Author's Note: What happens in this story is entirely of my own creation but is based on the stories of Patricia Briggs. I do not know her wolves perfectly, so I do not know if this story is even possible. Any faults in the facts of her concept are entirely my own.

Sometimes, I wish I were human. Sometimes I wish I could go about the daily grind with nothing more to worry about than when the rent's due or how long until my next paycheck. I wish I could walk down the street and my only concerns be how many drunks will be stumbling out of the bars or if the local 4-H club made a round with its horses. I wish I could pretend to be human. But that's impossible now. My scent, my eyes mark me for what I am. Not that a human can tell the difference, their senses are too dull. But I can never be normal. I can never be human. I can fake it pretty well, since humans can't tell the differences between them and me. I used to be human, after all. But even in the guise of a human, I can smell them, the difference between us. The subtle changes no human would ever think to look for. As if the knowing wasn't enough.

Even now I feel the change within me. Even now I feel the other half to my whole, begging to be let out, to answer the full moon's call. She'll get out eventually, but for now I hold back, trying to at least get out of town, away from humans, before she does. But my control is not the best; it never has been. I run as she begins to take over my senses. My smell sharpens further. I smell the exhaust of cars hours gone, the sweat and skin of humans days missing. I hear the mumbled words of a child trying to avoid punishment, the raucous cries of fans cheering on their teams in a bar blocks behind me. My senses sharpen further. I run. Through the sparse streets under the glow of dim streetlights, I run. Passed decorated shop windows and dark, trash-littered alleyways I run. Anyone who looks will know that something is wrong. Anyone who knows my human shape will see the subtle changes. Anyone looking at my eyes will know.

A pain in my chest tells me I am close, my other half so close to the surface. I feel a growl vibrate in my throat, feral and deep. The view of the world around me changes slightly, less color but lighter shadows. So close. The forest is there, ahead of me, mere meters away. If I can hold off a little while longer….

I hear others around me. I hear their primal growls, their furtive sniffing. They pace in the forest ahead, changed, waiting. Waiting for me. The pack does not hunt without all its members, even one so low as I. But they wait. Almost at the woods now. The scent of pine and oak is cloying, ancient and tempting. If only I can hold on a moment longer… The streetlights are rare now, lighting only parts of the dirt road I run upon. My footfalls are loud in my ears, pounding the dry red clay and dirt that my home is famous for. I feel myself changing, my other half forcing its way out. She is there, growling, eyes a sunset gold.

The color of a wolf's.

A small branch strikes my face, warns me of the forest, that I am safely within its borders. I hear them around me as my knees buckle, the other half of my soul finally emerging. The change is painful, like the breaking of every bone and connection, of new ones growing in place. Limbs shortening and growing strangely, skin shifting and disappearing, displaying muscle for brief moments as new skin grows. It takes a few minutes, longer than most wolves and more painful for holding back, but I am safe during this. I may be a low wolf in the pack, but we look after each other, even those who dislike me for being submissive. But the Alpha's word is law, and none dare fight him when he has decreed a wolf Pack. Their golden, blue, and even some green eyes watch me. I can feel their presences with another sense, something felt only when the wolf is close. Even now, as I release my wolf-sister, I hear their breathing, feel their gazes upon me.

Panting, the wolf is there, laying, gathering her energy. A change comes over my wolf, a slight pushing as I am no longer in control. Shaking off my human clothes, I stand and stretch. Changing takes energy and I feel my empty stomach like a hollow pit. Empty and hollow like every other wolf's here. I feel the gaze of the Alpha on me and lower my tail and head. My gaze drops instantly to the ground, wondering what the slate-furred Alpha would call this time. An all out Hunt? To kill our fill and feast? Or simply control the deer population? Either way, the wolves would get fed. Alex would make sure of that.

I feel a muzzle in the fur of my neck, sniffing the red and brown that is my coat. We are bigger than average wolves, but Alex is bigger than most. Without even trying he can lay his head on my shoulder, and probably have to bend down slightly to do it. I lower my tail further, not even trying to contest his dominance. To do so would be foolish and deadly. With a growl Alex turns his muzzle away. I don't know what he smells for, but he smells every wolf after they change. Perhaps it's his way of showing dominance. Or perhaps affection for his wolves. Either way, I must lower my gaze.

