Fight Or Flight Novels & Stories

"Don't!" I breathed desperately. The towering creature's dark eyes grabbed me, blood ran down his face, fur messy and bleeding from the fight. Fear was rising in my chest. My heart raced as I felt, the weight of my life, pressing against my neck, in the form of the slick points of werewolf fangs. Bile rose in my throat, "Please," I begged. I never beg. Adrenaline buzzed in my blood, and I was absolutely terrified.

A huge brown beast now stands in his place. Terrified, Karen jumps back a foot, her pupils dilated. Every one of Jake’s transformations had been in a controlled environment, with his beast chained, but now she stares at one of the most dangerous and powerful animals out there in the eyes. Her heart races in her chest, her blood swims with endorphins, or is it adrenaline? The fight-or-flight response, mostly flight, is kicking in. She begins to take steps back, ready to sprint off should the brown beast get any ideas.

Fear and anger surged within me, a primal force awakening deep within my soul. One of them reached out, his grimy hand inching closer to my trembling form. It was as if time stood still. At that moment, my survival instincts kicked into overdrive. Without conscious thought, I lashed out, my fist connecting with the man's face. The impact sent him crashing to the ground, blood oozing from his broken nose. I couldn't believe the strength that surged through me, and the burning sensation in my body intensified. It was as if a dormant beast had awakened inside, urging me to fight, to survive. I heard a voice, primal and feral, urging me to embrace the darkness within.

She had yet to disappointed by her men. "Hurt? What do you mean hurt?" "He gouged out his eyes and shot him in the knee." "He did what!?" There are two different types of people fight or flight. Some people get thrust into a situation and they're overcome with fear looking for quickest way to escape. Even if someone were to tackle them to the ground, if they fight back usually it's just enough to get away. Then you have the fighters. The ones who will scratch, bite, kick, punch, hell probably insult your mother the entire time they're doing it. The eyes are such a fragile but easily targeted part of the human body. Even if you close your eyelids someone could

Delirium, that's all she felt. Fear brings rage, that hot burning anger that seeks to harm, and it is a physical button better left alone. When we see something that frightens us, a primitive part of the brain is activated to produce aggression. So, Harlow couldn't help but run as fast as she could in the human figure, bursting outside with one determination...Michael. How could he? The feelings that consumed her at the moment helped her; they helped her run faster. She had a vague idea of where she was heading, and she wasn't scared. Unlike last time, she was ready to do some damage.

Instantly, tension coils around my gut, and my heart goes into overdrive, pounding away as I contemplate my options: fight or flight? My eyes widen a fraction, sweat beading on my forehead, and my breath catches in my throat. Flight, my mind screams. No way in hell am I taking on those five goons leaping out of that van, brandishing wickedly long metal pipes. I bolt, legs pumping as adrenaline courses through my veins, desperate to escape their clutches.

Our bodies were intertwined as we struggled to survive in a violent dance of conflict. Our bodies tangled as we struggled frantically. He was a big guy so fighting and struggling with him was not easy, it seemed to me like he wasn’t putting up enough resistance because he hadn’t made an effort to strike me and I knew that if he was able to get one strike in I was definitely a goner. My blood was racing with adrenaline, which gave me the motivation I needed. I resisted the darkness's attempt to engulf me by fighting with every ounce of strength and fiber in my body.

She seemed scared for a while, but when I told her about my special predicament, all her fear turned to rage and for that moment she wanted to go all out on Sarah before she calmed again. I briefly wondered where the sudden rage surge came from. You. You are their Alpha now. The same intense feeling you get to protect your pack is the same feeling they get when they feel their Alpha is being threatened. It is the way it works. Primal instincts. Determining our fight or flight response, and in this case, its fight. We want to fight for each other. And in that moment I decided. They deserve to know if they are in danger, they should know so they can be prepared.

I'm sure they didn't appreciate the beauty and only noticed his eyes were different. I kicked his ass in racquetball and he kicked mine on the mat. This was not self-defense. Brack truly wanted me to kill this guy. I'm not sure why it was so important to him. I also understood on a deeper level that I was scared shitless. The thought of going toe to toe with a killer froze my insides. Fight or flight, Brack called it. I didn't tell him how terrified I was, but he knew. Brack was trying to train the flight instinct out of me.

Just remember that one day, I'll return the humiliation you gave me today a thousand times over! I couldn't be bothered to argue with him and turned back to the spectator stand. Meanwhile, Harken barely stepped onto the arena within the three-minute mark. The werewolf pack was massive, having developed over thousands of years with countless members. Among them, there were over a thousand young males around 20 years old. Werewolf battles had no fancy tricks. There were just brute power clashes. There were very few rules too. One lost the match if one was knocked off the arena.