‹ Prequel: Alpha
Sequel: Aspen County ›
Streak of Black
Preface
Life and death are two very strange ideas, yet they are as similar and different as good and evil. Both ideas are as blurred and intermingled as can be, leaving the boundaries of each unclear. And sometimes, I believe the good in me is beginning to die as the evil is given life.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not evil. Sane, I may not be. But I’m almost certain that I am not an evil person.
The evil in me was born when this voice in my head, an entity if you will, began to try to take over my mind and body. It started with a nightmare that she sent to me when I was four prophesying my parents’ death. The vision came true a day later. There was another when I was 10 painting the picture of my Uncle Rollo’s death that was again made a reality the following day. Since about two months ago, the horrific visions have become an item of regularity, no longer sticking to the truth with every dream—some lies are sent to scare me when I enrage or bore the Voice.
She once called herself Monique, and she constantly teases and taunts me. Her one and only hobby is to turn my life into a living hell.
But trust me when I tell you that I’m not crazy…I don’t think. It’s a complicated and delicate situation that this Voice has caused. Tension in my Pack has grown, especially between most of us and Cannan, the hot-headed one, directly following the death of his beloved Susanne. After she was killed by our large Pack’s nemesis and torturer, Damien, he grew to resent us all. I’ve tried to ease some of the tension and stay on his good side, but he becomes more and more distant by the second. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s simply alive on the outside and hiding the death within him. Others, I wonder if he’s still as good as he tried to show that he could be when he first became a member of our Pack.
Sometimes, it seems as though the Pack is beginning to disintegrate, as if the chaos and stress of the last month has simply been too much for all of us to handle. We try to stay strong and keep our relationships healthy and open, but the tension between us all has become tangible with our mission growing imminently closer.
Our mission. No one wanted to admit it, but they all agree with me that we must save the girl that Damien’s father holds hostage and who gave birth to Damien’s child only a month ago. I only know about that child because of the Voice—Monique. She conquered my mind at the time of the birth, passionately kissed my mate, and forced me to go to sleep. She took me through a strange portal to a dark room where I was forced to watch the man of my nightmares yell Damien’s lover through childbirth.
I knew then that we had to go back, but the rest of my Pack took a bit more convincing than that. I know that if I had to, I could slip in and out with only the help of my brother and Ryder, my mate, but if we were to try that, we may lose someone. I much prefer to go in with the entire Pack. In that case, we live together and die together.
I can still remember when I was young and innocent, before all of this chaos and horror entered my life. I remember hoping that my wishes and dreams would come true, back before I lost my parents. That was when nothing bad ever happened and I was always happy and loved. I was never scared back then.
I sometimes imagine what my life would've been like if I wasn't a half-breed—half human and half werewolf. I imagine that if I was full werewolf, I'd still be living in France with my father and a nameless, faceless other werewolf. I'd probably be at my aunt's house every day, playing with my cousins. My uncle may have still died, but I imagine my father still being alive to comfort the whole family through it.
Or else I imagine my mother—my sweet, gentle mother—with her beautiful, melodic voice that allowed her to sing like a bird. I'd never have been a werewolf—I wouldn't even know they'd existed. Lovett and I would have grown up with normal, simple lives. Right now, the most on his mind would be studying for college exams and mine would be picking the perfect outfit for a date.
If that was my life, none of this would ever have happened. I wouldn't be an orphan who ran away from civilization six years ago after a psychopath killed my uncle, coming from a long line of hunters of my family in particular. I wouldn’t know any of the people that have grown to be my family over the past six years. I wouldn't have witnessed so much death and pain and sadness all through my life. I wouldn't be listening to this Voice in my head that tells me the future or what to do as I go through life.
I wouldn't have just gotten home from a living hell a few weeks ago. And I most certainly wouldn't be preparing to go back in on what will most likely become a suicide mission.
If I was just a regular girl, my life would be so much better, so much simpler and not so filled with death and grief. There wouldn’t be the constant battle between good and evil waging within me. None of this would ever have happened. But what would've been even better?
