He freezes, shivers running through both our bodies. "Mona!" He almost shouts in agitation, then pulls away from me and almost runs to the door. He closes it hastily, rattling the lock as well. Nervousness erupts inside me as I examine his beautiful figure. I've never seen him look or act like this before.He comes back to me, scrutinizing my face, my body. I begin to feel even more nervous and self-conscious when I realize that not only am I dressed in a flimsy, see-through hospital gown over a tank top and shorts, but that we are completely alone. I am suddenly even more aware of him, of his attraction. Butterflies flutter in my stomach.He leans into me, and my anticipation rises. Without a word, he leans forward and takes the sleeve of the dress in his hand, pulling it off in one fluid motion. I'm so afraid of him right now, but at the same time, I feel a heartbreaking desire. What is wrong with me? Have I caught another cold?Is it the desire to "bond" that I've heard werewolves

I've never been good at making decisions. Especially important ones. Especially ones that have the potential to end the entire existence of the werewolf race or Shifter. "Mona, honey, you seem to faint every time you walk into this room." A pearly, magical laugh comes to my ears. Two guards rush to my side, and though my eyes are closed, I can feel their heavy footsteps. It is Griffin who approaches me first, his cold hands lightly touching my arms, then brushing my forehead. His touch is icy at first, then filled with a warmth that marks me like an iron. A scream echoes through the room, and it takes me a moment to realize it's mine. Each touch seems to get worse. I don't remember it hurting this much before. My eyes open and the first thing I see is Griffin's face, twisted with worry. "What's wrong, Mona?" he asks me softly. I say nothing, reaching with a thin arm to touch my f

"What are you doing here?" asks Jake resignedly after I refuse to address Griffin. "Did you come here to gloat?" "Well, I was supposed to come here to inform you that you'll either be exiled or exterminated this Saturday, but I'm sure that's a bit of a downer for all of you right now... so I'll try to start with some good news. We all look at him dryly as he makes a big show of trying to think of something. "Yeah, yeah we get it," I gasp, "nothing good for us offenders. I mean, we only found the human destined to save our entire werewolf race and essentially delivered her into your greedy hands. "Now, now, not so fast." He laughs, "You seem to forget that you were actually trying to get her away from us when we caught you." "Only because we were afraid something like this would happen to us." "Look, don't get mad at me. I'm just the messenger," he warns, step

I honestly tried to change myself. It has been difficult, of course. I've had a hard time stopping myself from lashing out at my teachers, but the way they've blamed me for my lack of progress over the past few days has really pissed me off. It's not like I haven't been in the garden for countless hours, forcing my restless mind to meditate as the rude Master Spier suggested. It's not as if I haven't studied the books on basic werewolf etiquette that Lady Miranda ordered me to read. And more importantly, it's not like I haven't participated in the daily task of scrubbing the prophecy I'm supposed to be a crucial part of about a million times. I hate the analysis class the most. It's the worst. I hate looking for things that simply do not exist. I don't really know what Mr. Vigilance hopes I'll find. He told me to do everything; to run my thumb over every letter of the original text to sleep with a co

I have nothing to say. Nothing I wouldn't want to say. There are only meager feelings of jealousy left in my heart. I want to say that I desire to keep my guardian angel all to myself. But I can't. Because that's what it has to be. My angel, sent from Heaven to protect me. The thought brings a small smile to my lips, which leads to a wider smile on the handsome man's face. He reaches out, dips his hand in the water and rubs against my cheek with a rough thumb. And the strangest thing is that I really want him to do it again. For the moment of never ending. And he does, bringing his other thumb to my other cheek, rubbing his hands against my skin. It burns. It burns like nothing I've ever experienced before. It takes me a second to realize he's trying to wash the dirt and grime off of me. A carefully veiled excitement begins to occur in my mind. I want to see how far it goes. The real question is, how