Right. I am editing everything. This is the first chapter done. I'm going through them all today and systematically changing everything so it fits for later. This might happen more than once, so always check the A/N's at the beginning of new chappies. Enjoy!

I ran away. My mum didn't understand me, my pop was murdered when I was three by the pack he abandoned to start fresh. Yes, I said pack; big deal. If you were one of us, you'd understand.

I ran away because my mum thought me a monster. I'm fourteen, soon to go through my first change. You wouldn't understand, just like my mum. I'm Charlotte McKenzie, but unless you call me Charlie, I'll hurt you.

I'm tall, maybe 5'9ish, with orangey-red hair that comes to my shoulders. I'm strong, too. Like I said, Charlie or you'll be damaged. My temper matches my hair, and my eyes are a really bright amber. Like a wolf's. It runs in my dad's family; for a reason too. You'd think it'd would clash with my hair, but they actually complement each other rather nicely, I'd like to think.

Now personal descriptions are over with, on with why I'm attempting this 'madness', as my mum would call it. I am not as normal as your average teen, just going through a 'phase'. No. My obsession is wolves; how they live and behave. Many people think I'm just an enviro-fanatic, but that's not right.

There's not a particle of silver in our house, dad insisted and I agreed. It was against mum's will, but she didn't understand then. Silver is dangerous, for me and my kind anyways.

That brings us back to the reason for my sudden… umm… departure. Pop's side of the family is a massive pack in Syracuse. Werewolves. There was a ninety-five per-cent chance that I would be human with only mild lycanthrope traits (you know, faster, better senses. The works); that's why he took the risk with my mum. Unfortunately, however, the minority prevailed and I'm a full-fledged werewolf. Well, almost. I'm still a pup until I've completed the change.

I've been have the tell-tale seizures for the past few weeks, and they've been slowly escalating to partial changes; ears moving, fur growing, tail extending and bones breaking. I tell you now, it's not fun. Mum was freaked out at first, she was gonna call a doctor because dad hadn't told her and neither had I. However, if the doctor came I would have to have a blood test, and my lycanthropy would be exposed. Mega bad.

On the off chance that the doctor was a Were in hiding, which is about one in twenty nonillion, I would be whisked away against my will to his clan and be inducted; that would get me in the same place as my dad had been.

I'd been tearing myself up for a while now, about running away. We have a very strong sense of pack and protective instincts. My mum was pack, and running away was abandoning her. I'm lucky that I could trick my wolf into thinking I was going to find my green-eyed pack from when I was a tiny tot, though, so it was easier than it could (and should) have been. It does hurt, though, that mum probably doesn't care that I'm gone. One less problem to deal with.

My senses were on hyper drive, making all the details of the dark night crystal clear. I could smell every trace, see every shadow and hear the slightest noises in the darkness. A hobo wandered up to me, his rags swaying with his movement. If he was a Were, his putrid odour covered the scent that emanated from those of our kind.

"Would you like some lovely silver spoons?" He asked in a smooth, cunning voice that didn't fit with his appearance.

I didn't answer, so he took that as a yes (stupid man) and tried to place one of the silver utensils into my hand. I jumped back; just being so close to the infernal substance put me on edge and made my skin crawl.

Underneath the dirty brown hood that obscured his face, I could sense a smirk forming. "You're one of them, are you?" he cackled. The sound made my hair stand on end.

I tried to shake my head, but I was a terrible liar. I whimpered, a noise that a human would never be able to make, and tried to scrabble away. I was successful for maybe five seconds. The hobo, who now made it apparent that he wasn't a hobo, threw off his rags.

They took the stench with them, which was a relief for my nose; but the scent that now wafted from this man was one that my dad had told me to always be wary of.

Vampire.

See? I think it's better. Please note that, when I copied it into the DocManager here on , it deleted my paragraphs and all that. It is now a little wonky, I think. Thanks for sticking by me! ~PiptheSnake~

*Edited 15 March 2014