Dedicated to Tyler Kopp, an amazing 12 year old who died playing the sport he loved. You will never be forgotten, bud.
Picture of Rhett on the side!!! =======>
I moaned loudly and pitched forward. My face crushed against the pages of the textbook, but I didn't care. The person who decided that it was pertinent to my education to memorize dates and terms having to do with important events had a seriously twisted sense of humor.
I was strongly considering burning my textbook when I heard a knock on my door. "Who is it?" I called in a tired voice.
"It's me," replied Patrick, "Do you want to work on the math homework?"
"Sure!" No part of me actually wanted to do math, but it was better than social studies and it meant I got to hang out with Patrick. We had been hanging out after school for the last couple of days, and he was really helpful with math. I was started to understand what we were doing enough that I wasn't hopelessly lost in class.
Patrick slipped into my room and the door clicked shut behind him. He climbed onto the bed next to me and set down his math packet and notebook. "Are you ready to work on some calculus?"
I laughed. "No way, but I'm going to anyways, since there is a test next week." Mrs. Cross was cutting me no slack, and without Patrick, I would probably fail at everything. I didn't want to raise my hand in class because I didn't want people to think I was stupider then they already did.
I slammed shut my social studies textbook and dropped it onto the floor with a loud thud. I pulled my math binder out of my backpack, and Patrick started explaining what we did in class to me. After about two hours, I dropped my pencil on the bed and lay back on my bed.
"I am so done," I moaned. "I think my brain is going to explode."
Patrick chuckled. "Someone's overdramatic."
"Shut up!" I said, and I playfully slapped his arm. I shut my eyes and exhaled loudly. A few quiet, peaceful moments passed before I heard Patrick cough, obviously trying to get my attention. "What?" I asked without opening my eyes.
"Tyler, can I ask you a serious and slightly personal question?" He asked, and I could detect his unease in his voice.
I opened my eyes and sat up slowly. "Sure. If it's too personal, I just won't answer it," I said simply. Patrick nodded, and he seemed to be formulating the correct way to ask the question in his head.
"Do you have a mate?" he asked finally, looking uncomfortable. At the word "mate" my wolf yipped loudly and happily, but I didn't know why. I'd never heard the word before, and I didn't know what it meant.
"What's a mate?" I asked.
"You don't know what a mate is?" cried Patrick, and I shook my head. I was starting to feel really embarrassed by my lack of knowledge.
"Care to explain?"
"Of course," replied Patrick, still getting over his shock. "A mate is werewolves call their soul mates. Everyone is born with a soul mate, and when you meet them, you automatically know who they are."
"What do you do when you find them?" I asked curiously.
"When you find your mate, you claim them and then mark them," explained Patrick.
"You sure know a lot about this mate stuff," I commented, "Do you have a mate?"Patrick's eyes darkened, and he looked away. I could immediately tell I had said something wrong, and I felt guilty. "I'm so sorry, Patrick. Look, if I overstepped-"
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I Didn't Know I'm a RogueWerewolf
Tyler has been kept in the dark. She knows virtually nothing about werewolves and she rarely ever gets to shift. Then, men break into her house, slaughter her parents, and bring her to a house where she is locked in the basement and tortured for bei...