Predator or Prey
“Humans weren’t usually privy to the vast mysteries of the supernatural world that coexisted with them unbeknownst to them. It felt weird to differentiate between humans and supernatural beings seeing as I was the former, but the veil had been lifted for me abruptly and accidentally by my best friend Stella.”
Approximately sixteen years ago I met my new best friend at the park. Her cousin had pushed me to get to the swing first and she swept in full of vengeance. She had him pinned to the ground and was on his back pulling his hair before I even recovered from the shock of being shoved. She tugged his hair up until he was looking at me with a scowl and demanded he apologize. He did so, mostly to literally get her off his back. She let him up and he continued his path towards the swing unphased. She smiled at me and I smiled back at the realization that we were both missing a front tooth. We have been fast friends ever since. We were eight then, with birthdays exactly a month apart. That image of her swooping in like a Valkyrie remains to this day. Stella truly lived up to her name. From a distance she was beautiful, but the closer you got to her it became readily apparent that she was a deadly, giant ball of fire.
As we grew up, Stella could only be described as Olympian. She was taller than most of the guys at 16. She was lean and muscled with messy blonde hair that rockstars envied. Her warm caramel eyes pierced into your soul as if she were assessing your weaknesses. Which, truth be told, she most likely was. We always played this game where we categorized people into prey or predator in terms of personality. Stella was certainly a predator. It was a quality about her that made those she loved feel safe. She made me feel quite safe. Everyone else though, found themselves with a mixture of deep-set fear and intrigue.
I have to paint a full picture in my mind of the Stella I knew prior to age 16. It can get so easily lost in the larger image of her, the puzzle with missing pieces I was never supposed to find put together. At age 16, I watched her kill a man. That night I learned two new things about her. The first being that Stella was a werewolf. The second being that while many friends may promise that they would kill for you, Stella truly meant it. To clarify, Stella actually killed another werewolf. He had gone feral and attacked us while we were hiking out by the border of Stella’s family’s property. She always talked about the border and how important it was that we stayed within it. It never made sense until I learned that Stella’s parents were the Alpha and Luna of the Harroway Pack and the border was a tangible boundary marking out their territory that all supernatural beings could feel.
We had done everything right. Still a full mile from the border, but feral wolves are all instinct and that instinct can override the logical threat that a marked boundary presents. He had scented us as prey. Stalking us easily by our distracted chatter and giggling. His stealth didn’t give him much of an advantage against someone with Alpha blood running through her veins. He should have sensed that, but my human smell clouded the air. It did make it impossible for Stella to keep her secret after she realized we were being followed. The forest had stilled a moment before she had whirled me around so that a tree was at my back and she was in front of me. The oversized wolf covered in mange burst through the trees in front of us. He barely had time to snarl before Stella was in the air transforming into her own blonde wolf.
She landed with her claws embedded in his back. He tried to shake her off but he was weaker and distracted by the overwhelming scent of fear pouring out of me. She dislodged her claws before quickly slicing them into his neck. Fur and skin shredded the wolf made a gurgling sound before he slumped to the ground slowly transforming back into a grimy, naked man. The blonde wolf huffed and turned towards me belly low to the ground before she turned back into the Stella I knew. She was naked now, kneeling on the ground afraid to look at me. I was afraid to look away from her. My mind couldn’t possibly comprehend what it has seen.
I managed to utter a quiet,
“Stella, what the actual fuck-” unable to finish before Stella’s family and a few neighbors I had seen around cut through the trees. Her father whipped off his shirt to cover his daughter while her mother sank to the ground, grabbing her bloodstained hands with worry. Stella’s eyes looked up at her mom then flashed over to me where I was still standing with my back pressed against the trees. Her eyes were wide with fear as I’m sure mine were too. Her mother turned to me as well and then hoisted Stella up onto trembling legs and led her to me. She extended a hand to me and I took it. Unable to resist the protective maternal glint in her eyes. She pulled me in, tucked under her arm with Stella squeezed tightly to her other side. She held us firmly and kept us both steady murmuring a soft,
“C’mon girls” before leading us back towards the house.
The walk was silent, but seemed to pass quickly while my mind was reeling. I was sat at the kitchen table with a mug of tea warm in my hands and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Stella had rejected the offer of a shower opting instead to sit across from me wrapped in a blanket of her own. We were both staring at the blood dry now and crusty on her hands. She looked up at me and I met her eyes. Guilt, fear, and rage swirled through them. I knew the rage stemmed from her feeling out of control. There was nothing she hated more than not knowing what to do in a given situation. It happened pretty rarely. My mind was still in chaos but I relaxed slightly realizing that as the adrenaline died down it was actually putting pieces together and accepting conclusions. My friend has always been a bit off and now she simply made sense. My worldview was tilted off its axis and that didn’t make sense. But Stella was Stella. More now than ever before. She had gone back to looking at her hands and looked up again when my brown hands clasped her bloodied ones, blocking her view.
The uncharted territory for both of us was too fresh and traumatizing to be funny yet, but humor was my way of dealing with difficult topics.
“The new kid at our school. Do you think he’s more predator or prey?” She looked up in disbelief but her answer slipped out anyways.
“Oh he’s easily prey.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of him.
“What about me?” I said puffing out my chest to make my petite frame seem larger.
“Layla, babe, don’t make me say it. I know you desperately want to be a predator, but c’mon, mice take pity on you!” She grinned slightly.
I grinned back and she seemed calmer now, just a hint of anxiety remained.
“You’re definitely a predator.” I quipped. She frowned and sighed,
“Yeah, no denying that now.” She sounded a bit defeated but I couldn’t contain my bark of laughter at how absurd everything seemed. She giggled a bit as well and then I patted her hands and suggested she shower now. I made my way into the living room to get comfy on the couch to show her I wasn’t going to make a break for it while she cleaned up.
Author's Note: This is the first book that I'm sharing online so please be gentle. I hope you all enjoy and feel free to leave comments!
*This is an original work.
