i have edited this according to the suggestions so far
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well heres the second chapter, keep in mind it is not near as exciting as the first because it is acting as a bridge from one part of the story to the next. i am uncertain about some of what i wrote but i guess you can just tell me what you think. it is still long so beware
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Chapter 2
In the time it took for me to drag my sore, aching body out of the bed, a million questions had formed in my head. They zoomed around in my mind, some more urgently than others. But I had heard what Rourke said; there was no time for questions now. Somehow this did not surprise me. None of the questions aimed at Rourke were nearly as prudent as the one thrashing most violently around in my thoughts: Why had I accepted what Rourke had said so coolly? Why hadn’t I wanted proof that I was, indeed, a werecat? Why had I agreed to follow him when I knew next to nothing about him?
Perhaps I had already known, subconsciously. Perhaps, in the midst of all the pain, some small part of me had realized what must have happened. I did not want to believe it, but I knew it was true. I knew what I was. I could feel it as if a small beast had just been born inside and was constantly growing, becoming louder and louder. I had seen what I would become.
I glanced over at Rourke and realized for the first time that he really was a werecat, this was what they looked like. I noticed little features in his face that were abnormal; his pupils were slightly vertical and his jaw was set like a predator’s, vicious, stubborn, a steel death trap awaiting its victim. His eyebrows were darker than his dirty blonde hair and they hung over his eyes, casting shadows into their depths, which I suddenly noticed were not only a bright blue but also flecked with hints of lime green. They were bright and surreal. His mouth was a hard line and his cheeks were slightly sallow, he was tall but muscular and his skin was noticeably pale. I realized for the first time that he looked like a monster, and he was.
Had I, too, changed? Was there a distinctly feline look in my eyes, a predator mouth and jaw? On the wall opposite me was a tall ornate mirror. Before I looked in, I tried desperately to recall what I had looked like so I could tell the difference. I knew I had long black hair to my shoulder blades that framed my angular face and navy blue eyes set below thin, dark eyebrows. I knew that I was skinny but not weak and tall, taller than a lot of fourteen-year-olds. With my image fresh in mind, I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
At first I thought I was looking at a stranger. My pupils, like Rourke’s, were vertical and my irises had hints of purple in them. My lanky form was now covered with wiry muscle. My jaw was hard and cruel and my hair was shaggier, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was because of the transformation. I smiled at the mirror, trying to shake off my cruel appearance, but gasped at what I saw. While I did look noticeably more approachable, I also had fangs. They were not hugely obvious, just small and pointed like a couple too many canine teeth. Appalled, I tore my eyes away from my reflection and something caught my eye.
I glanced down at my right arm to see a long slightly wavy scar, pearly white in color, that ran from just above my wrist to a couple inches below the crease of my elbow. I stared at it for a while, taking a moment to comprehend what it was, and all it stood for… How had it healed so fast? I continued to gaze, mesmerized, at the shining whitish line, glimmering slightly in the dim light above us.
I was a werecat. I could see it in my face, and there was no denying it now.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, I narrowly avoided running into the wall near the only door in the room. I thought I heard Rourke snigger. I glared momentarily and then smiled, though his back was to me now. We were exiting the room and it opened up into a long white hallway. I bit my lip to muffle a groan that had escaped me. My calf muscles throbbed, my feet were sore, my hamstrings were pulled tight, every muscle in my body ached, and I could hear my blood pounding in my ears.
Ahead of me, Rourke took a sharp left turn that led to another long white hallway. I stared at the back of his head, suddenly curious about where he was taking me.
“Where are we go…” I started to ask but he cut me off.
“Clan gathering. Now stop asking questions,” he said it kindly but there was a hint of something brewing under there. Like the small monster in me.
“What clan? And what do you mean by a gathering? Where is it? How far away?” I continued anyways, aggravated that he wouldn’t answer me straight.
“There will be time for questions later,” he answered, quickening his pace down the long white hallway that I hadn’t realized we’d entered.
“And there isn’t time now because…?” I asked, half jogging to catch up and seized with a desire to hit him on the back of the head and make him answer.
“We’ve got to hurry,” he answered; at least I think he was answering me but the way he said it sounded like he was talking to himself.
“And you can’t talk while we walk?”
“You certainly are impatient, and it hasn’t even been that long…” his voice trailed off in thought.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” I asked, grinding my teeth. Couldn’t he just say anything straight out?!
“I thought I asked you to stop questioning me,” Rourke answered calmly.
“Well if you wanted me to stop why do you keep dropping little hints that make me curious?!”
“Fair point, fine then… when a person is transformed into a werecat, they become impatient, irritable, and curious. I was wondering why it happened to you so quickly.”
“Well I was already impatient,” I answered thoughtfully, more to myself than to him, “So all werecats are jerks? How do they stay alive without killing each other?”
He laughed softly, “We gain some other traits to balance it out. There are always fights, but they are usually evenly matched.”
