rules half the time. I’m down there right as my mom takes them out. I try not to drool as I take a plate and slap a chop onto it.

“They’re still hot.” She warns. I shrug. I barely felt it, as my reflexes are so fast. But to placate her, I blow on it. They’re good hot, anyways. Why cook them if you’re not going to eat them that way? I pile my plate with food, because I have a feeling that tonight will be long and I’ll need the energy. My father comes in a minute later, takes one look at my plate and says, “Border check?” I nod, my mouth full of dead pig. (Oh, that makes it sound so appetizing…) He only shakes his head. He has a tall, lean muscular figure, with shoulder length black hair pulled into a ponytail, and dark brown eyes flecked with gold.

“I honestly don’t know why he makes you guys do this,” he says, referring to James, “Vampires haven’t been around for over seventy years- your grandfather’s pack killed off the last ones.” I shrug. My unquestioning loyalty to my alpha overrides my instinct to agree with my parents.

“Precaution, I suppose. Promoting pack unity. I don’t know. Besides, vampires don’t just stay in one place. We’re also just guarding our territory. It’s a wolf thing…” My father says nothing, just digs in to his potatoes. He knows when he’s been beaten. I quickly finish my dinner and put my plate in the sink.

“I might be later this time. I have the southern border.” I say, walking out the door. We live in the northern part of town, which is surrounded by about four miles thick of trees and only one road into and out of the town. A lot of territory to cover.