Sometimes I get philosophical when I'm dealing with the jocks, especially when I'm holding one of them by the ankles, suspending them over a toilet. This is what my dad calls a "swirly", but seeing as how he's old I can't hold it against him for knowing such a corny name. Anyway, the reason for my getting all Socrates-like is this: a bully is someone who preys on those who are weaker, right? Well seeing as how I'm preying on the bullies who think they can pick on my friends, does that make me a bully? I don't think so, and neither do my friends. Maybe I'll take a class on it when I go to college. because questions like that one makes me philosophical.

As I started to lower the jock to apply the famous swirly to his hair, he had the gall to put his hands on the rim of the toilet. "You better let me go, Kevinson!" the jock said, which led me to wonder why in hell people think using someone's last name is more effective than their first. Whatever. I moved one hand from his ankle to his head, pushing it down under the water. He put up a pretty good struggle, no surprise there, and I had to grab both his ankles so he wouldn't boot me on the head. He was thrashing around pretty good, so I kept him under for a few more seconds before I flushed the toilet. The sputtering sounds that came from his lips were music to my ears.

I lowered his legs about halfway down towards the floor then just released them, and I took a step back to enjoy the ballet of awkward flailing of feet as he struggled to regain his footing. It was hard to believe this clumsy waterlogged Neanderthal was our so-called star quarterback. Then again, I guess I could believe it since I turned down the coach's offer to join the team. Wouldn't have been fair anyway, since I have advantages no one else has in our school.

When Manny--the star quarterback--finally stood up to face me, bangs dripping over his hate-filled eyes, I was calmly leaned up against the bathroom sink, arms folded across my chest. I knew Manny wanted to kick my ass, but I also knew he wasn't about to try. Manny, like all bullies in Trinity High School, was scared of me. If he'd known I was there when he was picking on my Algebra tutor, he'd have left him alone. But Manny didn't know, and that's why he had a soaked head.

"You're gonna pay for that, Kevinson," Manny said. It was an empty threat, and we both knew it. He was a big guy--six feet and two hundred pounds worth of broad shouldered, barrel-chested muscle. He was the type of guy I'm into, if you know what I'm talking about. Compared to me, though, he wasn't anything special. I was three inches taller than him and fifty pounds heavier. I had that kind of body that could one day win a Mister Universe competition if I gave a damn, but I only cared about two things. One was protecting my turf.

"I'm not going to pay for anything," I said. "Now piss off or I'll use a toilet that hasn't been flushed for awhile." As a matter of fact, there was one the next stall over. So we stood there, staring down each other, waiting to see who would blink first. I was getting all geared up to humiliate him some more when he looked away and stormed out of the bathroom. Mission accomplished, I gave Manny two seconds to get the hell out of there and checked on my long mane of red hair, then left the bathroom as well. Naturally, Manny was nowhere in sight.

"You shouldn't have stepped in like that, Izzy," my tutor said as soon as I entered the hallway. Remember how I said there were two things I cared about? Joshua was the second one. And here he was, complaining about my rescue. That's gratitude for you.

I shrugged. "He shouldn't pick on you." I said, stating the obvious.

"I can defend myself," he said, picking up his book bag by the shoulder strap.

I tried my best to suppress a smirk as I looked him over. Best friend or not, Joshua was close to five-seven, probably a hundred pounds lighter than me--hell, my forearms had more size to them than his biceps--and he dressed head to toe in black. Today's outfit was a long sleeved turtleneck, a black jacket, and black jeans that flared out at the hem, covering up his boots. Personally, I thought he was overdoing it with the Goth look, but at least he wasn't wearing the eyeshadow today, though he was still pale as a skeleton. Would it kill him to get some sun?

"Okay, just how can you defend yourself?" I couldn't help the sarcasm in my voice, as I just had to hear this one.

"I can avoid making eye contact with him and keep my head ducked down," he said, looking down at his black shoes. To anyone else it would've looked like a demonstration.

"I'll still keep watching out for you," I said as I started to walk down the empty hall, casually drumming my fingers against the lockers as I moved past them.

"Why?" Joshua asked as he followed alongside me, looking up at me with a frown. I smiled as I noticed a trail of water droplets on the floor tile, the thought of a drenched Manny distracting me from having to answer Joshua's question the first time. Unfortunately for me, my best friend was a persistent little guy, so he asked "Why?" again.

