This was sort of sad to write, because I liked Olivia.

I shake my head and stare at my hands. Wait – my hands? Yes, my hands. Not paws. Hands.

This makes no sense. I have paws. Paws. Right?

A tiny tingle of human memory dances on the edge of my mind. I grasp at it. Yes, my name's Olivia. Olivia Marx. What else? I have a brother named John. Two friends named Grace and Rachel. Two parents. Human parents.

These are all I can recall. I am also the new omega wolf, a white wolf that just joined the pack last winter. Inexperienced. Completely new.

Olivia. Omega. Somehow the words seem to blend together.

I realize that I'm naked. That doesn't bother me much, wolves don't wear clothes, but my human self is slowly returning and the shame is growing.

I'm still staring at my hands.

Human. The word bounces around in my head. That last night, before I left Grace and Jack and Isabel, I was completely ready to be a wolf. No doubt about it. Now, I'd do anything to stay human. I hate how this works.

I hope Grace is okay. I've seen her once or twice. She seems fine. Smells the same, anyway.

And her boyfriend, too. I spotted him at Beck's house. So he healed. He was cured. Good for him.

There was also another boy there, a really, really hot guy. Somehow familiar. A celebrity, maybe?

My thoughts go back to me. Olivia. I've been making these painful, erratic trips between human and wolf more and more frequently. They scare me.

And Shelby. For some reason, I remember Shelby. White fur. Eyes like shattered stained glass - once beautiful, once valuable, but ruined forever. She hates everyone. She hates me, she hates Paul, she hates Beck and Sam - that's his name - and Adina and Ellie and Ross. Every wolf.

But she hates me especially.

There's a snarl off the right. My head snaps in that direction and the unfamiliar swing of hair brushing my shoulder makes me pause.

This gives Shelby enough time to strike.

My name is Olivia Marx. I have a brother named John. Two friends named Grace and Rachel. No boyfriend. I like to take pictures. Pictures of the wolves. I am a wolf…

That's my last human thought before what remains of my wolf instincts takes over. I scramble up, to the side, and my left arm is suddenly a bloody mess as Shelby tears by. I scream, loud and clear. Shelby snarls again and lunges. And this time, nothing as trivial as me getting up is turning her off.

She hits my chest. And now I'm on the ground, strange noises coming from my lips. Her paws are on my chest. The noises continue. The same thing over and over.

"Please, please, please, please…"

I feel rational thought reentering my brain, and with that, a huge surge of fear. Whatever trembling I was doing increases fiftyfold. Shelby's going to kill me. Right here. Right now.

"Shelby!" Her name will do something, right?

She cocks her head to one side – the wolf "huh?" Some humanity returns to her expression, but it flits away fast. She howls and her jaws close in towards my face.

I'm not brave enough. I close my eyes.

RIP Olivia Marx, high school photographer and part-time wolf.

I just realized that I've been writing a lot of random one-shots nowadays. I will update my multichap fics, I swear. Someday.