If I hadn't been born at all…
But believe me when I say that I’m not insane...at least, not yet.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not evil. Sane, I may not be. But I’m almost certain that I am not an evil person.
The evil in me was born when this voice in my head, an entity if you will, began to try to take over my mind and body. It started with a nightmare that she sent to me when I was four prophesying my parents’ death. The vision came true a day later. There was another when I was 10 painting the picture of my Uncle Rollo’s death that was again made a reality the following day. Since about two months ago, the horrific visions have become an item of regularity, no longer sticking to the truth with every dream—some lies are sent to scare me when I enrage or bore the Voice.
She once called herself Monique, and she constantly teases and taunts me. Her one and only hobby is to turn my life into a living hell.
But trust me when I tell you that I’m not crazy…I don’t think. It’s a complicated and delicate situation that this Voice has caused. Tension in my Pack has grown, especially between most of us and Cannan, the hot-headed one, directly following the death of his beloved Susanne. After she was killed by our large Pack’s nemesis and torturer, Damien, he grew to resent us all. I’ve tried to ease some of the tension and stay on his good side, but he becomes more and more distant by the second. Sometimes, I wonder if he’s simply alive on the outside and hiding the death within him. Others, I wonder if he’s still as good as he tried to show that he could be when he first became a member of our Pack.
Sometimes, it seems as though the Pack is beginning to disintegrate, as if the chaos and stress of the last month has simply been too much for all of us to handle. We try to stay strong and keep our relationships healthy and open, but the tension between us all has become tangible with our mission growing imminently closer.
Our mission. No one wanted to admit it, but they all agree with me that we must save the girl that Damien’s father holds hostage and who gave birth to Damien’s child only a month ago. I only know about that child because of the Voice—Monique. She conquered my mind at the time of the birth, passionately kissed my mate, and forced me to go to sleep. She took me through a strange portal to a dark room where I was forced to watch the man of my nightmares yell Damien’s lover through childbirth.
I knew then that we had to go back, but the rest of my Pack took a bit more convincing than that. I know that if I had to, I could slip in and out with only the help of my brother and Ryder, my mate, but if we were to try that, we may lose someone. I much prefer to go in with the entire Pack. In that case, we live together and die together.
I can still remember when I was young and innocent, before all of this chaos and horror entered my life. I remember hoping that my wishes and dreams would come true, back before I lost my parents. That was when nothing bad ever happened and I was always happy and loved. I was never scared back then.
I sometimes imagine what my life would've been like if I wasn't a half-breed—half human and half werewolf. I imagine that if I was full werewolf, I'd still be living in France with my father and a nameless, faceless other werewolf. I'd probably be at my aunt's house every day, playing with my cousins. My uncle may have still died, but I imagine my father still being alive to comfort the whole family through it.
Or else I imagine my mother—my sweet, gentle mother—with her beautiful, melodic voice that allowed her to sing like a bird. I'd never have been a werewolf—I wouldn't even know they'd existed. Lovett and I would have grown up with normal, simple lives. Right now, the most on his mind would be studying for college exams and mine would be picking the perfect outfit for a date.
If that was my life, none of this would ever have happened. I wouldn't be an orphan who ran away from civilization six years ago after a psychopath killed my uncle, coming from a long line of hunters of my family in particular. I wouldn’t know any of the people that have grown to be my family over the past six years. I wouldn't have witnessed so much death and pain and sadness all through my life. I wouldn't be listening to this Voice in my head that tells me the future or what to do as I go through life.
I wouldn't have just gotten home from a living hell a few weeks ago. And I most certainly wouldn't be preparing to go back in on what will most likely become a suicide mission.
If I was just a regular girl, my life would be so much better, so much simpler and not so filled with death and grief. There wouldn’t be the constant battle between good and evil waging within me. None of this would ever have happened. But what would've been even better?
If I hadn't been born at all…
But believe me when I say that I’m not insane...at least, not yet.