"Why not?" I asked in reply, knowing full well that answering a question with a question pushed his buttons something fierce, but I couldn't help it. Joshua was my best friend, but there were times I just had to tease him. Most of the time I did it to get him out of his mousy attitude, but there other times I did it _because_ of his mousy attitude.

"That's not an answer, Izzy." My answer made his frown grow more...well, frowny.

"Yeah, I know," I said as we reached our destination: Fourth Period Study Hall. I ignored the stares of hormone-filled girls who would love nothing more than to convert me, and Joshua was being ignored by the same crowd of girls. They thought he was weird and creepy, but maybe if they actually tried to get to know him...or maybe if he weren't so damned anti-social...well, they'd find out he was an okay kind of guy.

Ah, who am I trying to fool? Joshua was weird, but he belonged to the other end of the spectrum of guys I'm into, so I was able to see through the anti-social tendencies and fall for the real guy underneath. There was just one big roadblock to the path of my healthy young teenage lust: He was only into girls. They made his body react to them in the same way guys caused my body to react, the only difference being he did his best to cover up those reactions and I did my best to act on those reactions. It was a sucky situation for me, seeing as how I was in love with him, but what could I do? I'm not the kind of guy to pull the "If you haven't experimented, then how do you know you're not gay?" crap, because you either know your sexual preference, or you're in denial.

Speaking of situations, the one in Study Hall was always my personal favorite next to lunchtime. The room was the bandroom, which was large and soundproofed by these panels stuck to the wall. I didn't know what they were made of, but it seems there were always new pockmarks on the surface from the pencils people threw like darts. Some people got no respect for public property. Anyway, the soundproofing made it difficult to listen in on other people's conversations, but not impossible. Especially when they were talking about Joshua or yours truly; I always did pay extra attention to those conversations. Today was an exception--no one was talking about either of us--and I was almost disappointed. I enjoy a good ego stroking as much as the next guy, so I did the next best thing to eavesdropping on conversations--I started one with Joshua, who was writing something down in one of his multiple series of notebooks, glancing every so often at a musty smelling old book with fragile-looking pages that were discolored yellow from age. The whole thing looked ready to fall apart, and the way Joshua handled the pages, I don't think I was far off from being right. "What're you doing, Joshua?" I asked, casually propping up my feet on one of the tables up against the wall.

"Writing stuff in my notebook," he said, not even looking up. He was always like that, so focused on what he was doing that I could have run around the room naked and he wouldn't have noticed. Maybe one day I'll try that.

"What kind of stuff?" Like I said, I couldn't help but poke at his mousiness.

"Stuff you wouldn't be interested in, Izzy." I got to admit, his patience with me is why we've been friends for so long.

"Tell me, I might surprise you and be interested." Stranger things happen in my life all the time.

Joshua paused in his writing, and I could hear the barest whisper of a sigh. "Are you interested in the history of Witchcraft?"

I gave it some thought, and then shrugged. "Guess you were right. Now, if it were about the history of Tantric magic, I'd be all over it."

"Told you so." He went right back to writing in his notebook.

What a smartass. There's the other reason why we've been friends for so long. Sometimes he manages to tone down the ol' Izzy Ego.

The rest of Study Hall was boring. Joshua was being less talkative than usual, so when the end bell rang I was ready to get out of there. The only reason I restrained myself was for--yup, you guessed it--Joshua. He never failed to be the last one to leave a class, and I never failed to stick by him.

"What're you doing after school?" Joshua asked, his eyes darting around, taking in everything in sight--so much for ducking his head down to avoid predators. It was yet another reminder of how he would be a mouse in his next life. I know it sounds cruel, but dammit I hated how he was so skittish. You'd think having a best friend watching his back would give him some confidence. What more could I do?

"Not much, why? You need a ride somewhere?"

Joshua gave me a nod of his head. "To Candleworks."

I'd never heard of the place, and when Joshua explained to me what kind of place it was I unconsciously rolled my eyes, but he failed to see it since his eyes were darting over to a blind corner in the hallway. Did he think there was going to be something lurking around it? Probably. "What's over there?"

He shrugged, not making eye contact with me. "I just want to see what they have in stock," he said. "I might find something useful."

So after school was done for the day I drove him to that Candleworks place. What are friends for?

* * *

Turns out it was at the strip mall right next to Maximum Effort, my favorite health food store. Serendipity! I was going to make a trip there anyway. "I'll be in there," I said. "When you're ready to go just come and get me." I didn't think all the vitamins and supplements would cause Joshua to spontaneously combust, but the fake suntan sprays might.

