Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Brigitte was sitting down to dinner in her house, holding her silverware with mannerisms derived from spending years of her mother nagging and positioning of her knife and fork, lightly slapping her hands if she was caught doing it any other way than what she was told. Her parents sat peacefully across from her, a napkin tucked neatly in her mother's pink dress, her dad still smelling of cigarette smoke. A huge tureen covered nearly the entire table, making the room gleam with the light reflected from it's metal exterior.

She clasped her fingers on the side of the top, meaning to pull it off and expose their great meal, but a light smack from her mother made her place her hands back in her lap. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Brigitte don't touch the food until your sister gets back. She cooked this meal especially for you to celebrate you moving into womanhood, the least you can do is wait until she's returned to eat it," her mother chastised. Brigitte nodded, staring blankly at the floor for the next few minutes, a cold silence falling over the room, interrupted only by the light ticking of her mother's cuckoo clock in the next room.

She heard her sister enter the room and looked up.Ginger was dressed in pale pink, her hair neatly pinned back, her heels clicking on the ground as she strode in, stopping to hug Brigitte. She made no attempt to hug back or return the wide grin that was stretching across Ginger's face, but instead looked down at her own attire, the coat she had gotten at least three winters ago and the pair of boots she had picked up at the local thrift shop.

"I'm so happy for you Brigitte! Now we have even more in common!" Her sister exclaimed. She twirled around, and skipped over to hug her parents as well. The sun was streaming, brighter than ever, from the windows, and Brigitte held up her arm to shield herself from the light that was illuminating the rest of her family so gracefully.

"Well I think it's time now to toast to my sister's good health and happy future," Ginger giggled, returning to her seat to raise her glass. Her parents repeated the action, beaming happily at their daughters. Brigitte's own hands grasped around the cool glass, the sent of strong wine making her dizzy as she gulped it down with the rest of her family. It tasted like blood. She noticed that it had smeared over her family's lips, giving them the appearance of vampires after a particularly rough kill. She brought the glass quietly down from her lips, feeling sick.

"Now, for the main event! Brigitte, to celebrate you growing up, turning into the woman we always knew you'd sooner or later become." Ginger cast a knowing look at her parents, who chuckled. Brigitte returned her gaze to the floor for a few seconds before her sister placed her hands on the edge of the tureen. "I hope you like your dinner" Brigitte curiously looked up as her sister tore off the top, causing her to gasp, knocking over the wine, which spread over the white tablecloth.

"...I cooked it especially for you!"

It was Sam. His arms and legs were bound together with crude lengths of rope, and it haven't been for the large cut on his stomach and the awkward, disturbing position he had been placed in, it would have been as if he was sleeping. His hair contrasted with his pale skin, a joint still stuck behind his ear. Blood pooled underneath him like a sickening sort of barbecue sauce, and an apple had been stuffed roughly in his mouth, completing the grotesque picture.

Brigitte felt the vomit climb up her throat immediately and threw up, puke spewing all over her parent's freshly cleaned carpet. She looked up, expecting to see their shocked faces of disgust. Instead, her father pulled out his knife and fork, and her mother took another sip of wine, cheery expressions still stapled on both of their faces. Ginger smiled radiantly, her pearly whites still stained with the red of the wine.

"Brigitte, want the first bite? I'll cut off any part you want, just for you." Brigitte, horrified looked up at her sister, noticing for the first time the bloodstains on Ginger's blouse, dripping off the helm of her skirt. She stood, transfixed, at her sister's appearance. "Well come on Brigitte, I don't have all day!

Was it just Brigitte, or was her sister's hair entwined with gray strands? Her parents faced her, tilting their heads, waiting for her response. Was it just her, or did they seem to have fangs? They moved towards her, stepping out of their chairs slowly, faces becoming hairy, skin stretching, ripping, and reforming as they crawled closer. They climbed over the table, pushing Sam's decaying body aside, more wine spilling over the table, blood dripping from their lips. She could feel Ginger's smirk as their hands groped at her, pulling at her hair, ripping pieces off Sam to force down her throat. Brigitte put her hands over her ears, shaking her head furiously.

"I don't want any!"

"I don't want any!"

"I DON'T WANT ANY!"

At that moment, a darkness began to fall over the room as her family closed in on her, and she cast a glance at Sam's body, and horrified, watched him slowly turn his head towards her, bones sticking out of his neck, eyes rolled into the back of his head, blood streaked across his face. His mouth opened and, although Brigitte's shrieking should have been enough to surpass any noise for the next mile or so, his voice echoed across the room, pounding her eardrums with his voice, the blood in her veins turning to ice.

"C'mon Brigitte, what part do you want?"

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Brigitte jerked awake, sitting up straight, her body enclosed in a cold sweat, the words still echoing madly in her head. The air itself was freezing, and she quickly realized she was no longer in the greenhouse. The comfort of Sam's grubby chair had disappeared, and was replaced with cold pavement, darkness, and the disappearance of most of Brigitte's clothes.

As if her life could get much worse. She should have guessed at one point she would be left out only in her bra and underwear in the middle of the street, having no idea how she got there and how it could have gotten dark so quickly. Brigitte attempted to recalculate what had happened. It had barely been afternoon when she had fallen back asleep, exhausted. That much came back to her. The entire chapter of her life where she stripped and passed out in the middle of an empty street in god knows where was lost to her. Being a soon-to-be werewolf was sure having disadvantages, now she was randomly sleepwalking?! She checked her body, grateful that their was no blood under her fingernails. I haven't killed anyone yet, she thought, relieved. The 'yet' brought back her fear and anxiety.

