Chapter 1 of "The Werewolf's Woman"
The moon reflected off the river that ran through the paranormal town of Bon Temps, Louisiana. It hung in the sky as a beacon for all oddities as it was an anomaly itself. Outcasts looked to it for support, loners shared mutual feelings with it, and werewolves desired it with a burning passion.
The trees rustled with the humid summer breeze and a lone wolf shook droplets of water from its fur. But then again, maybe it wasn't a wolf after all, as the animal slunk to the ground in a heap before rising as a woman. She walked proudly, her creamy skin glowing in the night rays, to the bank where a pile of clothes laid waiting. A worn shirt gently caressed supple breasts as it slid over her body. Cut offs scrapped against muscular legs before being buttoned low on her hips. Feet bare and tough she walked to the 1985 Chevy parked in the gravel.
The rusted axle cried when the tires crushed the stones beneath it as she drove past the trees and past the river. She sighed and pushed damp hair back from her face. Her skin was tan from the sun in the morning and her hair was wheat blonde from the rays as well, though at night it seemed to glow in the moonlight. She knew she was trespassing on another pack's territory but she hadn't purposefully left her scent anywhere to challenge them. She cranked her window down to let the air blow in and dry the sweat that ran down her chest. She approached the small house where she had just moved in. It was down the street from Merlot's a local bar that was famous for their burgers. Her stomach growled just thinking about it but she doubted they'd be open at this hour. When she was out hunting she had refrained from killing anything for fear of angering the local pack. She'd gotten into a tussle with another pack up in Nova Scotia and had no desire to taste wolf's blood on her snout again. She hated to admit it but she was a baby. Strong and powerful but sheltered. Never had a serious boyfriend, never had a beer, never smoked, never killed…more than once, but always changing in front of the moon. Some people might say she was a freak. She was twenty-five and still hadn't managed roots of her own. All she had were a couple of battle scars to prove she'd been around the block.
She pulled in to the nonexistent drive way and hoped out of her car heading to the porch and then inside her dark house. Sharp eyes ruled out anyone who could be hiding in her house and they also prevented her from breaking her neck on all the unpacked boxes towering in the four rooms of her house. The alarm clock beside her bed read three o'clock and she decided she'd put off that shower until the morning-or around seven. Soon she'd find herself going to Merlot's to wait on the tables.
Growling at the annoying buzz of her alarm clock a feminine hand slapped over the snooze button and Sam dragged herself from her unmade bed. The sheets, though originally vibrant and multi-colored, seemed to have faded into one color as the years dragged on. Static collected on the soles of her tired feet and Sam groaned when the first drop of water hit her bare back. A shower was like the melted chocolate in the inside of a dark chocolate truffle. When you took the first bite, the outside was hard and thick but when you finally got to the inside it was bliss.
Rather than taking an hour to pick out a cute outfit, Sam just pulled on black shorts and a white t-shirt with the Merlotte's emblem on it. Her white sneakers, that weren't as white as she would have liked them, were as worn as all of her other belongings, but they fit. Her long hair was still damp so she twirled the mass of blonde around her finger and clipped it up with one of the jumbo clips you can find at any CVS. Grabbing her Dooney and Burk she locked up on her way out and climbed into her Chevy.
Merlotte's was slow on Wednesdays, middle of the week syndrome, so Sam got stuck with inventory. Not that she minded that much. The hidden part of her adored organizing things, but she wasn't about to tell Sam, her boss, that small secret. When she started working at the local bar, her co-employees would tease her because she had the same name as her boss, but eventually people came to know her as her own Sam.
Four hours later, inventory finished, the piping under the bar sink needed tightening, Sam was the lucky girl to fix it. Stuck under the sink her legs stuck out and her chest heaved as she cranked each pipe. A loud echo signaled the slamming of the bar door and she thought it best to stay hidden and keep working.
"I'm looking for Sookie Stackhouse," A sinister voice demanded more than stated.
Sam held in a giggle. It was never a surprise, whenever trouble was around Sookie was most likely in the middle of it. Sam loved the girl, but she definitely thought the fellow blonde needed a new hobby.
Sam kept cranking away unaware of the world outside the sink until she was blinded by the light and pulled from the makeshift cave. Her back scraped against the floor but she knew no bruises would form.
"Hey Miss Blondie, I've been looking for you," The burly man above her seethed.
"Um, I-I'm not-" Sam was cut off by a sharp crack to the side of her face. Sure she was one of the creatures of the night, a monster to say the least, but anyone clocked upside the head by a thousand-year old vampire would at least see stars for a minute.
Sam Merlotte stumbled out of his office after hearing the door bang open and a loud evil voice booming for Sookie, once again. He choked on his words when he saw that said blonde being carried out of his bar draped over some Hill Billy's shoulder…unconscious. Though he hated to do it he got a hold of Eric, Bill, and Alcide Herveux, all freaks, but all close friends of Sookie's.