TAMING THE LOST WOLF.

I suddenly cannot take in a breath. I had failed to notice his beauty earlier, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.Copper blue eyes looking back at mine with a sick sense of humor behind them, long feminine lashes, thick eyebrows, high cheekbones, full lips, and a jaw that looks strong enough to withstand a punch from The Hulk, my breath catches and the water in my mouth goes down the wrong tube.I try to hold the cough that wants to expel the unwanted visitor in my trachea in an attempt not to make a fool of myself, even as I feel the attention of the table turn to me. I break out into a fit of coughs, blood rushing to my face.“Are you okay?” my brother's voice is filled with concern. His eyes ask me ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’He offers me his glass and rubs my back as I regain my composure, his hand a little too rough.“I’m okay, thanks,” I mutter.“Sorry,” I say to the table, my eyes fixed on my plate, and everybody gets back to their conversations in the same second.

In the forest deep where shadows fade,A wolf is born of blood by fate.A soul gone rogue a wolf untamed,The fate of wolves, by him decreed.This is the prophecy that brought me into town. A prophecy as old as the first lyncan. Some believe the prophesied wolf to be a savior, others the enemy.Wolves seek it for their packs, hunters seek to kill it. Every few couple of decades, tension rises among wolves and between wolves and hunters, as rumours of the prophesied wolf shake both communities. Recently, the rumors had resurfaced, as hunters and wolves both moved closer to Crimson Hills, believing for some reason, that the prophesied wolf would rise here.Soon after Lucien Gray was killed, wolves in Crimson Hills began to drop like flies. Killed by other wolves from different packs. Recently, the attacks had reduced after Damian’s pack caught one of the perpetrators and annihilated his whole pack. Again, I wonder why my father would dare cross the young alpha.Nonetheless, my father be

I swim in the darkness for what feels like forever, intoxicated by the feeling. Then the memories come flooding in.I see myself returning from my morning run. I'm in my white trainers, yoga pants, and a tank top. Queen’s ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ blasts in my headphones. I’m happy, loving the feel of the morning breeze slapping my face, and the wide smile on my face does not hide it.I always run around the estate and go straight into the house to shower, but this time, for some reason, I decide to pass the house and head for the woods. I always thought the planted trees to be well arranged, and the little flowerbeds and bushes my mother added when she still had the strength to move about, add an atmospheric feel to the woods.I breathe in the cool morning air, ‘today’s going to be a good day,’ I think. A walk in these woods always makes everything better, Father says, and even all Damian has to do when he is in a foul mood is take a walk in the woods.I always wondered why my father insis

CONAN. “You go on ahead, I'll text you later.” I turn to Dan, my mind on nothing but the familiar scent of anxiety, pheromones, and this time absolute fear. My wolf is restless. “Why?” he asks. “I think the grays are around, you don’t smell that?” He sniffs the air and shrugs. “No.” I try to relax my shoulders and act indifferent as I say, “Oh doesn't matter, either way, I need to turn in. It’s been a long day for this wolf.” He takes the cue quickly. “Alright, I'll text you with any updates…” he pauses for a second and sends me a curious look. “Are you sure you’re, okay? You’ve been off the whole day.” “Yeah,” I hope my voice sounds reassuring. “Totally, probably new environment jitters or something, I’ll be fine.” Anyone that says 'yeah, totally,' is a liar." He says , before turning and leaving with a brisk bye. One reason Dan and I work so well is because he is very good at minding his business, and I am not. Almost polar opposites, we complement each other very well. He

CONAN. The minute Damian is gone and I’m sure he is out of earshot; I’m flipping the table and screaming into the cushions of my sofa. The glass from the broken coffee table pierces the skin of my bare feet, but my brain barely registers the pain. My wolf, twice as angry as I am, threatens to take over. In this state, I wouldn’t be able to control him once he takes over. ‘A wolf’s power comes from control, the minute you lose it, you’re as good as dead.’ I remember my father’s advice. Control. The one thing I need to be a good leader, and the one thing I may never achieve with my impulsive personality. I attempt a deep breath. ‘Calm down.’ I say to my wolf. But no matter what I keep thinking about, no matter where I try to escape, Damian’s face follows me. How dare he! I take in another deep breath. The ring, still in my hand, burns through my palm, the pain now a welcome distraction from my anger. Something to keep me in the present and prevent my wolf from taking over. Still, m