“Then how did you kill Guerin?” I asked, trying to get as much out of him as possible before he could refuse my questions.
His answering laugh was cold and cruel, “That? That was easy. Guerin was always a fool. He used every muscle in his body except his brain.”
“Why was he chasing me?”
“To eat you.”
“Then why did you stop him?”
“I had just seen you outrun a grown werecat for nearly three quarters of a mile! You’ve got potential! And with the Clan in the state it is, we need all the help we can get.”
“What state is the clan in? And what the heck is the clan?”
He seemed to deliberate for a second then shook his head and said, “Not now. Some other time. We need to go now; I can’t keep the whole Clan waiting.”
“Why would the whole clan wait for you?”
He threw me an annoyed look and strode briskly forward.
Another desire to beat the answers out of him violently came to me but I sensed I shouldn’t push it. I looked around anxiously and spotted an old metal sign resting beside a door labeled ‘exit’. Intrigued at the slight chance of finding out where I was; I took a step closer. The sign was rusty and covered with about an inch of dust. This surprised me, the rest of the building was spotless. There must have been some truth in what Rourke had told me because I was overcome with curiosity. With a quick glance toward Rourke, who was approaching the exit, I stepped up to the sign and slid my hand silently across to brush off the dust.
It read:
St. Fredrick’s Hospital for the Mentally Impaired
founded 1967 by St. Fredrick
“We shall never turn away those who are shunned from society”.
St. Fredrick’s Hospital for the Mentally Impaired?! I was in a nuthouse! Oh boy, Rourke had some explaining to do!
“Rourke?! Why the heck are we in St. Fredrick’s Hospital for the Mentally Impaired?! Do you work here is that it? And you thought it would be funny to feed a werecat story to one of the patients? How long have I been here? How did I get here?! I’m not insane! I can’t believe I actually thought it was true! Werecats?!” Most of what I said were angry accusations I did not truly believe. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a werecat.
“Incredible, how quick you are to turn on me, the one who saved you,” he shook his head, grabbed my arm (Let go of me, you freak!) and pulled me through the exit and into the street. A huge sign on front of the asylum read: condemned. Several windows were boarded up and the roof was sunken. Suddenly I remembered my face in the mirror and knew I was being ridiculous. I had already forgotten what I looked like, solid proof of what I was. I raised a hand and touched my pointed teeth just in case and then turned to Rourke with an apologetic look on my face, “Sorry?”
He looked amused and then he laughed, “You are definitely one of us.”
I attempted a smile; although I was sure it looked more sheepish than happy.
“Come on, we’ve still got a ways to go,” he was still smiling.
He crossed the street confidently and walked straight into a huge grove of trees. Before following, I glanced up and down the street but was disappointed. It was unfamiliar, a large bustling town lay about fifty yards to my left and then the asphalt road turned into a small dirt one on my right. I followed Rourke.
He didn’t say much as we walked through the forest and I didn’t provoke him. I was busy gazing at the tall trees and dense shrubbery, tripping over outstretched tree roots and thorn bushes, rubbing my sore muscles, and occasionally fingering my scar.
The sunlight burst through the trees as if it were overjoyed to deliver warmth to the world and the scenery grew steadily greener the deeper we went in. Overall, the place seemed a very strange spot to find two werecats, killers of the night. Every once in a while I heard a small sound, but it turned out to be a songbird preparing its nest or a small animal burrowing underground. Apparently, my hearing had improved.
We continued on our unmarked path until it was nearly dark and I was burning with a fierce combination of exhaustion, impatience, and hunger.
“How much longer do we have to go?” I asked as my stomach gave an impatient growl.
Rourke seemed surprised to hear my voice, as if he had forgotten I was here. He studied me oddly for a moment and I gave him a “stupid, what are you lookin’ at?” look.
He seemed amused by my impatience but then a sympathetic look stole across his weathered face, “I’m sorry, I forgot that you just transformed. Most werecats get about three days’ rest after that and you’ve hardly had one and a half! You must be exhausted.”
“Ya’ think?” I growled, irritated that he had deprived me of what was, apparently, much needed sleep.
“It’s not far now, we should reach the gathering spot well before midnight,” he looked at me as if this information should encourage me.
It did not.
“Midnight?!” I shouted at him, “I’m dead on my feet and now I have to stay up all night for this council thing?!”
“Yes,” he answered simply, apparently used to high tempers. I wondered where his was.
With a dramatic sigh, I continued onward. My fingers once again ran softly over the shimmering scar on my arm.
And I was off to meet a bunch of irritable bloodthirsty werecats who were constantly in war in the middle of a dark forest at midnight, my only acquaintance being a man who refused to tell me where I was and what had happened to me.
And I hadn’t even looked both ways before crossing the street, shame on me.
***
well what do you think?
I think having the changes in bold isn't really necessary, and I would take them out, since they kept distracting me from reading the story. Just a suggestion though. 
But anyways, that was really good.