Abandoned Cars (On the Outside)

Chapter One

Exhaustion tugged at my body, my limbs felt like lead, beckoning me toward the ground to rest.

     Sleep tugged at my brain, yet I walked on. I was on Northern Territory, and had yet to make it to a stream or river, some sort of water to wash off my scent and the grime from the past week. I had yet to fully bathe; usually I would find a puddle and deem it clean enough to dip my old rag into, cleaning off the dirtiest parts of my body.

     My backpack felt heavy on my shoulders, pulling down my entire posture as I continued to drag forward.

     I had been on the run from my pack for three years. Before that, I had spent six years of my life slaving away for my parents and adopted brother, Peter.

    His name burned my tongue to speak, his smile forever seared into my brain. For years, I had cleaned up after his messes, endured his savage beatings, and put up with his lewd promises, until finally, I reached my wit's end and fought back. Seeing this as an attack on the pack I had been raised to cherish and protect, Peter convinced my father that I was a threat to our pack. I was banished in the middle of a blood bath--houses had been set of fire, guns had been shot, and people had found their final resting places.

     Ever since, I've traveled throughout the Cardinal Direction's territory, wandering, with no place to go. I've never had the heart to leave, in hopes that my father would welcome me back with open arms.

     Peter had tainted my entire family, except for my beloved witch-y grandmother, Mavis. She was brought into the pack as a mate, despite having grown up in a small village near New Orleans, Louisiana, as a witch doctor. She had learned the arts of many African cultures, and became the best doctor you'd ever meet, and the kindest soul. She was just reaching one-hundred-and-twenty-years-old, just older then my wretched grandfather by five years. 

     The werewolf gene was dominant, and could be passed down by either of the parents. There were no half-blood werewolves, just those of different rankings in a pack.

     I still longed for the companionship I would have if I had chosen to live my quiet, slave-like existence. My grandmother was my biggest inspiration, she had taught me the arts of medicine and magic like no other even could. She said that I was going to continue her legacy once she was gone, not my father, her only son, or Peter. Granmomma Mavis said he had a tainted soul, and that he would only bring destruction and doom to our pack, but most people saw her as a crazy old lady, not as our former Luna.

     Snapping out of my memories, I shook my head. Looking back on my memories was too painful. I had decided a long time ago to not look back, and I wouldn't stop now.

     Northern Territory was the final territory for me to cross to become a rogue legend; having made it through all eight of the territories that met in a small town. These were no ordinary packs, though. No, these packs were the strongest packs in North America. There were the four Timber Wolf packs, the strongest of their kind. 

     Then, there were the ultimate werewolves, the Grey Wolf Packs, the only four left in the world. Granted, the only reason there were only four left was because they had chosen to create a pack together out of the strongest wolves in the world. While America may call themselves a melting pot, the Four Great Packs were truly the perfect mixture of many cultures. There was respect of those who were different, which was something that had slowly diminished in many packs across America.

     I had been born a Timber Wolf, but Granmomma Mavis said with the spirit of a Grey Wolf shifter. Naturally, I was faster, more assertive and outgoing, stronger, then most of the other people in my pack, the Northwestern Pack.