She pulled herself up, thankful for the first time that her mother had convinced to finally buy her first bra last summer. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she realized she was somewhere in her old neighborhood, a couple of blocks from her...er, the burnt pile of rubble she used to call home. A streetlight shone dimly up the next block and she made her way towards it, briefly pushing the vivid nightmare out of her mind, eyes darting around nervously. Knowing the people who lived in Bailey Downs, one was bound to call the cops if they saw a girl walking around in her underwear in the middle of the night.

As she reached the streetlight, furiously attempting to cover herself up with her arms, she noticed a gang of older teenagers sitting beneath it, familiar seniors from her highschool. They were laughing hysterically about something, and Brigitte could smell the alcohol and pot from a mile away. She stayed on her side of the street, praying that she could make her way unnoticed. These were not the type of you confronted, they were heavy into the drugs, and horribly unpredictable. A couple had been in jail, and she remembered reading in the papers about Strider, the gang's notorious leader, sending some kid to the hospital last year with so many bruises he was classified as a shade of purple. Not even Trina Sinclair would have associated herself with these psychos.

She had almost reached the end of the street when she stepped on a rather large leaf. The crunch was just loud for all four of their heads to turn around and notice her. She considered making a run for it, but couldn't see what good it could do. If they wanted to catch her, they could easily succeed. She kept her eyes to the ground, ignoring their catcalls, unaware over their loud giggling that Strider had crossed the street.

He appeared in front of her, his rancid breath so close to her face it caused her eyes to turn watery. His hair was shoulder length and dirty blonde, and he brushed it put of his face, grinning maliciously. She felt him grab her by the shoulders and pull her close, his leather jacket chaffing against her skin uncomfortably. She attempted to back away, push him off her, but his grip was too strong, and he easily dragged her back toward the others.

"Hey guys, Strider grabbed us some entertainment!" They all hooted, hidden in their smoke-clouded oasis.

"Get off me...fucking...,"she yelled, words muffled by the jacket. He laughed and pushed her towards them, and she felt their arms wrap themselves around her waist, legs, and arms, pulling her to the ground. Her knees scraped painfully against the street's rocky surface and she was sickened by the feeling of their hands all over her, touching her.

"Baby, if you expect to walk around like that you can't help what the big boys do to you." His comment unnerved her, and she struggled harder against them, especially after one snapped her bra strap. Strider leaned over to a nearby six pack, pulled one out and handed it too her, speaking to her in a voice raspy and coated with lust. "Make this easier on yourself bitch. Have a beer." He patted her head mockingly, and Brigitte felt a wave of anger rise inside her. She responded by spitting in his face.

His drunken expression was replaced by one of fury, and he quickly wiped the spit off his cheek, while his friends howled from behind her, unknowingly loosening their grip on her. Brigitte began to feel empowered, realizing that her werewolf side was staying quiet for smaller chunks of time. She weakly attempted to fight her impending rage, but the human side no longer held any advantage. It was either eat or be eaten, and the wolf in her had decided to take over the current situation. Strider, meanwhile, had finished violently cursing out his pack and returned to her, face red and exploding with delirium.

"Think you can get the best of me bitch?" He punched her hard in the stomach, but Brigitte felt nothing. Her body had become numb, hot, inhuman blood bubbling in her veins. He repeated the action, this time aiming the blow in her face. She felt her nose crack, blood spurting all over herself. She remained quiet, losing the fight in regressing her change.

Strider roughly pulled her up by the shoulders, ripping her out of the hands of his buddies. "I was gonna make this fun for you, but I guess you just like it better rough. Lucky for you, so do I." His nails dug into her skin, causing tiny crescent-shaped marks to form, filling with blood. She no longer struggled, and smiled lightly at him as he gaped at the marks on her skin, not quite drunk or stoned enough to grasp the idea of them disappearing completely seconds after he had inflicted the damage.

"W-what the f-fuck..." His friends, unaware of what was going on, looked up curiously, confused at the look on his face. At the same time Brigitte leaned over, looking as though she might kiss him, before leaning over and biting him on the right side of his neck, fangs springing into action. They jabbed deep into his skin, blood squirting in all directions. He wailed in pain, clutching his neck, blood seeping furiously from between his fingers. Brigitte softly ran a finger down his face, now contorted with pain.

"What's wrong baby, I thought you liked it rough?" She smirked, licking her lips clean of blood, savoring the metallic taste. He collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Strider's friends began to scatter, leaping to their feet, horrified. Brigitte closed in on one of them, the last of the three to get themselves on their feet. He screeched as she quickly slashed his arm with her nails, sharp as five little pocket knives, turning it into instant shreds, before he desperately wrenching it out of her grasp, disappearing into the darkness to join his screaming pals. The only one left was Strider, pale and unmoving on the pavement. Brigitte wiped more blood off the side of his neck, before sticking her fingers in her mouth, sucking them slowly.

"I think I'll take that beer now." She leaned down and pulled the beer out of his fist, before popping off the top and downing in one gulp. All inhibitions gone, she exited, firmly crushing Strider's face with the heel of her boat, swishing her hips as she left the dark street, one thought rising to the top of her mind, now distorted with wickedness.

I think I'll go find Sam.