Polaris

[+Midnight Marauder+]

A/N: Hello! I just wanted to post an original story I'm working on. It involves werewolves and a bit of violence. I was thinking when I first started it would develop into pure smut, but it's just not working out that way. If I do include steamy sex in the story, then I'll post those parts under a separate thread in the Original Fiction 18+ section and call it the deleted scenes or something. If you guys really like this, then I'll try to update regularly. Any constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks!

Summary: Christopher Hayes just wants to be normal. This is made difficult by two very important facts: He's a werewolf and he's gay. Add to the mix a possessive Alpha wolf who's bent on making Chris part of his pack, and what do you get? Chaos.

Warning: This story contains elements that may be disturbing to some readers, such as some violence and suicidal themes.

[This story is also posted on another site. Hope that's okay!]

*********

Prologue

Ten.

Christopher Hayes was only ten years old when he decided to kill himself. It was a spur-of-the-moment type thing, really. Chris had suddenly realized that there was no point to his existence. His family was large, but well off, and with so many siblings no one ever noticed him. It's not that they didn't love him. They just sometimes forgot he was there.

This was similar to the private school he attended. Even in such a small setting, he still managed to go unnoticed. He had not a single friend or even an acquaintance. It was his fault, really. He didn't know how to talk to children his age, or any age for that matter. He felt much older than his small frame suggested, as though he'd lived a thousand times before, but everyone around him was only on their first life. How could he possibly relate to them? So, he didn't bother trying.

Having such an old soul, with so many lives already lived, Chris figured it didn't matter if he finished this one or not. It wasn't as though he could ever hope to outshine one of his five brothers or be dainty and well mannered, like one of his three sisters. He was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, so why not just end it?

It was these very thoughts that led the young boy to the roof of the library, the largest building in his small town. He stood, overlooking the main square that was virtually empty at such a late hour, and watched as his shadow danced on the ground far below him. The moon was round, shining so brightly in the sky it was almost as though it were attempting to compete with the sun. The world was illuminated, yet hidden by the dark corners of low buildings, and Chris knew that this was the perfect setting for his last night on earth. Who, but someone on the verge of death could fully appreciate such beauty?

He kept his eyes trained forward as he slowly approached the edge of the building. If he looked down and actually watched his feet move nearer and nearer to his fate he might have a change of heart, so he focused instead on the deep woods that surrounded the town. At night, the trees seemed to fade into one another making the forest look solid and impenetrable- not that it was any more welcoming in the day.

Chris briefly considered changing his mind and running away instead. He could be like the ancient American Indians and live in the woods, completely in tune with nature. He was intelligent; downright precocious. Surely he could make it on his own in the woods. Maybe he could even-

And then he was falling.

The sky now seemed higher than ever, as the stars drifted away from him. He watched the North Star, shining brightly amongst all the rest. How odd that as he was falling, he would choose to stare at the one star that had led so many wayward travelers home.

The wind, which had been unusually still that night, now began to roar to life around him, howling as it engulfed him in a whirlwind while gravity pushed him toward the ground. The world was in slow motion, everything happening at a snail's pace. It seemed like forever as Chris watched the sky pull away. Higher and higher, until the roof of the library obscured it from view.

Chris' skin, chilled to the bone from the wind, now felt as though it were being jabbed with a million tiny pinpricks as his breath rushed out of him. It took him a while to realize that he'd hit the ground and even longer to comprehend that he wasn't dead.

He opened his mouth to gasp for air and felt it fill with something sharp and bitter. Leaves? He glanced around as much as he was able, and saw that he was surrounded by small, pointy leaves. A bush. He'd landed in one of the bushes that wrapped around the facade of the library. Despite the discomfort he felt from the rough foliage, the shrub was soft enough to cushion his landing and spare his life.

He moved tenderly, feeling the beginnings of a very large bruise blooming on his back, as he pulled himself from the bush. He felt a sharp pain as he tried to disentangle his left leg and couldn't help the startled cry he emitted. He hissed as he pulled himself from the bush and onto the freshly mowed lawn, his left leg dragging behind him. He must've dislocated it or worse. He sincerely hoped nothing was broken. He might be able to explain away a dislocated knee as childish carelessness, but a broken leg? There was no way he could come up with a believable lie for that.