"Okay." Joshua slid out of the Jeep, and I watched him enter Candleworks before going over to Maximum Effort. I was immediately struck by the scent of cologne--thick and overpowering. Keith must've been working today, and sure enough, I could see him at the counter ringing up a purchase. I took a moment to watch him in action, enjoying the play of his lean, muscular arms, baked by the sun to a nice golden brown. So what if he was liable to get skin cancer in ten years or less? He looked good now. Yeah, it was a shallow attitude to have, but I've learned in my young seventeen years that life was hard. It was best to live every day as if it were your last, because you really don't know when you're going to go.

"Hey there, big guy," Keith said as he finished up with the customer, who was some skinny kid I'd never seen before. I watched him as he passed me by to the exit. The kid had bleached blond hair, shallow chest, and pipe cleaners for arms. I could feel the increase of heat on his cheeks as he took in the sight of me, but he kept his eyes on me when I caught him scoping me out. He might've had nothing in the body department, but he made up for it in guts. I gave him a brief nod before making my way towards Keith.

"You got anything new supplement wise, Keith?" He was in college, and if I were legal, I think I could easily seduce him regardless of his claims to be straight. Denial. Population of Keith.

"Nope, there's nothing new this week, Israel. Sorry about that." I have no clue why Keith didn't use my nickname. Maybe he felt like calling me by my full name gave him some kind of superiority over me. Well, until he was able to bench press more than I could, that wasn't going to fly with me.

"Still studying to be a physical therapy trainer?" I thought Keith was cute in his attempts to be an "alpha dog", but if he only knew the truth about me...

"Yup, so if you ever get hurt working out, I can help you get back to your best." He flashed me a big grin, and I just had to shake my head at that. He was so into me, and he didn't realize it. Maybe he didn't want to be thought of as a chicken hawk, looking for young chicks. I so can't wait to hit the age of consent in a few months.

"The old personal touch, huh?" I leaned forward, folding my arms across the counter. I pretended not to notice his eyes move towards my biceps. I was wearing a tank top today--I absolutely will not call it a wife beater, what a stupid name--so my arms were in view for anyone to admire, especially college boys named Keith.

"Y-yeah," he said, taking a big swallow as if his mouth had suddenly ran dry. I could've gone on like this for a while, but I was interrupted with the sudden arrival of Joshua, who had a small plastic bag. He had something in it that reeked of strawberries; it was just like Keith's cologne--overpowering.

"That was fast," I said, turning away from Keith and folding my arms across my chest. I heard Keith sigh behind me, and I suppressed another smirk. Yeah, my next birthday was going to be interesting. "I thought you just wanted to see what they had in stock?"

Joshua's eyes flicked towards Keith, then back to me. "They had something I wanted."

I looked over at Keith, giving him a wink. "That's my cue to get out of here, Keith. Take care." We left the place, and I drove Joshua over to his place. The driveway was empty, which meant he was going to be all alone in that big Tudor-style house of his. I still couldn't believe Joshua's parents left him all that money in the trust fund, but it's not like they _chose_ to die in that car wreck. The social services check up on him once a week and they're always amazed with how well he takes care of himself. Me, I can't believe they didn't ship him off to a foster home, but in the end it's none of my business. Even if I wished it could be my business. "Are you still coming over for dinner tomorrow?" I asked as Joshua was about to get out of my Jeep.

"I guess so, if your parents don't mind."

"My mom loves it when you come over," I said. "She thinks you're a good influence on me." The truth is she thinks it's good that I'm protecting what she considers my territory. My dad could care less, since it doesn't concern him at all and he's a lazy bastard anyway.

"I guess I'll come," Joshua said, slowly closing the door as if afraid it'd break.

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow." I drove off, looking at Joshua's receding image in the rear view mirror. He was already entering his big, lonely house, and I felt a pang of envy for some reason. I wasn't sure why, but by the time I arrived at my house I had pushed it away from my mind.

