Okay, so I've been sitting on this story for a while, and I finaly decided to publish it. No sparkly vampires involved XD
The boy was frightened, no question, and he had reason to be, too. The moon was full, shining like a fresh minted coin. That wasn't what he was afraid of. No, he wasn't a werewolf, nothing of the sort. In fact, he was the youngest member of a pride who hunted werewolves. He was scared of the monsters that had taken him from his pride and ran with him in a sack flung over their shoulders. Right now, all five of his captors were in the middle of transforming, a prime time to run. Unforntunatly, iron chains kept a stubborn hold on him. The 'wolves were crying out in pain as their various apendages convulsed and twisted. The boy, Henry, had seen all the members of his pride transform, and they never cried out like this. Henry shook his thick mop of black hair out of his eyes, and away from the ducktape that held his mouth shut.
They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him before his sister or anyone else could help.
The werewolves had finished transforming. They rose on two legs, hideously contorted, body covered in wiry fur, spittle flying as they raised their heads to the moon. Their howl was a strange mix of human and wolf, almost like a man caught in some horrendous form of torture. Henry knew what that sounded like, torture. He was there when the 'wolves tortured and killed his father.
He had been three at the time - he was ten now - he told his mother he didn't remember. But he did. Henry closed his eyes and waited for the werewolves to get bored with the moon and carry him off again. He hoped his sister could find him before they got bored with [I] him [/I]