His Worst Behavior

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE - THE START OF MY RUINING

Hatred and vomit spewed up in my throat as I remained crouched down behind the dumpster in the alleyway, watching as my friend, my only friend, suffered. Foster was kneeled down, beaten raw and blood dripping from his lips. Three shirtless werewolves circled around him, like predators stalking their prey. They were enforcing their dominance and they were enjoying it. Their evil chuckles and scummy comments were repulsive.

Foster cried out again when a fist connected with his jaw. His agony was heart-wrenching. He was defeated, yet they weren't stopping. They were going to kill him. Us humans were disposable to them.

Shakily, I reached into the back of my jeans, pulling out my handgun. It was loaded with silver bullets and I was hoping that since they were so focused on Foster, they wouldn't see me coming. The sound of their growls went straight to my stomach; the urge to vomit washed over me again, but instead, my eyes hardened in anger.

As if sensing my anger, Foster turned his head, looking at me. He knew I was there - he knew I was watching. He had the same cool, almost blank expression as when I met him. Then, he gave me a shake of his head, spitting blood onto the pavement.

A foot collided with his shoulder and he grunted in pain, his eyes snapping away from me. I gripped the gun in my hand, taking a deep breath. I couldn't shoot from behind the dumpster, not at this angle. I strolled out with soft footsteps and raised the gun, my hand steady. They were oblivious of me - they were too busy kicking and swinging at my friend.

I bet you're hoping that I fired the gun, that I shot one of them. I wanted to, so badly, but I was stopped by the man who would later break me.

With impossible speed, a set of arms came from behind me, ripping the gun out of my hand. I gasped, whipping around in fear as the three werewolves circling Foster finally noticed me. I felt their eyes crawling all over me, possibly enjoying the view, but my attention was centered on the werewolf in front of me. There was something different about this one, something that terrified me.

There was a change in the air in his presence. It was stronger, more electric. Powerful.

He hovered over my five-foot-four frame, easily over six-feet tall. He was sculpted into a weapon, a force to be reckoned with. Broad shoulders, muscular arms with various tattoos, and long legs thick with muscle. His facial features were sharp, just like the rest of him. His brown eyes trailed down my body, his face cold and expressionless.

Growls erupted from the werewolves lingering around Foster. I looked at my friend in regret, realizing I had just killed us both. Foster tried moving to his feet, but he was instantly kicked back to the ground. "Don't h-hurt her! She was just - "

His sentence abruptly ended when a fist slammed into his cheekbone. I almost burst into tears when I witnessed his eyes roll back, followed by his body collapsing, motionless. He was only unconscious, but I had never seen my friend so helpless, so broken. 

The werewolf held my gaze as he emptied my gun. 

I was done for.

His dark eyes glinted as he tossed my gun aside. I heard it clatter against the pavement, reminding me that I was weaponless, officially pathetic, against them. My heartbeat increased when the three other werewolves approached us, wickedly grinning. I was a young, human woman being surrounded by four massive, inhuman males. I was expecting the worst.

I moved to make a run for it, but my upper arm was suddenly snatched, yanking me back into a warm body. It was one of the men who had beaten up Foster holding me. I felt his face lower to the crook of my neck, his breath tingling my skin. "We're going to have so much fun with you."