"Where the Hell were you?!" My dad yelled as I walked in. He was definitely angry. "I've been trying for hours to track you down!"

"Look, dad, I'm sorry." I said, shuffling my back pack onto my other shoulder. "But I went over to Emily and Angela's."

"The witches house?" He asked, slightly amused. "What could you possibly have to do there..." He trailed off. His blue eyes narrowing as he peered into my own. "What did you do?" he asked. I'd never heard his voice so serious. And frankly, that fear that everyone seemed to have of my dad, was starting to climb up my spine like an old forgotten ghost.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to shove the fear back down where it belonged. This was my father, and I wasn't going to fear him any more than I did the dirt on my shoes. There was no room for fear in this house, nor in this race.

"Did you attack one of them?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"Your eyes say differently." He said, crossing his arms.

Memories of that after noon flooded my thoughts. The blood... our blood.

Without a single word, I was off to go upstairs. I raced past Derrick who'd probably heard my dad yelling. He was silent now. I pushed open the bathroom door, and rushed myself in front of the mirror. What I saw wasn't fair. It wasn't true! And as much as I hated it, my eyes had become liars. Because glowing around the thick green irises, was a light, thin, cobalt ring.

I didn't care that what I'd done with Angela had marked me a killer, but what I did care about was that I'd never be seen the same way again.

As the blue pulsed in my eyes, my anger grew. This wasn't fair, this wasn't fair, this wasn't right...

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I went to bed that night, without eating dinner. Instead, I stayed up talking to Angela over the phone in my room. I told her about what happened between me and my dad. Our argument really did little to effect our relationship, and for that I was glad. I mean, I'd been yelled at before, but the way he started... was just frightening.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure blue would better suit your black hair anyway!" She said over the phone, trying to cheer me up. Really, I was just glad to hear her voice. I thought of her fondly as she went on about why I shouldn't worry about it, and start wondering when we could have a repeat of that afternoon.

It wouldn't be enough to say that my heart felt like it was going to explode. But that's exactly how it felt. I knew that what we did, changed things between us, and I was glad to see it was all for the better. I'd have thought the whole blood fetish thing would have freaked her out a little.

"Come on." She said, reading my thoughts over the phone. I'd wondered if it sounded like I was talking regular of if she could tell the difference. But I'd forget to ask either way. "That was the best time I'd had in my entire life."

"Glad to hear it."

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We made it into a game, Angela and I. And though my dad knew something was going on, he had no clue what. This became our obsession. Like an after school activity, except it was very high up there on the weird list.

No one suspected a thing. Not her mom, not Emily, and not even Nick knew. We didn't want them to know, especially about the details. Because as gruesome and crazy as sex was between us, we knew there was nothing better than it in the entire world, and as long as the world couldn't see us, we were perfect. The one flaw in our plans, was that we spent a lot of time together, and most of it was away from people.

We were always at one another's house, and always alone inside. Though, we found out quickly, that we couldn't do that at my father's house. Well, it was Wilson's house in all the written paperwork, but my dad ran it physically. That's how it'd worked for years. But I digress.

The thick smell of blood and sex that hung in the air after each encounter, was too much to risk having in the house. With three other werewolves living there, and even more when the random guests would appear, it was too much of a risk. So that automatically made this place off limits. But we could go into the woods behind my house, bringing a blanket, and some food to make it look like a picnic. It didn't take us long to start getting creative.

Months started rolling by without suspicion, even though me and Nick barely had time to hang out anymore, he didn't mind. I was sure he and Emily were doing the same thing. The two never seemed to be one without the other. And to me, that's what made them special. I was happy for the two of them when I saw them together.

Then, about two months into the school year, Nick hit me with a great offer that was either do or die. His uncle Gary owned an oyster boat, and needed two deck hands to shuck oysters on the weekends. And for ten bucks an hour, we couldn't resist. It gave us the chance to finally make some real money. And it also gave us a chance to hang out in the gulf every weekend.

