Back by popular demand. Here's the thing, guys. This story is literally the first thing I ever wrote, and I read it and feel that it has a lot of issues. So many of you have messaged me asking where it went, and that is why it's back up here, but this story is far from perfect. Please dont judge me on this one alone, lol.
This book is dedicated to my husband. My real life Aedan, you know, minus the wolf thing. Who has encouraged me to finally write down the stories that tend to take over my mind at the oddest times, and has always supported me 100%. Without you, I'd probably never have gotten up the courage to hit publish.
♡ always
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Reviews by Wattpad Readers!
@popcan24 writes
"Hey! Just finished Chance Encounters and I loved it! You have a very unique viewpoint of the werewolf genre that I want to see more of! You're very talented! I'm excited for all of the new books that you're planning to start this year! Thank you for making this genre interesting to read again! <3 :)
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Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Mature content warning. Mild violence and sexual content. May not be suitable for younger readers.
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"Shoot!" I reluctantly closed the book in my hands. I hate when I come to the end of a good book. I get so absorbed into the lives of the characters, I even catch myself laughing out loud at their antics. When I'm finished with a great book, it feels like I've just said goodbye to real friends.
I look at the clock on the wall and realize with a jolt that it's time to head out to the barn, anyhow. I've been lost in that book for hours and I'm stiff. When I stand up, Hope, my Australian Shepherd jumps to her feet. She watches me with warm brown eyes as I stretch my 5 foot 6 frame. The oval mirror above my dresser reflects my dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Jeans and a teeshirt are my usual style. I just don't see the point in dressing up when I'm probably not going to be face to face with another person all day.
Hope's patchwork of black, grey, blue, and white fur streaks down the stairs ahead of me. Her toenails click on the wooden steps of the old farmhouse. I've lived here my whole life, except for that one year of college. I'd wanted to be a writer, but my parents sudden deaths in a car accident brought me home. As an only child, our small farm came to me. I loved the quiet. I loved nature and the farm animals. I'd never left again.
"Lets go, Hope." I call unnecessarily to my dog. She is already waiting by the door, stub tail wagging her whole body wildly. I pull on my ratty pair of sneakers and we step into the evening air. Fall is my favorite time of year. Not cold yet, but crisp. The air smells clean, and the vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows of the leaves are beautiful.
Hope runs off into the nearby field, eager to sniff around. I walk the well worn dirt path to the old, red barn. As soon as I enter the barn, I'm greeted by my three goats. Their long, floppy ears sway with their excitement. They reach over the top of their stall, eager for attention. "Hi girls." I give each a quick scratch before filling their hay feeder and water bucket. I also fill the feeders and buckets in the two horse stalls. The horses are still outside grazing, but will come inside on their own when ready.
I leave the barn and walk around to the chicken coop out back. I check the feed and water levels for my few hens and collect the eggs. Turning around I take in the view. The sun is setting. The sky is streaked with fiery colors and the horses are outlined on the horizon. The sight makes me a little emotional. The horse on the right was my mom's pride and joy. We used to spend hours riding together. My mom was also a great friend. It's been two years, but I still miss her.
Hope reappears at my side and I lean down to scratch behind her fluffy ear. Standing still, she raises her nose to the wind and breathes in hard. A low growl works it's way up her throat. Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere is spoiled and the approaching night seems more menacing. My eyes dart around, afraid of who I might see. I find nothing out of place. But my normally ridiculously happy dog is still stiff and growling. It's time to go inside.
I know he is out here.
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Pic above is of a blue merle Australian Shepherd, the dog I've included in this story. Some of you have been asking !