It was raining, but then, it always rained in Scotland. Rahne Sinclair let her namesake run down her face and into her cupped, white hands. Her light, blue dress was soaked through and dirty from her perch in the ancient oak tree and her long red curls plastered itself to her white shoulders. She had begun to shiver uncontrollably but still she stayed, letting the rain fall hard upon her head.

The lights from the house reflected on the wet patio below her, marble polished by a hundred years of human use made it almost like a river beneath her, peaceful and undisturbed. It almost seemed a shame to climb out of the tree and ruin the daydream when Moira came to call her in to dinner in her gentle voice, lilted with the accents of her people.

Rahne let herself drop to the ground, landing on all fours before righting herself. The wolf within had its uses. With a burst of feral impulse, she ran the 100 yards to the huge mansion that she lived in with her foster mother. Her heart swelled at the sheer freedom of this simple act. She wished to keep running, keep running into the sunset, into the horizon until the light obliterated her from view.

She stopped a few feet from the open door and turned, panting heavily, to the horizon. Her breath billowed out before her in clouds as she gazed off into the grey sky. No sunset today, she thought sadly before wringing the excess moisture from her hair and entering the house.

The patio door led into the living room, the centre of all life in the McCafferty household. Everything had a comforting, lived-in feel to it. She could quite easily pick out the distinctive scents of the four others who lived in the house. Moira was sweet, always delicately fragranced with a certain type of perfume. James was earthy, like the scent of the earth after a thunderstorm. And the children, Lily and Jamie, she could've picked out their scent anywhere.

And yet, there was a new scent, the scent of strangers. These new scents instantly put her on edge, the hair along her spine standing up a little. She knew she was being too defensive, but she didn't trust what she didn't know.

Trying to ignore the hot, itchy feeling along the upper gums of her mouth, Rahne walked the length of the room with a cautious anxiety.

There had been a man...he smelt of metal and grief, a man driven by love alone.

Her irises turned pale yellow and her pupils narrowed to slits as she scanned the old velvet-lined sofa across the coffee table from her. A single, coarse hair confirmed that someone had been there not so long ago.

But there was another...a younger man. His scent was different, difficult to read, but there had definitely been another here.

Moira's footsteps along the hall startled her, hurting her sensitive ears. Her eyes snapped back to their stormy green and she whirled around to face her foster mother with a hostility that even shocked her.

"Why didn't you tell me about the others?" she fought to keep the snarl from her voice, her upper jaw began to tingle again.

Moira ignored the question completely and looked Rahne up and down, completely at a lost for what to say about her appearance.

"Sweetheart, you're absolutely soaked! Didn't we talk about staying out in that tree? Now look at you! You'll catch your death of cold."

Something about her manner was off, Moira prided herself on honesty with her children above all else. Now she stood fidgeting, muttering about a towel and the state of Rahne's hair.

"Moira! Tell me what's going on!"

Rahne began to feel the claustrophobic grip of a panic that rose in her gullet like acid. She put the coffee table between them, her back to the open door; she knew she could out-run whatever was waiting for her. Her heart pounded in her ears, the wolf within snarling and snapping inside her head. Run, it screamed. She took a step backwards, her eyes flashing yellow as they bore into Moira's own. She would not be caged again. She was a creature of the earth; to be locked up in a little box would be insanity...a thousand jeering faces leering in at her in united, morbid curiosity.

Make it change! Make it turn into the monster!

The woman's high, clear voice burning in her ears as she sought sanctuary from the Ringleader, the jangle of the cat o' nine tails as it thudded against the leathery palm of his hands. Scrabbling at the greased bars of the cage...they had learned their lesson from last time. Blow after blow slicing into her back, as she fell to the ground howling in inhuman pain. The blows still coming even though she had collapsed into blackness.

The crowd went wild at that, their new fashion, until a new sound was heard.

A single child's voice screaming the same words over and over in a tearful shriek.

Make it stop! Please, Father! Make him stop hurting that girl!

A tiny voice that made no difference in a sea of hate. Her eyes sought him out, a boy slightly older than her. Standing, gripping the bars of her cage, he was transfixed by human cruelty. Their eyes met and something passed between them. A silent promise. She called him an angel. He said he would save her.

He had never come. Social Services had.

She looked at Moira steadily. Moira looked tearful and uneasy, eyeing the patio door dolefully. Her eyes pleaded with her to stay, trying to reassure but Rahne's eyes scared her as the wolf tried to fight to the surface.

"Logan is here." She said quietly, avoiding Rahne's burning gaze. She was shaking her head before Moira had finished speaking.

She laughed bitterly, taking another step backwards. The cool air seeped in and under her dress, calming the burning as she fought for control.

"How many times must we have this conversation?" Her accent became coarser when she was angry; Moira took a corresponding step backwards. "I won't...no...I refuse to go to that place."

Moira's face became sad and tired; Rahne noticed the few white hairs that had begun to show in Moira's shiny brown hair.

"I'm afraid you have no choice, Rahne."

Too late she started to feel light-headed. The tranquiliser dart had hit her squarely in the back. As everything descended into darkness she stepped back out onto the patio her head lifted to the sky, an angel was suspended above her. Collapsing onto her knees, she saw the tranquiliser gun in his hands...

Traitor.