• = = = Lyn = = =

    At first glance, he seems average enough. With brown hair and dark eyes, he has the sort of face that seems to deflect your gaze, it’s image leaving your mind as soon as you look away. He not remarkably tall, but he’s far from short; his body roughly chiseled out in strips of lean muscle. There’s something different about him though. The way he holds his shoulders, the constant shift of his eyes, the way his arms stiffen and his nostrils flare at the slightest unexpected noise, give him a distinctive air of danger.
    As I walk closer tohim, the hair on the back of my nick stands on end and my fingers begin to tingle. He looks up at me and out eyes lock. My breath catches in my throat as I fight back the urge to bolt out of the room. His eyes are so dark I cannot tell where his irises stop and his pupils begin. They hold me in a dead stare, seeming to look at me without seeing me at all. My head swims with a falling sensation and my stomach jumps in a way that normally only a roller coaster dip can induce. He drops his eyes and the spell is broken, leaving me struggling to regain my composure, seriously rethinking my plan to introduce myself.
    = = = Byron = = =

    I felt her staring at me from the moment I entered the classroom, her curious eyes drilling holes into the back of my head. I wish she would just give up and move on, but instead she stands up and begins to walk towards me. I grunt under my breath, my blood boiling. I know her type; superficial, clingy, self-centered, annoying little goodie-two-shoes rushing in to offer their charity to the new kid. The last thing I need, or want, is anyone’s pity.
    In my anger, I make a rash decision and rotate my head to return her stare with everything I’ve got. She’s exactly what I expected: tall, blonde, perfectly manicured nails, trendy clothes, tasteful highlights in her fashionably-styled hair. As I star deeper into her eyes, my anger dissipates. There’s something there that catches my by surprise. Her deep blue eyes hold spark that draws me in like a mindless moth to an electric bulb. My heart races, pounding loudly in my ears, as adrenaline rushes surges through my veins. With great effort, I tear my eyes away from hers and face the opposite side of the room.
    Besides the usual hum of pre-bell conversation, the classroom remains relatively quite for a while and I think she’s gone away. I just begin to relax when I feel a tap on my shoulders. I turn around to see the girl standing right in front of me. I turn towards her, making sure to keep eye contact to a minimum. I mean, you’ve got to give this girl some points for courage. Humans are naturally frightened by, well, people like me, and that’s even when I don’t want to rip their heads off (it’s a figure of speech, I swear).
    “Hello,” she says, offering her hand, “My full name is Gwendolyn, but you can just call me Lyn.”
    I cautiously give her hand a shake. This girl risked all of that just to introduce herself? I mean, I’m emitting enough angry vibes right now to kill a small animal (this time it’s not a figure of speech) and she’s worried about exchanging names?
    “Oh,” I mutter and then turn around, hoping she’ll walk away.
    “But I don’t know you’re name yet,” she says. Lyn is turning out to be quite the persistent little pain in the butt, if I do say so myself.
    “Byron,” I mutter without turning around, just seconds before the school bell rings and Lyn is forced to leave me in peace to find herself a seat.
    Saved by the bell. Don’t you love high school?
    = = = Lyn = = =

    For the rest of the day, I find myself following Byron around like a lovesick puppy. I know it sounds pathetic, but there’s really not much I can do. He’s in almost every single one of my classes, whereas most of my closest friends aren’t. I have other friends I could hang with, but there’s just something about him that acts like a magnet, pulling me closer to him without any conscious effort, or decision, on my part. Everything about him draws me closer. From his short-cropped brown hair to the scuffed hiking boots he wears under his khaki cargo pants, his whole being wreaks of strength, mystery, and a touch of magic.
    But mostly, it’s his eyes. They’re like an addictive drug; now that I’ve had a taste, there’s, no going back.
    = = = Byron = = =

    After what seems like a lifetime, school finally lets out. I thought I was going to die. That stupid Lyn girl wouldn’t leave me alone. She just doesn’t get it. In fact none of them, the teachers, the students, the counselors, the doctors, the social workers, the foster parents, will ever understand me. I could never allow that. If they found out who, or more appropriately what I am, nowhere would be safe. I’d end up dead for sure, or even worse, locked up somewhere in a lab where they can slowly pull me apart like some exotic insect.
    You see, I’m what you call a Lunisolite, or in human terms, a Werewolf. There are many misconceptions about my kind. First of all, we don’t need a full moon to transform into our wolf shapes. I could become a wolf right now, walking towards the park on a sidewalk, in a matter of seconds. Secondly, even when we are in human form, we aren’t completely human. We retain certain powers, such as unnatural strength, a heightened sense of smell, and the ability to see clearly in almost any amount of light, but with years of practice, our human guises appear plausible enough. Thirdly, when we “go wolf”, so to speak, we are not raving lunatics, running around destroying everything in our paths; we have total control over ourselves. As with most human myths, there is some truth to legend of Werewolves. If the light of a full moon hits us while we are in wolf form, we will transform into to the nightmarish monster described in most human stories. Our power is multiplied tenfold, but we have no control, instantly blacking out the minute moonlight hits our skin.
    Once I reach the park, the sit down on a bench and take a moment to relax in the wonderful loneliness and peace of my small haven. Lyn has me completely confused. Most humans, especially girls my age, are frightened by me, and if they’re not frightened, they at least have enough natural sense of respect inside them to keep their distance and honor my personal bubble.
    I shudder when I think of the odd pulling sensation I felt when I stared into her eyes. I felt powerless; not exactly something I’m used to, or comfortable with. I shouldn’t have focused so much of my power of intimidation into my stare. If I wouldn’t have lost my temper, I never would have looked at her long enough to feel... I stop myself before I can finish that thought. Deep inside, a part of me wants to be accepted by her. At least then I’d have a friend for the first time in my life.
    That part of me is nothing but a weak spot in my armor, therefore it must be eliminated.