A howl rings out in the woods, stemming from a slate blue throat. Each wolf answers around me and I add my voice at the appropriate time. A Hunt. Led by Alex, our beloved Alpha, we dive into the woods, freed from petty human concerns. Now all we have, all we need is the woods, the wolves, and the scent of prey. The Appalachian Pack is on the Hunt.

The underbrush flies beneath my paws, my breath comes quickly, as I follow the pack through the woods, gullies, and streams. A Hunt tonight. The kind the local Cherokee speak of in legend. Of ghosts killing for no reason, of stealing young boys while on their spirit quests. Some of the pack sport the dusky white coats that spurred those tales. Some are probably old enough to be the original "ghosts." But old wolves never speak of their pasts, especially not to one so low as I.

The scent of pine and water fills my nose as I run, tempered by that of fur and claw and fang. And the natural spice that clings to every werewolf. It is intoxicating, and soon the wolf takes over completely, the scent of the Hunt thick in her nose.

Following her packmates, she howls into the night, calling to the others in encouragement and anticipation. The prey is close; she can sense it and surges forward, catching up to the upper ranks of the pack, taking over some. She doesn't care. The human is submissive enough. The wolf need not be. Not on a Hunt. She growls to a dominant wolf, showing fangs when the other threatens to push her back. Normally it would never be enough, but the pack was Hunting. It needed cooperation.

No wolf would contest that.

And so she got away, pushing through the ranks to run beside the Alpha and his second. One of five females in the pack of thirty-seven, they usually gave her more leniency than the males. And the Alpha had yet to take a mate. A recent one. But those were thoughts for later. The Hunt was now. And the prey was close.

With a low growl, the pack came to a halt at their Alpha's orders, stalking forward slowly through the underbrush, a couple spreading out farther to flank whatever lay ahead. She pauses, sniffing the air, finally registering what it had been trying to tell her the entire time. What lay ahead of them was not deer or bear or even cougar. What lay ahead of them, the prey of the Hunt, is human.

Even with the wolf in control she holds back, not wanting to foul her claws on human flesh. The goal is a larger pack then. That is what the Alpha is after. The wolf will have no part in this. She holds back, in her rightful place, watching as the wolves circle their prey. She can smell the human's fear, the sudden realization that there is more to these mountains than its ancestors said. Hunkering down, she waits for the Alpha's howl, his signal to advance on the terrified human. She will have no part in this.

What seems hours later, I am human once more, shaking and shivering through my house, having left my clothes in the woods for a park ranger to find. They know of some presence, leaving deer half-eaten in the woods or near trails, something that attacks hikers at night, kills some. They blame it on the bears. But a bear doesn't leave wolf tracks around the body. Most don't even know there are wolves in the Appalachians. A fact the park rangers like to keep hidden. After all, no one sees signs that say "Don't feed the wolves," around the Smokies.

Finally beginning to warm up, I sit in the shared cabin, waiting for a kettle of water to heat. The cabin, the hand-made log kind, was shared by three others. All wolves. All male. All more dominant than I. But personally, I like being at the bottom of the food chain. No one tries to be last. There's not the stress of the dominants. All I have to worry about is which one I will manage to piss off, and whether or not the Alpha will stop them before anything serious happens to me. Not that anyone would harm the lowest in the pack. I'm treated more as a…favorite pet than a submissive.

If only my wolf-sister were such. That would make things so much simpler.

I can tell by the attitudes of the two males in the room with me—Chuck and Paul, neither of significantly high rank, but higher than I—that something happened after the wolf took over. They won't speak to me about it. They never speak to me unless they have to. Unlike dominants, they feel no compulsion to protect those weaker than themselves. Why I had to get stuck with them, I'll never know.

A whistling from the kitchen tells me the water is more than ready and I stand. I can feel their eyes on my back and lower my head instinctively. As a wolf, I am more aware of subtle changes in body posture. Most humans don't notice the subtle hints given off during conversation, the unconscious cues that can signal interest or boredom, confidence or submission. Living among wolves has made me more a tune. And it has made the males with me all the more dangerous. One slip up and I could be toast.

Grabbing a mug, I fill it with instant cocoa powder, a small handful of stale marshmallows, and a small bit of milk. I need protein somehow. Part of my weight problem happens to be caused by lack of protein. The males usually eat what I buy before I have a chance at it. So, milk is my protein, but a poor substitute. What I wouldn't give for a steak right now…