We'd start early. Around Four-thirty, Nick would come pick me up in his beat up truck, and we'd head over to the Delta Marine. One of the smallest dock sights in Louisiana, but one of the busiest! Oyster boats, Shrimp boats, and Pogey boats were constantly coming in and going out. And in between, loading up with gas and supplies, or unloading the days catch.

I'd always head into Gilbeaux's, a local gas station right in front of the docks. Nick and I would load up on Vienna sausages, chips, he'd get a pack of smokes, and we'd both get a slushy. It was simple living on the week ends.

Then we'd meet Mr. Gary by his boat as he checked the engine, I'd pull the boat around, and we'd gas up. Twenty minutes after arriving at the docks and we'd already be half way to his lot. A 'Lot', was a term used by oyster fishermen, as private property to the captain. There, he could catch as many oysters as he wanted. It was his property.

On the boat we used every weekend, we were lucky enough to have an automatic dredge. It was essentially a net with teeth on the bottom for weight and to rake in the oysters. We usually waited about three minutes after dropping it, to pull it up and start shucking.

Our job, was to knock all the little oysters and clams off the good oysters. Oysters that were opened, we tossed them back, they were bad. If one was slightly opened, that meant an oyster fish had gotten in there and ate the oyster, which meant we had to toss it back. And if it was bigger than my hand... Hell, I opened it, and ate it.

I found out fast that oysters were a delicious meal. Salty, yet satisfying. Nick ate his with Tabasco sauce. Mainly because he couldn't take the salty taste, I'd make fun of him for this with every one he ate.

The eight hour days we worked were just perfect for my weekends, because that meant my day, ended at noon.

We'd pack all the oysters in thick, burlap sacks, tag 'em and toss them onto the automatic conveyor belt that ran them into the warehouse at the docks entrance from the gulf. The smell of that place, of dead fish, and salty water, sounded disgusting, but to me... smelt like home. This was the essence of Louisiana. Hard working people, working off the land in the north, and off the coast in the south. At least that's what Mr. Gary said.

We made almost eighty sacks a day on that boat. Nick had a quick eye, and a good grip, even through the thick gloves we had to wear. And there was no doubt in my mind that I could keep up. And as many times as we raced shucking oysters, it wasn't surprising that we'd come back with so many.

But I have to say, that my favorite thing about working with Mr. Gary, was that he loved to listen to blues as he drove. He cranked Steve Ray Vaughn over the makeshift radio he had set up on the deck. Every so often he'd play some Fats Domino, or some B.B. King. But it was all the same to me. And every second of work, was worth it.

The going rate, per sack of oysters, was eight dollars and sixty-five cents. Multiply that by eighty a day, and you've got yourself one happy employer. He offered a raise for us, but neither one of us took it. I know it sounds stupid, but this man was giving two friends the chance to hang out, out on the water, and enjoy good music. We came onto this job at ten an hour, and we weren't going to change it. By the way, the name of the boat, was Lucille. After B.B. King's guitar.

Every day we'd get paid, and were as Nick's money went into saving for a new truck, mine went to something a little more... self-fulfilling.

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"What is that?" My dad asked, as I got out of Nicks truck. He was obviously talking about the tarped monster that I'd bought after only a few pay checks. Loaded up in it's own trailer was my new toy. And standing on the porch, knowing how me and Nick got when we hung out, he wasn't surprised to see me uncover a brand new jet-ski.

"Oh, god!" He said, laughing at the thought of what we might do on that death trap. "You're going to kill yourself on that thing!" He said rubbing his eyes.

"Only if we hop on without practice!" I yelled over at him as Nick and I unhooked it from his trailer.

"Yeah, Mr. Thomas, We aren't about to jump on it without a few safety precautions!" He yelled going in to his truck. "We also bought floaties!" Nick yelled, waving them up in the air, forcing my dad to both laugh, and cringe at the ideas he knew we were formulating. The thin little pink floaties were obviously a joke, and as we planned, they did their job.

But as my dad's laughter started to die down, another question seemed to hover around his consciousness. "And where, dare I ask, do you two plan to ride that thing?"

Nick and I looked at each other, "The lake!"

"Oh, god..." he said, rubbing his eyes, and going back inside.