“You are mine.”

A male standing in front of me is a strong werewolf.

His eyes catch me first.

Why, you ask? Because those were the eyes of a killer.

"Who are you?" I asked. He wasn't one of my pack, and I've never seen him.

“A rogue revenger." He answered with a faint smile.

Was it him? The notorious werewolf in Portland? Every pack was warned of him. But they never could prepare them self for a path of destruction.

But why he appeared in front of me?

I wasn't sure what to believe. Honestly, I wasn't one of those people who stayed up night and day wondering about the mysterious, dangerous rogue.

A voice sounded just as I wanted to ask further.

"Ms. Mars!"

I moaned and looked up my head. The vision before me stated to be clear. I had my hand moved, touching a pencil.

Wait, why there was a pencil? What about that man?

"Ms. Mars, wake up. This is a place for learning, not sleeping!"

I jump up abruptly from that. Only to be greeted by the face of Mr. Matthews staring down at me with his beady little eyes.

I hear numerous snickers from all around me. I look around the room slowly, seeing all my other class mates laughing. I realized that was just a dream.

I glower at them, like they hadn't fallen asleep in class? Everyone has! Or well, I think so.

"Ms. Mars, if you fall asleep one more time in my class, I will be forced to give you a dentition." He warns, wagging a finger in my face like I was a naughty child who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

I sunk deeper into my seat and pulled my hoodie up closer to my face, as if I wanted to just bury myself away in it and hide. And I did. "It won't happen again." I say, although in the back of my head I knew it probably would.

He gave me one last glare before walking back to the front of the class, going on about something that didn't interest me one bit.

I glance to the clock. Five minutes. He had awaken me for five minutes to hear about his stupid lesson. Really?

I stuff all my books away in my bag, just wanting to get out of this damn school. Once the bell rung, I bolted from my seat like lightening, making my way out the door and to my locker.

Around me, students rushed and pushed their way out of the school, laughing and talking about what there plans were for the weekend. I, unfortunately, wasn't one of those teenagers who would make plans to hang out with friends.

Perhaps because it was because I didn't really have friends. More like I had a friend. Hence, the singular, not plural.

It's not that I was weird, or anti—social or anything, I just didn't.. well, get along with others greatly. I didn't even get along with my own pack.

But like that was no surprise. My dad wasn't in a high place like other kids parents. He was just.. A lap dog, I guess. What I mean by "lap dog" is that if the pack wanted, they could kick him——us—— out so easily. We were no importance of them. My dad just worked in the forest, cutting wood. Supplying them to other members of the pack and obeying any orders from the Alpha.

But he wasn't always like that. My dad use to be a soldier for the pack. Sure, that wasn't top rank, but he helped keep the pack safe. And that was far more honourable than being some lap dog. No one really knew what made him stop doing it. But I knew why.

My mom.

The moment she died, everything about him changed. He stopped taking risk. Stopped laughing. Stopped talking. Stopped everything. He just.. shut off. Although, who wouldn't? She was his mate. The other half of him. And he was doomed to this world to live without her. And everything I did, to my laugh, to my brown hair and blue eyes, reminded him so much of her. For a while, he couldn't look at me without bursting out into some kinda fit.

I didn't know how to deal with it for a while. I was only twelve, and I couldn't fully grasp what was happening. Why my mom wasn't coming home at night, why she wasn't tucking me in, or making us dinner. When my dad explained, I didn't cry. I wasn't really sure what to feel. Then again, I never could decide what to feel. I really wasn't one to cry. Maybe because crying was so foreign to me. I wasn't use to it. I was use to smiling. It all changed that night.

As I laid in bed, thinking back to what he said about my mom never coming home, I cried. I buried my head into a pillow and cried. I cried for her. I cried because I wanted her back so badly.

It never brought her back. The pleading, the crying. Nothing. That's when I discovered crying wasn't worth it.

Once my dad lost that position of fighting for the pack, my friends seemed to drop me. I guess because they all realized their parents were in much higher places.