The place I lived in was formerly a compound, now converted to a palatial estate. My folks owned a vineyard, and they bought the compound at a nice price. I wasn't born at the time, but my older sister tells me it took three years to build the mansion we live in now. Dad says the place is the finest in Victorian architecture--the best money can buy. Not that you could see the place, as the entire front yard is covered with apple trees, fir trees, more apple trees, and the backyard has acres of thick forest. You'd think my family would have plenty of privacy, but they still put up a brick wall that surrounds the entire property. I punched in the code that made the automated gates slowly part, and I drove my jeep into my personal garage. Yes, my own personal garage--further proof they're doing their best to spoil me. Too bad for them it doesn't work, as I couldn't care less about my family's wealth.

I took the back entrance of the house, and the moment I stepped through the door I could smell dinner cooking, which meant Mom and Dad had another fight. Mom only cooked if she was royally pissed off, which was most of the time now. I walked into the kitchen to see what she was cooking, and was greeted by the sight of her petite figure working a squid half her size on the cutting board. Her platinum blond hair was tied up in a bun, and the dark lines of the hairnet couldn't keep a few wild strands from escaping down her forehead. "Hi, Mom, what's cooking tonight?"

"Spaghettini with squid," she said, pulling the tentacles away from the hood, the intestines following behind them, "in black ink." She started to remove the tentacles by cutting under the eyes with a wicked sharp knife. Leave it to Mom to look intimidating just by preparing food.

"That's...going to be interesting." I had to come up with a quick excuse, and fast. No way was I going to eat anything that had a sauce found in pens. "Wish I could be home to have some of it." I winced as she dug her fingers under the beak, popping it out like a zit. By the time she yanked out a transparent quill, my survival instinct was screaming at me to get out of the kitchen because I sure as hell couldn't take the heat of my Mom's anger.

"And just where do you think you're going, young man? It's a school night." She started cutting up the squid into thin slices, and I fought the urge to tell her the truth, that she was making me feel like I was three years old and afraid of the monsters in my closet. Mom and knives were not a good combination, not when she was angry.

"I'm going on patrol tonight; there's been a situation at the school." I prayed she didn't call me out on my lie, because even under normal situations it was hard enough to deal with my parents. When they were pissed at each other one or both tried to maneuver me over to their side. It's a wonder I'm not screwed up in the head.

Fortunately, I must've said the magic incantation, because Mom's face brightened into a sunny smile. "It's good that you're taking charge of the territory," she said, going back to slicing up the squid, which was starting to look unrecognizable by now.

"I try my best, Mom," I said, unwilling to make eye contact with the unblinking squid eye. "I just need to get dressed for it, and I'll be on my way."

"Go talk to your father first." The way she said it sounded more like she was using the other "F" word. "He wants to give you some more of his fatherly wisdom." Sarcastic much, Mom?

I shook my head, resigned to my fate. Dad was in the living room--or the "den" as he called it. It was a large room filled with books he never read and a fireplace we didn't need. There was a bear in the far corner, standing upright and ready to swipe at its victim, only the bear was stuffed and mounted. Dad claims he killed it when he was my age, but I think that's more of his "good old day" stories, which belonged in the same category as when he had to walk to school every day. Uphill. Uh huh. Sure, Dad.

"Israel," my Dad said, his back turned to me. He was looking at that stuffed bear, no doubt remembering his "good old days" or fuming over whatever him and Mom was fighting about. It was hard to tell, and when he turned around to face me, the placid look on his plain features didn't tell me squat.

"What's up, Dad?" I wanted to get this over with fast, like yesterday kind of fast. The longer I stuck around here, the greater my chances were of getting caught up in their fight. I had enough to worry about--I might be failing Algebra II, for all the good it does me.
"I've noticed an increase in your nocturnal activities." Leave it to my Dad and his fancy talk to make going out at night sound like a criminal activity.

"I've been doing a lot of patrolling, yeah. So?"

"Don't get uppity with me, Israel. It isn't your place. That's for your mother and sister to do."

Good old traditionalist Dad; always indulging in the stereotypes. "Is that why you and Mom are fighting, because I'm doing the women's work?"

Dad's placid look warmed up a few degrees into a frown. I could see the lines creasing in his forehead. "What did she tell you?"

"She didn't. I just know these things." I wanted to add that if he actually got his head out of his butt, he'd notice too. But I didn't. I wanted to really badly, but he was still my Dad, and my disrespect has limits towards my family. Besides, the more sass I gave him, the longer he'd lecture.

"You're meant for better things than the grunt work, son. You're growing up to be a man, and the men have certain obligations in this family. It is our duty to keep the lineage intact; to keep it strong."

