Hey guys! So this is the first fanfiction I'm posting online. Hopefully I get some feedback, I'm very excited! Just some notes though, this is pretty OC oriented, some things may not be completely cannon, but I'm taking creative freedoms. Also, this is a bit more "time ambiguous", so I'm not giving it a specific year. It'll still have the "80s vibe", most likely, but it may also have modern brands and cell phones, and things like that. Hope you enjoy!

It was so weird moving to Santa Carla. Especially after living further north in California, where it was nothing but the woods, the cold, and the quiet. Down here it was almost the opposite. They did have one striking similarity though. Both had a knack for murder.

"How you doing back there, Red?" The driver up front, my father, asked back to me.

My gaze transferred from the truck window to him, "Yea, I'm cool." I smiled.

He grinned, white teeth gleaming, the point of his canines exposed, "That's great." He said, watching the empty streets as he searched for our new home.

My brother Blake sat at my father's side, gnawing on a strip of beef jerky without thought. "You know, pops, one thing I don't understand about us moving, is why did we move from one murder town, just straight to another?" He questioned curiously with a bit of a cheeky smirk.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if Blake and I were related. He had long and ragged black hair, supported with a bit of a goatee and moustache, while mine was a just as ragged, but orangey-red pixie cut, with my bangs being the longest part, reaching down to my chin. But we still had the same thin, fair skin, and the same pale green eyes. People would say that his were sharp and full of protection, while mine were bubbly, and full of curiosity.

My father sighed, knowing there wasn't much he can say, "It's not really by choice. It's all we can afford right now." He explained, craning his neck beyond the steering wheel of the truck to search for the house. "Not to mention," He continued, "No one will be suspicious of, you know." He said, leaving the end obvious for us.

Wasn't that hard to figure out the clues, especially being werewolves and all.

Back in our old home, we had a peaceful life for the most part. All was fine and dandy, until the savages whom we called the Coyotes showed up. You see, the townspeople and us had an unspoken arrangement that they had no knowledge about. We'd take care of the mountain lion problem they had, along with any surplus of rodent or vermin they had, and they wouldn't worry about us.

But the Coyotes ruined it all. They ate too much, killed for sport, killed innocent people. They were the real monsters. My father and brother tried to get them to stop, fought them when they had to. But it just created more issues. The townspeople lost faith in us, and started to question us. The Coyotes had a personal vendetta they wanted to settle. It was just time to leave.

"Aha, there it is!" Father laughed heartily in pride. He pulled up his pickup into the driveway of the quaint, cozy little home. There weren't any neighbors for about half a mile up or down the street, and we were settled down in the middle of two hills. There were a few trees, and a lot of shrubs and bushes that resembled either baby palm trees or giant pineapples, but nothing like the wilderness up north. While that home smelled of fir and pine, this one smelled of salty beaches.

The house itself was actually really nice, dark wood panelling, white trims. It looked a bit run down, cobwebs still hung around. There couldn't have been a previous owner in months. "Wonder what happened to him."

"Probably dead." My brother pitched, grabbing what few boxes we had.

"Most likely." I couldn't help but agree.

In total we only had about five large boxes that all fit in my brothers long and beefy arms. That was another thing that was different. We were three years apart, him being 19, and me being 16, but he was tall and muscular, every girl's dream. I remained 5'3", being scrawny, but still fairly toned if I do say so myself.

We started setting the boxes down, the house was unfurnished, full of cobwebs, and the smell of opossums was potent enough even for a human nose.

"No place like home." My father chimed with the largest grin on his face. "And here's the good part," He started, setting down the cardboard box in his hand on the floor, "There's a butcher shop not too far from here. From what I hear, their supply is pretty fresh, and they're dealt with in humane ways." He informed us, clapping his hands together to brush off the dust that seemed to stick on everything in seconds, "So that means, we don't have to hunt unless we really have to."

That seems to be something one thing movie werewolves neglect to inform people. We don't always have to eat fresh kill. In fact it makes the beast take control more. We don't have to kill it ourselves. Essentially we're big puppies. If it was necessary, we could just eat kibble and live. But I like steak and bacon, so no kibble.

"Alright, that's awesome." I said, taking the box cutter to free the mat that would be my bed for the night.

My father started stacking the shelves with spices and canned food, "You know, to blend in more, you two should try to find a job here, too."

"I don't think I should be going into people's homes taking care of their children and dogs when it's the murder capital of the world." I had to remind him, and even got a chuckle out of him.

"I know." He said, "But the Boardwalk is about a fifteen minute walk from here. There's probably plenty of jobs there."

My brother nodded, pulling out his sleeping mat, "We'll see what we can do."

Seeing that there wasn't much I could do there, I offered, "You know, I can go down there now, see what I can find, maybe pick up some Chinese."

"Yea, that sounds great." My father yelled from the kitchen, "Just be home before dark."

"Why, is it a full moon tonight?" I asked.

"Nope." He replied, "But I'd rather not have you out at night, here in this city yet."

I rolled my eyes with a little smile, "Fine. I will. Though for the record, I can perfectly take care of myself!"

"I'm sure you can." My father remarked, I could hear the smirk on his face.

I tapped the pocket of my ebony jeans to ensure my phone was still in there, and then I was off.