Couldn't think of anything catchy for the title. I figured I may as well put up a little sample of my current stories so that you guys can tell me if it's good and what I need to work on to make it better. I have several unfinished, but I'm not sure if I want to show all of them here. So I'll let you guys see an exerpt from my main story that I'm working on. Here;
The black shape moved toward me, eyes reflecting electric blue. Like a shadow amongst shadows, it crept closer. I stood, long brown hair flying behind me, as if trying to coax me into running. But that wasn’t how you handled these situations. You never ran from a wolf. You never ran from any predator. That made you prey, and you’d get taken down like a helpless fawn. You must stand your ground, show them you’re not scared. Most importantly, you have to believe it yourself. They will smell it even if you try to fake it. You never run, never scream, and you have to believe that you have no fear.
Besides, I couldn’t run. There were two more behind me. The breathed out in gravelly huffs, and I could picture their breath steaming on the air if it wasn’t the middle of July. I smiled at the black one when one of the others snapped a twig. They’d left great gaps to either side of me. That still didn’t coax me into running. The black one, the leader of the gang, growled. In a moment he was in the air, flying toward me. I leapt to meet him, with the other two at my heels.
The thrill of the change was amazing. If anyone ever captured it on camera, someone would cry at the slow-motion replay. When you watched, you became addicted to the sight, and when the change was done, you wished it had lasted longer than a split second, just so you could watch it for longer. But when it was you changing, the adrenaline rush was the big thing. To feel your muscles pack up tight where you can literally feel the energy in them, like some instant steroid, it gets you going. You really want to laugh or scream, but then you don’t have the right equipment anymore. You’ve got fur all over and canines four inches long, and you suddenly feel huge. Because you are. You’re the size of a Clydesdale, or bigger, in some cases. It truly is a beautiful thing to witness.
The impact was practically nothing to me or him, but it got a snarl out of both of us. The dark one snapped at my shoulder, grabbing at fur rather than skin. We fell to the ground twisting and turning, nipping and snapping, snarling and growling. The other two were in the mix in a moment, joining in with another cacophony of noises. The four of us crashed into trees and crushed logs as we tumbled along, a jumbled mess of fur and teeth. Sometimes I was facing the little silver one, and in a moment I was clawing at the other brown one, and then in an instant I was back battling the black one. And then the cycle would start again.
We ended up on the creek bank where the water hissed at us to get away. Squirrels chided us to stop making so much racket, and dogs down the street had begun to howl. Finally I got the brown one down on the ground. I nipped at his chest and legs until he surrendered, and then I backed off. The black wolf and the little silver one were gone, replaced by a pair of humans. They stood watching, laughing as I took my opponent down. I phased again as I stepped back, once again the girl in tattered jeans and a t-shirt with brown hair down to the middle of her back.
“Ha! You’re it.” I said when my voice was restored. The boy that stood before me was about a year younger than me, with chocolate-brown hair the slung down over his forehead. He was somewhat scrawny, but I knew better than to think he was useless.
“No, I’m done,” was his reply. “This game gets boring.”
“Oh, come on, Toma, don’t be such a baby.” This voice was feminine, belonging to the girl whose wolf form was small and silvery. We called her Ema, which was her middle name. Her real name was Miroslava, and she hated to be called that. She rolled her eyes at her twin. They were nothing alike, of course, in personality or looks. While Toma had dark brown hair, Ema’s was a more silvery shade of light brown. They were both quick, but in size they looked to be completely unrelated. Toma dwarfed his sister, with her only at around five feet tall, and him closer to six. He wasn’t afraid to remind her of it, either. Ema was witty, thorough and thoughtful, whereas Toma was more impulsive, reacting before thinking. And easily bored.
“I’m serious!” he cried. “How many times have we played this game before? It’s the same thing over and over again. It’s really boring.”
“Toma, you listen now,” Lindor jumped in, in a deeper voice than normal, imitating Toma’s father. “You have to keep up the work-outs. You won’t be of any use to us if you can’t fight.”
We all smiled, but Toma wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Can we at least make up a new game? Tag is so repetitive,” he whined.
“Oo, what a big word, Tom,” Lindor taunted.
“Oh, shut up,” Toma growled, lunging for a playful punch, but Lindor dodged out of the way. The two phased, and together the dark wolves gamboled toward the Răzvan house. Ema shook her head in mock disappointment, and together we walked along in the trail of dust left by our two companions.
When we arrived home, Caelia was there watching the boys romp. She smiled when she saw me and Ema approaching, gesturing for us to come inside. We were still quite a distance from the house. Ema looked at me mischievously.
“Race ya.”
“Yeah,” I replied, knowing she would win anyway. It was good exercise, though. Tested my strength and stamina.
We could have raced there on two legs, but that was too slow for us. You get addicted to the speed of four paws once you’ve experienced it. In half a second we were off, racing through the grass. It didn’t take long for Ema to pull ahead, and I watched the distance between us become larger and larger. Out of nowhere, a mass of dark brown fur blurred past, and crashed through the doorway. Luckily, the door was large enough to fit one of us through it, so no damage was done.
Keep up, girls! Toma shouted through the telepathic connection that ran in all werewolves’ blood. At the same time, the air carried the shout of “Toma!” to our ears. Ema and I snickered as we phased before going into the house. That was one of Caelia’s rules. No wolves in the house. I heard the hiss of the old cat Rancher as Toma blundered into the house. Caelia’s personal watch-cat, the enforcer of the rules. The wolf in Toma growled in return, but then he slid into the dining room, once again a boy with shaggy brown hair.
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