It's times like these I wish I could just confess my sexuality to my family. Just to see my Dad lose it, but it's like I said, my disrespect towards my family has limits. So I kept my preferences hidden. The bodybuilding magazines were for the exercises, not to fuel my wet dreams. The videos of Arnold and Jet Li were because I liked their acting ability. Even I wouldn't believe that one, but my folks are the masters of living in their own little world, and one of their own being gay does not fit in said world. I hated to keep my sexuality from them, but it was necessary until I moved out. If they let me, that is. Sis lives in one corner of the compound, and my big bro lives in another. They've been given cushy jobs in the winery, and I would bet money Dad had the same plans for me. Chalk it up to the nature of our family.

"So all I'm good for is to give you a granddaughter? Is that why you keep on introducing me to your investor's kids? You hoping I'm going to sneak off and do the nasty with one of them?"

"You'll keep a civil tongue in your mouth, boy. You're not man enough to take the mantle of head of this family."

He had a point. I was a big, but Dad was a lot bigger and could break me in half. Even my older brother wouldn't take him on. Only part of the reason was that we're family, and we were supposed to love each other.

"Dad, I just want to live my own life. I don't want to be a..." No way was I about to blurt the next two words out. No way. But Dad in his oversensitive hearing wasn't about to let the matter drop.

"You don't want to be a what, son? Go on, you've stepped in it already, go ahead and say it." His voice was glacial. Good thing I had that thick, wavy hair on my head. Too bad I couldn't use it to gag myself.

"Fine, whatever--I don't want to be like you and be a house husband, content to let others do the work that you're physically capable to do." Now I said it. Now I was in for it. I'd be lucky if I were only grounded for life and the next one.

His frown was smoothed away, the placid look in his eyes back in style. "I'll have you know I have provided for this family, and have given you everything you could ever have hoped for. You don't know hardships, boy. Don't even pretend like you do."

"I don't pretend, Dad. I know my life is easy, and it could be a lot worse, but you're in denial. You're living in a lie, trying to be what you're not."

"And what lie is that?"

"I'm done talking, Dad. I'm going to go out on patrol, so forget any dates you might be having for me; I don't want any part of it." I turned away from Dad, halfway expecting him to grab my shoulder, but that never happened. I walked out of the Den, followed only by his voice, which wasn't glacial anymore. No, it was like a grenade.

"You come back here, Israel! You come back here now!" He kept on repeating himself, and I could still hear it even after I drove away from the house. I was going to be in some serious trouble when I got back home, but that's the price of being a rebel.

It was staring to get dark by the time I got by to the school grounds. I parked my jeep next to the football field, and made my way towards the chain link fence that kept the unsavory types from squatting there for shelter. I made my way over the fence in no time at all, and walked over to the building behind the bleachers. It served as a locker room and gym for the football players, and I liked to work out there at night. I might have muscles most adults don't have, but I had to hit the weights to keep them, and I had to hit them hard if I ever wanted to get bigger. I wasn't worried about getting caught. I could con my way out of any trouble or just intimidate whoever found me there. It happened one time with one of the football players, one of Manny's friends, and after a few words from me he was guaranteed never to rat me out. It's a wonder our football team ever won a game in their life, the way the players were so timid.

Tonight was upper body night, so I pulled off my tank top, taking a moment to look down at my chest, admiring the way they bulged when I bounced them one after the other. Yeah, I'm a prideful bastard, but when you have to work on looking pumped, I think I'm entitled for the occasional ego boo. It's not like I show off in public, that's not my style, but in private it's a different story.

While I was doing some barbell curls, keeping my eyes focused on my mirror image from across the room, I had to wonder why I thought things were so bad for me that I had to be rebellious. I was living on easy street, even if I was about to fail Algebra II. I got what I wanted if I wanted anything, and I was destined to have a cushy life. So why was I bucking the system? Because I could do so much more, not just for me but for the people who lived in my territory. I had an obligation to them, even if they didn't know it. The teachers thought I was a Good Samaritan, but if they knew the truth...

The sound of something hitting the fence reached my ears--it was loud, like something bulky collided with it, the rattle of impact lingering even after whatever hit it landed over the fence. I kept on doing my reps; I wasn't afraid of getting caught since people who were supposed to be there wouldn't have jumped the fence like me and whoever else that followed. When the door broke away from its hinges and splintered into two big hunks of wood, that's when I started paying attention to things outside of my workout.