He bent forward to better examine the leg and felt his stomach lurch at the sight. His knee was a bloody mess and he could see what appeared to be bone poking through a large gash just above his kneecap.

"This is not happening," he murmured to himself. He sighed as he lay back on the grass, doing his best not to whimper at the pain that was coursing through his body. He couldn't decide if it would be worse to drag himself all the way home or shout for help and be forced to tell someone what he'd tried to do. At least if he had to crawl home he could spend that time formulating a plausible fib.

A rustling sound in a thicket not too far from the edge of the woods caught his attention. He glanced over, but could see nothing in the dense darkness of the forest. He assumed it was a rabbit or some other small critter and went back to staring off at nothing, trying to figure out just how to get himself out of the mess he'd made.

The noise sounded again, louder this time. Closer.

A shiver ran down his spine as he raised himself up carefully, doing his best not to agitate his knee. His eyes gazed at the spot where the sound had come from, but he still couldn't see a thing. Fear gripped his heart, the powerful feeling overwhelming the pain that started to dim in its presence. He, like just about every other kid his age, had heard enough horror stories about monsters that lived in the woods to carry a deep rooted terror of the forests that surrounded his town. He wondered as his blood began to run cold which monster could be dwelling in the thicker part of the woods just beyond his eyesight.

He shook his head as if to clear it, cursing himself for being so stupid. There was nothing out there except for a few wild animals that were harmless, so long as he didn't go near them. He wasn't some ignorant child. Chris knew that there was no such thing as monsters. Distancing himself from his irrational fears, he glanced back at the dark streets of the town, wondering how far away the nearest person was. Would there even be a point in screaming if no one was around to hear him? It appeared he truly would have to get home on his own.

He removed his shirt carefully, trying to shift around as little as possible. Underneath the dimming fear, the pain held steady, making his body ache in a way it never had before. Gently, he tied the shirt around the wound, doing his best to create a makeshift tourniquet. He'd seen a man do the same thing before on a documentary he'd watched, and knew the tourniquet would help stop the bleeding.

After securing the shirt around his knee, he placed both hands flat on the ground and began to lift himself up. He managed to get his right leg underneath him before he accidentally placed too much pressure on his wound. He cried out as the pain flared up again and lost his grip, falling onto his back on the soft lawn. His entire body thrummed, the agony of the wound leaving him almost paralyzed. He knew then that there was no way he'd be able to get home in his condition.

He stilled and began to take deep breaths, knowing he'd have to gather a very large one that would enable him to scream loudly enough for someone to hear. He had no idea what he'd tell whoever found him, but as the pain continued to circulate through his body he found he didn't really care. He opened his mouth wide, preparing to scream as much as he was able, when the rustling sound returned. He froze briefly before scowling.

"There's nothing there!" he mumbled to himself, annoyed at his childish fears. "It's just some stupid rabbit." He may have believed himself if not for the ominous growl that sounded from just beyond the tree line.

He couldn't move. He found himself overwhelmed with terror as the growling grew louder. Closer...

A bear. It had to be a bear. Bears were supposed to have a really good sense of smell. It must have caught the scent of the blood from his wound and come in search of easy prey. Chris knew he had to scream for help, and he had to scream now. There was no point in playing dead- or whatever else you were supposed to do with a bear, if it already hungered after your blood.

He once again began to gather breath to scream as the animal came closer. He hoped that one of the townsfolk wasn't too far away, otherwise he didn't stand a chance of surviving. He cursed himself for being out there in the first place. What had he been thinking? Could it be that just a few moments ago he'd actually tried to kill himself? Death was now literally breathing down his neck and its' presence made him realize he wanted to live. How ironic.

The animal came into his peripheral vision, and for a moment Chris thought his heart had stopped. That beast was no bear. It was too small, but much larger than the animal it vaguely resembled. But if it wasn't a wolf, what was it...?

As the animal bared it's fangs, Chris found he hadn't needed so much preparation. The scream came easily.

He screamed again and again, the words, "Help!" and "Please!" tumbling from his lips in between shrill, wordless wails. He attempted to lift himself up, his hands gripping the short grass tightly. He knew he had no chance of getting away, but he had to try. It would be much worse to lie there and watch as the beast killed him.

