"What are they doing here?" I whispered to myself. They couldn't possibly have the audacity to follow us for miles and miles all the way down here. I don't know what they would even want. I know there was a fight between my father's old pack and their pack, because of their beastly ways. But I didn't think it was worth coming down all this way.

There was another predicament I found myself in though. I couldn't call my father without possibly alerting the Coyotes. I mean they weren't the smartest, but they still had their senses. I'm sure my father and brother heard them though. It was hard not to. Humans for miles could have heard it. I'm sure they'd be fine, but I know I'd be staying up all night.

There was the roar of a motor coming by though. A grumbling motorcycle near. I don't remember the Coyotes ever riding bikes, but who knows, they may have wanted something stylish or luxurious for themselves. They were psychotic beasts, I figured it was best not to question their modes of transportation.

I peeled the blinds slightly down to get a good view. There was only one, and it was probably going too fast to make a stop here. I continued to stare out, before finally the cycle passed. It didn't look like any of the coyotes I'd seen. It was just a guy, dark curly hair, in his early 20s with a Bohemian looking girl on his back, arms wrapped around his waist. No one I'd ever recognize. Maybe they were related to that Sam kid. Just hopefully they don't get stuck in whatever shitstorm the Coyotes will be bringing with them.

I sat by the floor lamp, and nuzzled into my thick blanket. My head rested on my knuckles, as I looked more through the comic that was given to me. Maybe I just imagined the howling. Maybe it wasn't even the Coyotes. Maybe it was my father and brother. There can't be anything wrong.

"This comic will drive me crazy." I muttered, trying to blame the problems on thin sheets of dead tree.

I ran my fingers through my ginger hair, pulling at my fringe as I tried to figure out what to do. Maybe . . . Maybe I should go see those guys tomorrow. They might be my only hope in some case where the Coyotes did travel miles for some form of revenge.

But how do I even bring that up? It might lead to them asking questions. Like why was I so skeptical, then so adamant after one day? Or how would I even know it was a werewolf? Or a werewolf pack for that matter? There was so much risk in it. I didn't know what I could do. So I thought of the best idea.

Cross that bridge when I get there.

It's worked with many other problems. Hopefully it works here too.

I finally dropped my wrist, and rested my head on the thin pillow. My father and brother would be fine if they faced the Coyotes. I know it. They're strong, and know control. My mother was all into that stuff. Self control. home remedies. She drilled it into their heads. They know how to handle any situation. I just needed to sleep.

It was a bit of a rough night of sleep. I don't know when I fell asleep, but I know I kept waking up every hour in a drowsy state of confusion, before falling back asleep and repeating that cycle. My blanket was knotted up between my legs, half of it on the rough, flat gray carpet.

A yawn transitioned into a tiny howl, as I rubbed the back of my hands against my eyes. "I need bacon and a shower."

I grabbed some clothes from my box and shuffled over to the bottom floor bathroom and splashed a bit of icy cold water on my face. I had slept in the clothes from the day before, but it was no biggie. I'm amazed someone remembered to set out the bobby pins cup in the bathroom, as I plucked one out and pinned my hair back. Most likely it was either my father or brother looking for something else, and decided that if they don't put it there now, they'd be lost throughout the house forever. I put down the wooden toilet seat and laid my clothes on top of it as I stripped out of yesterday's.

The water was cold and crisp for the most part, I wondered if the water heater even worked. Wasn't too big of a deal, I could handle it.

After I got out I put on my new clothes, which were some nice black jeans that were a bit shredded, and they came that way, I promise, and a loose light blue tank with lighter, bleached splotches.

I checked my phone as I used a towel to dry my hair, and already got a response from quite a few places I applied. I would just have to do the interviews and I'd be all set. It was still early in the morning, so I had a feeling my father and brother were still sound asleep.

"I'm still craving bacon." I mumbled to myself as I headed for the kitchen. Our fridge was still near empty. We just had to break it in a bit more. But low and behold, there was a fresh pack of bacon in one of the clear drawers.

I put a pan on the stove, turned on the heat, and then proceeded to use my claw to tear the seal. As the pan got hotter, I threw the strips on and listened to the satisfying sizzle. I knew if my father was in the kitchen he'd be wanting to throw in some minced garlic or some chives, but bacon was bacon, which was fine on its own. Sometimes it was hard to believe he was a werewolf, considering all the different flavors he loved to use.

It was probably one of the few things my brother and I didn't know about our father. His past. We know some things, like he has quite a few brothers, whom we never met. But we didn't know if he was born a werewolf, or made a werewolf. We knew our mother was made a werewolf after her ex-boyfriend from her young adult years transformed her. She was almost suicidal until my father came along and showed her the bright side of it all, and how to live with it. But he never told us how he became one. I don't even think he even told mother.

Maybe if he was made one, he might have wanted to become a chef. I don't know. I don't think I ever will.

I grabbed the sizzling bacon between my claws and flipped it when there was a soft knock on the door. Can't be Coyotes, I don't think they know the definition of soft. But still had to be prepared anyway. Quickly I put the cooked bacon in a paper plate, and turned down the heat for the strips that were still cooking. I went towards the door, one hand behind my back as my claws protruded out and curved a bit more.

Quickly, I twisted the knob and jerked it back.

"Good morning!" Was the sweetest chime I've ever hear.