Manny stood inside the doorway, chest heaving like he'd run ten miles non-stop. His teeth were clenched so strongly I was surprised he hadn't broken them. I could tell by the way he was dressed and the hairstyle that it was him, but his face was almost unrecognizable. His skin around his forehead and cheeks were dark red, redder than he should be, even if he was overexerted. And the smell, like he had some week-old body odor, only laced with some rotten eggs underneath along with some other scent. Something sweet, but the origin was escaping my nose. His eyes were the thing that put me on my guard, though. There wasn't anyone resembling Manny in those eyes, only something really crazy behind those wide-eyed bloodshot peepers.

Still, I could've been wrong, so I tried conversation with him first. "Manny? What the hell are you doing here? You want to add more humiliation to your day or something?" So I'm not good at diplomacy. I didn't care. He was interrupting my workout, and I was in a mood to kick some ass after my fatherly confrontation.

"I'm going to get you, Kevinson. Get you and rip your skin off and eat it." There was something really wrong with his voice, like it wasn't fitting inside of his throat. And then there was that horrible mental image he conjured, but that was the least of my worries.

He leaped across the room, which he shouldn't have been able to do physically, and slammed into the bench I was using. I was long gone, having jumped away the moment his feet left the floor. I threw my barbell at him, hoping it would hit him on his thick skull and knock him out, but he knocked it out of the air with an angry swipe of his arm. Not good. That thing weighed a hundred pounds and he flicked it away easier than he would a paper airplane. "Kill you rip off your skin and eat it."

He didn't give me time for a proper comeback that would have castrated him mentally. Nope, he leaped at me with that same unreal strength, and I barely had time to roll out of the way. Was I just getting the post workout slowness, or was he getting faster?

I sprung up to my feet, hopping in place and keeping my body relaxed so I could move at a moment's notice. He slammed his fists on my chest and sent me flying. I hit one of the sets of mirrors that lined the wall, feeling the shards cut into my back. He was getting faster, and a lot uglier. The redness was covering up his face, and amplifying his ugly face into something I'd call demonic. I was able to see it all clearly since he'd charged me again, pushing me up against the wall, his hand wrapped around my throat and keeping me from breathing. He held me up with one arm, and my feet were actually dangling off the floor. He shouldn't have been able to manhandle me like that; whatever was making him faster was also making him a lot stronger.

Black dots were starting to fill up my vision, and I couldn't pry his grip off of my neck, no matter how much I flexed it or tried to break his fingers. I was going to pass out and my skin was going to wind up in his gut if I didn't do something drastic.

So I did something drastic.

My skin melted off my body, the tawny fur forcing its way to the surface, the mop of my hair blossoming out into a full blown lion's mane. My bones stretched out, breaking and reknitting themselves to new shapes that didn't exist in the human body. I stumbled as my center of gravity had to readjust itself to the sudden gain of twice my bodyweight in muscle. I barely felt the punch across my chest through the burning pain that tore through my body. If I'd had the luxury of a slow transformation, the pain would've been negligible. Rushing it always hurt like hell.

The pain finally receded, and I crouched on all fours. The tattered remains of my sneakers pooled around my wide paws, and I dug my claws into the carpet. I was in full blown werelion mode--my senses were sharper than my claws, my eyes showed me the world in full-blown high definition mode, my ears could hear a mouse fart.

So why couldn't I find Manny? The way he had been screaming and stinking up the place with that weird-ass fart smell, I should've been able to track him down no matter where he was hiding. There wasn't any cover in the weight room, and the doors leading to the lockers and bathroom were still closed. So why couldn't I find him? It was like I was in a freaking monster movie, and for once I wasn't the monster.

I crept forward on all fours, because although I could (and preferred to) move on my two legs, I could track easier the closer to the ground I got. So I was really frustrated when I sniffed the air around me and found zilch. Not even a faint whiff of him. Ditto with the listening--no matter how much I'd swivel my ears around, I couldn't hear anything but the soft, quiet slaps of my paw pads to the floor. How did he pull that one off? What the hell happened to him? When did he become a poster child for red-faced anger management?