He managed to pull himself onto his stomach and, ignoring the searing pain in his leg, began to crawl away from the monster, his shouts still ringing loudly throughout the quiet town. The mutant wolf gave a loud, piercing howl before the heavy thumping of its' paws over the grass was the only sound that could be heard. Chris shouted again, knowing his time had come as the thudding of the wolf's paws grew nearer. Distantly, he thought he heard an answering yell, but couldn't be sure. It didn't matter anymore, he realized, as the wolf's teeth sank into his shoulder, missing his neck by mere centimeters.

His shouts became ones of anguish as the wolf shook him back and forth roughly. His body jerked to and fro, the pain in his leg secondary to the pressure caused by the wolf's jaw clamping onto his shoulder. He thought idly that he must resemble a scene from a shark film, where the Great White sinks its teeth into its prey and viciously shakes it back and forth as it attempts to rip flesh from bone. He could feel warm liquid gushing from between the wolf's teeth and only vaguely noticed it was his own blood. His body was so overcome with sensation that he was numb. Too much was happening for his brain to process. The only thing he could focus on was to keep calling for help.

He began to see gray at the edge of his vision and his hearing was reduced to the sound of the growling beast and his own screams. Time was running out. He was well and truly dying, and by the time someone discovered his corpse it would be mangled beyond all recognition.

If only he hadn't been so dumb. If he'd just talked to the children at school, he would've made friends. If he'd managed to excel at something none of his other siblings could do, his parents would have noticed him. There were so many simple solutions; so many other things he could've done. And now it was too late.

Suddenly, the wolf's jaws disappeared from his shoulder. He barely felt it as his body crashed heavily onto the ground. He could vaguely hear a multitude of sounds; people shouting, the wolf howling. It all seemed as though he was hearing the noise from the end of a very long tunnel, although somehow he knew they were all around him.

His vision began to dull, and he was only dimly aware of someone touching his face. He heard words... They were speaking to him, but he couldn't understand any of it. Everything seemed to fade away; the noise, the discomfort, all of it.

Darkness settled over him and, although it was scary, at least there was no pain.

-*-

Tired...

He felt tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He could hear voices whispering, but he was too exhausted to grasp their meaning.

The darkness came for him again, and he let the sounds fade out.

-*-

His skin felt hot.

Did he have a fever?

His body was burning. His insides were on fire. He tried to scream, but he found he couldn't even open his mouth.

The darkness came again, and this time he was afraid.

-*-

"...I don't understand."

Voices again, speaking from somewhere to his left. He didn't have the strength to open his eyes, and he felt as though someone had stuffed cotton in his ears, but he did his best to listen. He managed to make out snippets of the conversation, but none of it made any sense.

"...most of the wounds have already fully healed. At this rate he'll make a full recovery in a matter of days."

"But it's only been two weeks..."

"...miracle..."

"A monster! A monster attacked him. I've heard stories..."

"...not being rational. Please, just-"

"No! That's not my son in there. He's a monster..."

Monster.

His heart hammered wildly in his chest. Something wasn't right. Something about him was just... wrong. He wanted to call to them. He wanted to know what had happened to him; what was happening to him. He struggled as hard as he could, but it was no use. The voices faded away as Chris once again surrendered himself to the blackness of sleep.

-*-

Ten.

Christopher Hayes was only ten years old when he became a werewolf.

[Lena]

Waaa. This is great! ^^

[+Midnight Marauder+]

Thanks so much! I'm working on the next part now.

It might be up in a few days. Not sure yet, though.

[Innocent]

Yeah I defiantly like it. How his suicide is ruined by something as simple as a bush, and the irony of wanting to live when faced with his death. And the ending. Simple statements always make for the best endings and hook an audience more in my opinion then a cliff hanger. Especially for a prologue.

[+Midnight Marauder+]

Thank you! All the stuff you picked up on are the things I tried hardest to get just right. So I'm very pleased you noticed them.

And a thousand thanks for reading it .

[jcoel1]

You should make finish this and get it published, really. Your writing skill is very mature and it felt just like reading a real book.