This story occurs in the empty space of Season three. It's rated M for content that will occur later, but the first few chapters will be tame. For those who like visuals, I formed Honey around the image of Mila Kunis (Jackie, from That 70s Show, and Rachel from Forgetting Sarah Marshall) I hope you enjoy

The heat in Jackson was oppressive. The kind that bears down on you and makes you feel like your whole body is slowly sinking into the ground below you with every step you take. Jackson was like any other deep south city, it seemed to be wasting away one cement crack at a time. The buildings were all peeling paint and dusty windows. The peoples' moments were slow and deliberate. It was as if the whole of the neighborhood was moving in slow motion, just waiting to fade away.

The girl walked with quick steps down the sparsely occupied street. She was alone, it was dusk, and this was not the most desirable part of the city. She did not seem worried at all though. She wore a light cotton dress, her long brown hair was full even in the dense humidity and it swung low on her back with each light step, she projected an air of innocence about her that radiated out. She seemed out of place passing by the convenience store that still boasted cigarette ads from the 1980s. As if she were too alive for this place, too young, too innocent for such a jaded setting. She took a side street down to a smaller off shoot road that lead into the outskirts of the outskirts city. The street became a dirt road the dirt road lead to a small but noticeably well kept old white house.

The house was framed by a white picket fence and next to the right side grew a willow tree so large it must have been well over 400 years old. The branches trickled down and covered the right corner of the house from view. Bordering the wrap around front porch was a garden, the garden was composed of every type of flower you could think of, all of them grown up together with no particular pattern or reason but together they created a tiny Eden that added the zest of life to the small yard. The girl reached out and plucked a few bright red poppies as she climbed the steps to the front porch. She stopped at the old mailbox next to the door and pulled out a few envelopes. She walked inside to the small but inviting kitchen, the house is clean and fresh, the wood floors and the cleanly painted walls shine with the obvious care of a proud homeowner. The girl set her large bag on the counter top and tossed the envelopes down onto the table. They can be dealt with later, now is not the time, it's been a long day, it's time to unwind, time to run. The girl walked back through the front door and out behind the curtain of willow branches as she walked articles of clothing begin to drop to the ground in her wake.

The girl is gone. All that remains as the full moon gives way on the outside of the willow branches are the light cotton dress and a set of paw prints that fade to the forrest on the outskirts of the property.

As he trots through the woods he catches the scent again. The same one that has been plaguing him for weeks. It's distinctly Were, but the undertones are like nothing familiar to him. It's fresh like a breeze on spring day, and warm, and sweet, a natural perfect kind of sweet. He picks up his nose and focuses every one of his supernatural abilities on trying to find the direction it came from, but it's too faint. It's the same run around he's been after since the first whiff he caught of it 3 weeks ago. It's strong enough where he can get every subtlety of the scent but too faint for him to follow. It weaves through the groves and swamps and just when he thinks he's found the trail he hits water or loses the smell all together.

This Were is not any member of any pack he's known before. It's unfamiliar and strange. Usually he could tell everything about a were from the scent, the particular wolf, the pack, how many are in the pack, countless amounts of information from just one sense. But this is different, very different. He digs his claws into the sycamore nearest to him to let out his frustration. He breaks into a run as he turns around and heads back towards his own home, he covers miles of ground faster than any other creature could dream of, within minutes he's closing in on his own dwelling. He runs around to the small back porch where the back light flickers intermittently, he's been meaning to fix that, and when the light bulb goes dark once more, in that split second he shifts back. and when the light returns it illuminates a tall well built man, standing stark naked at his own back door. He chuckles as he picks a twig out of his tousled black hair and walks inside.