Then it hit me, and I realized what was going on. I smelled him just perfectly, but he was doing some kind of voodoo to keep the signals from reaching my brain. Of course, I figured it out way too late--when I said it hit me, I was talking literally. The punch to my ribs sent me flying across the room again, but I had a better reaction time when I was in lion mode, so I landed against the wall hindpaws first, then launched myself like a furry bullet to where I hoped Manny was still lurking. I couldn't see him, but I sure as hell hit something. I reacted on pure instinct, raking my claws down what I thought was his back, my legs wrapping around his invisible body. When I chomped down on what felt like an arm, my nostrils got a sudden flood of that God-awful stink and I got an earful of his profanity-laden voice. I had his shoulder, all right, because he was screaming those obscenities down my ear canal. It's times like that when I really hate having sensitive hearing, but I ignored the pain and kept a grip on his body and shoulder, slicing my claws down his back for another bloody round.

"Killyouripyoutoshreds!" I was really wishing he'd do the tune out bit again--that screaming was both hurting my ears and pissing me off--since now I had a death grip on him and no way was I going to let him go. His arms were pinned, but I could feel those biceps straining to break free. I could feel the heat radiating from him in waves, each one increasing in heat. I wasn't exactly a cool cat myself, but at the rate he was putting out the heat he was going to boil his brain inside that thick skull of his. I didn't want Manny dead, but I did want him out of commission. Problem was, the more heated I got, the worse my chances of me ending this without him winding up deceased. Being a werelion was awesome, but sometimes the bestial instincts would take over. Then things would get really bloody real quick.

He lost his footing, and we both crashed to the ground. I managed to keep my grip on him, but he managed to get an arm free and started punching my head. I tried to maneuver myself so that he couldn't fling that fist against my skull too well--if it weren't for my thick mane, I'd have been stunned with that first punch--but he kept on connecting his fist to my noggin. So I finally managed to grab his wrist, and headbutted him. By the way he shrieked, it hurt him more than it hurt me, and I thought I might've broken his nose, but all that red on his face made it hard to tell if he was bleeding. I could smell it, though, and it was like the best candy to my senses. The predator inside me uncurled from the dark part of my brain, the part that wanted meat. I pinned his arms to the ground with my legs and started punching him over and over again. I didn't notice he had stopped struggling a while back as that inner predator in the back of my skull had taken the driver's seat, and I had to fight my way back to the driver's seat.

Manny now had a face that nobody would love--or recognize. I turned those chiseled looks of his into a bloody pile of broken bone and meat. I looked away from it, not because it was sick, but because the predator was wanting to consume the kill. Dammit. I didn't want him dead, but what's done was done. I'd feel worse if I had actually liked him as a human being. I crawled away from him, shaking off the scent of rotten eggs and strawberries.

I stopped dead in my tracks when my brain finally clicked onto the origin of that unknown scent. It was the same scent I smelled in Joshua's bag. What the hell was Manny's corpse doing with it on his body? It couldn't possibly be a coincidence, and in the mood I was in, Joshua had better be able to give me a good reason for what was happening to my night.

I took the time to revert back to human form, and was grateful for the fact I was wearing workout pants that could stretch to fit my lion form. There were still some bad stretch marks on the fabric, but at least I wouldn't have to go home for some new clothes. I gathered up the remains of my shoes--the less evidence, the better, and I got out of the school yard like it was the final class of the day. Only faster.

The drive helped calm me down a bit--sure, I was feeling angry, but I didn't know who to direct that anger towards. The lights were on at Joshua's place, so at least I wouldn't have to break in. I walked right up to the door and knocked on it, praying that I wouldn't have to direct my anger at Joshua. Someone was dead, and I was the one responsible.

Joshua answered the door, wearing the same outfit I saw him in when I took him home. "Izzy? What are you--"

"Joshua, something really weird happened to me, so shut up and listen, okay?" I stepped inside, Joshua moving out of my way instinctively. I was in full blown ******* mode, and if he had stayed in my way I would've treated him like a punching bag. "I was at the school gym, and guess who paid me a visit? Manny. Only there was something wrong with him. He was all red faced and getting redder, and he wanted to rip my skin off and eat it."

Joshua's eyes widened only slightly; I swear that kid was an icicle for a spine. "He wanted to eat you?"

I turned to face him, looming over him as he seemed to shrink into himself. I was giving off angry vibes, and he was picking up on them. He tried to look away from me but I grabbed his chin and forced him to keep his eyes on mine. "No, he wanted to eat my skin, Joshua. Then he tried to attack me. Tossed me around like a rag doll." I let the words sink in, then repeated them. "Tossed me around like a rag doll, Joshua. He wasn't himself, and if I hadn't killed him--"

Joshua's icicle finally melted back into a spine, and his eyes grew wide. "You killed him?"

"It was either him or me, Joshua, and I'm partial to myself." I waited for the information to sink into his skull, then continued: "Now what I want to know is what you did to make all that crap come down on me."

"I...I don't know what you're talking about." It was a lie, and a pretty bad one. Joshua was a terrible liar, at least when he was trying to lie to me. His heartbeat was fluttering hummingbird style, and he was sweating rivers.

"The hell you don't. I smelled the stuff you got from Candleworks. What did you summon, Joshua? How long have you been doing magic?" There it was, I told him what I knew, and I still kept him in the dark about what I was. I hated to keep him ignorant, but the less he knew about the secret world that shadowed the normal world, the longer he'd live.

"I...I was trying to teach Manny a lesson. I thought it was a spell that would make him impotent. He's always bragging about the girls he has sex with; I thought that would be ironic justice. I...don't know what went wrong."

I did, though. I had a hunch that Joshua made Manny impotent, but it was in the form of a rage with nowhere to go. So Manny tried to find a place for it to go, and lucky me had humiliated him that morning. "How long have you been practicing magic?" I asked again, my mood darkening by the second. I knew how this was going to end, but it wasn't to my liking.

"A couple of months now," Joshua answered, his features twisted up with confusion and regret. "The spell was translated perfectly, I don't know what I did wrong."

"Magic is dangerous, Joshua. If I knew you had the aptitude for it, I would've had to..." Did I want to cross the line? Did I want to let him in on my family secret? "...to stop you." I would have to deal with the Candleworks place as well, except that one was a lot easier. I wouldn't be killing anything except for someone's livelihood. A quiet word to Mom about the place, and she'd make sure the place was bought out or razed to the ground.

Joshua grew quiet, the silence stretching out until it was uncomfortable for us both to be staring at each other. He seemed so far away, both physically and emotionally. I guess he felt the same way about me. I was showing a side of myself I kept hidden, but fair's fair. He was hiding something from me, but in plain sight. I saw the hints, but I didn't think that damned hobby of his, that study of magic, wasn't anything to worry about. I was wrong, and I was paying for it, and the currency was going to be in blood.

I finally broke the silence; I had to, it was painful to watch him standing there, all quiet and distant. "I'm not going to hurt you, Joshua."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"Because I've been your best friend for a couple of years. Have I ever hurt you?"

"There's always a first."

He had me there, but if I lapsed back into silence I might hurt him worse than physically. Bones and flesh can heal; the mind is harder to put back together if the damage is intense enough. "If I was going to hurt you I wouldn't have confronted you like this. I was angry when I got here, sure, but I'm calm now. Calm enough to trust you."

"So now what? Are you still going to try and stop me?" He had his eyes locked onto mine, and I had to suppress my instincts. It wasn't a good idea to lock eyes with a lion, much less the were-version.

"Yes. Maybe. Oh, hell, I don't know. If I told you to be more careful and responsible with the voodoo, would you promise me that?" I was grasping at straws, but the only other choice was the golden rule of Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Witch to Live, and it wasn't a choice for me at all.

Joshua dipped his head, breaking the dangerous eye contact with me, and I felt myself relaxing muscles I didn't know was tensed up. "I think I've got a long way to go before I can cast some more of those advanced spells. I'll be more careful." He then looked up, and shocked the hell out of me. "So how long have you been one of them?"

"One of...them?" He knew. He knew my secret. Dammit, it's one thing for him to know magic exists, it's also another to be able to have the gift to use magic, but to know I was a werelion? Humans are best to live in ignorance, and if too many of them know we existed...that's just bad news for everyone.

Joshua nodded, his eyes once again meeting mine. "A werewolf."

I was so stunned, I didn't feel anything. Joshua's misconception of me numbed me solid. But then I started laughing--it started off as silent chuckles, then gradually exploded into full blown laughter. "A werewolf? You think I'm one of those dorks?" Werewolves were the low men on the totem pole of the were-family, but don't tell them that. They don't like to be reminded of their hierarchy.

"But...your aura. It matches the ones I've seen out in the woods. I saw them change. If you're not a werewolf, then what are you and your family?"

That's when I decided enough with the secrets. Joshua was the love of my life, even if he didn't feel the same way about me. As I stripped off my shirt, I said "You might want to sit down," and begun the slow, gradual change, both physical and social--I'd be less alone now, which was fine by me.