Track Star

Author's Note: So it's been a while. Three or four months, you know. I'm sorry for the hold up, but I'll be honest. This isn't really a priority for me. OWaCD is almost finished, and I'm working on the sequel. Since I'm between stories, I thought I could take some time to revisit this. Thanks for sticking with me. If you're still sticking with me. I'll try to update sooner. Like... One month, or one week. Who knows, maybe one day! (Who am I kidding?)

Thanks for all of the awesome reviews!

I shot up from bed, heart hammering and brain fluttering with a million thoughts. I was soaring through the city skies, but something was following me. A hawk followed my every turn and move. I couldn't turn left without it following me. It cawed at me, as if calling me. I shook off the dream and I quickly fell backwards, my eyes shutting quickly from the bright light pouring into of the bedroom. My brain hurt, my legs hurt, my chest hurt, my everything hurt. I was hurting all over.

"You're going to give yourself whip lash like that," a deep voice said, humor laced into each word. I groaned, rubbing my head. My eyes fluttered but I forced them to focus on the man sitting beside my bed. It was Dylan, from the night before. The "shape shifter."

"Where am I?" I asked, getting up slowly. I leant on my forearms, my elbows bent so that I was propped up. The bed sunk, the springs groaning with ease. I hadn't slept on a spring mattress since I was nineteen. Five years.

"My apartment," Dylan replied, handing me a bottle of water. "You sort of passed out after you yelled at me."

"I passed out?" I asked, taking a large gulp of water. "I've never passed out before!"

"There's a first for everything," Dylan shrugged, his muscles practically bulging from his crisp new t-shirt. I was sitting up on a bed, obviously his bedroom. The walls were white, bare of any sort of decoration. There was a drawer to the left, a night stand directly to the left of the bed also. The right wall was pressed tightly with the bed and the door not too far from the foot. I window in the wall space between the bed and dresser went from about a yard from the ground to the ceiling. The window was slightly ajar. It was a small room, but obviously comfortable enough for Dylan, the huge body builder, to sleep in.

"You growled," I said suddenly, astonishing myself. "Not like doggy growl, but wolf-bear growl."

Dylan laughed, scratching the back of his head. His brown eyes, which had not been brown the night before, cast downwards, avoiding my own eyes. "Yeah…"

"And you're like a shape shifter, or whatever," I continued to say, turning my head to face him with large eyes. My finger pointed accusingly at him. "You're like fucking huge, and your eyes were definitely NOT brown last night."

"I was hoping you wouldn't remember last night," Dylan sighed, sitting on the floor between the bed and dresser.

"Holy shit," I cried, hands grabbing at my hair. I pulled, hoping that it would wake me up. I kept pulling, praying that it would some how get rid of the nightmare I was in. The night's happenings came back to me. I was reliving the chase and almost-capture, fast-forwarding, rewinding, and replaying everything over and over in my mind. "Holy shit!"

"You're not going crazy," Dylan offered, throwing a crocked grin at me. My eyes widened further, if possible, and I stared at him. "Holy shit?"

"HOLY SHIT," I repeated louder, almost screaming, and unable to form any other words.

I had been chased four miles from my apartment building through the city to the docks by three gangly men. A "shape shifter," whatever the Hell that means, saved me. I was at said "shape shifter's" house, and hiding from men that threatened to "end all beginnings."

I think "holy shit," are two very appropriate words.

"Since it seems you can't really talk, I'll just talk and you can listen," Dylan sighed after a couple minutes of silence. I nodded dumbly, staring at the wall behind him. "I'm a shape shifter."

"Really? I didn't notice after last night," I snapped. Dylan growled at me, eyes flashing back to the golden I had seen the night before. "Sorry."

"Anyways," Dylan said, voice turning feral, "as a shape shifter, I can animal shift. Any animal as long as it uses the same amount of matter as I do."

"How is that even possible?"

"I just have to think really hard," Dylan deadpanned, giving me a "duh" sort of look. "I know it sounds stupid as shit, but it's the truth. If I just think really hard of an animal, large obviously, I can turn into it."

"Does it hurt?"

"No pain, no gain," Dylan shrugged, flexing the muscles in his hands and arms. "As a shape shifter, the bigger you are the better of a warrior you are."

"So you're a "warrior" or something?" I asked, curious. My back was to the wall, and I had moved so I could watch Dylan tell his story. His eyes were downcast, looking at his hands and the muscles that moved. This guy was all muscle. His shoulders alone took up more space than I could ever image taking up myself. He was wide, but it was obvious he was very conscious of his body. The muscles were bulging, but fine and looked as if they were sculpted by an artist.

"No. I was trained a warrior, but I have too much heart in me," he said, grinning up at me. I smiled back, a small smile. "My dad's head of the whole shape shifter clan in the city, so he let me choose my path, and I've chosen to be a Protector: protect the pack."

"That's very…"

"Selfish," Dylan scuffed, eyes moving away from mine and back to his hands. "I sit back and watch as Warriors go to war. The only time I'm threatened is when one of you is found."

"One of me?"

"A Rogue Warrior," Dylan said, eyes returning to mine. It was obvious that I didn't understand. "You've had really weird dreams right; flying over the city, running through woods, swimming through water?"

"No," I lied. In reality, I had. I had been have vivid dreams about doing all of those things since I could remember. When I was a kid, it was little things: running through my backyard, climbing trees or digging through bushes. As I got older, I was running through forests or swimming through rivers. I would never swim through the rivers of the city. Those were disgusting, run-off sites for old factories.

"You're lying," Dylan accused, eyes narrowing. "But it's okay, Rogue Warriors don't know it themselves. Your kind don't know Truth."

"I like to believe I'm an honest person," I defended, knowing well that I had lied to him.

"Rogue, dishonest," Dylan defined, "Little lies that become so large, you lose yourself in them."

"What do you mean?"

"You've lied so much, you've forgotten who you are, what you are, and even how old you are."

"Alright, you're crazy. I know how old I am. I'm twenty-four years old, I'm human, and I'm not crazy," I decided, raising my hands. "So, I'm going to leave."

I got up, untangling myself from the sheets that were wrapped around my legs. I tripped, but Dylan was up fast enough to catch my forearms. I looked down at my bare legs.

"Where are my pants?" I gasped, blushing deeply. I was wearing my t-shirt from the day before, but no pants. I was wearing a t-shirt, and panties. My yoga pants were missing.

"In my trash can," Dylan mumbled, head turned up so that it was obvious he wasn't looking at me. "They were so bad there was no point in saving them."

"You don't even know my name and you took off my pants," I laughed, blush still in place. MY heart hammered in my chest and my forearms tingled from where Dylan was touching me. "You could have at least gotten me a drink, geez."

"Ha, ha," Dylan mocked lazily, face dry as the Sahara. "Stay and I'll grab you pants."

Dylan gave me a pair of his old sweat pants. They were huge, but the drawstring around the top allowed them to at least rest at my hips. He refused to let me out of the house; he was too wary of the men hunting me down.

"They wouldn't hunt me down while the sun is out," I said, rolling my eyes. I walked towards his door.

"You don't know these people…"

"Katty, Katty Charlatan," I offered my name. Dylan scuffed at my last name, to which I punch him in the chest. His face actually contorted into a painful expression when my fist made contact with his concrete chest. I highly doubted I had hurt him.

"You don't know these people, Katty. They're hunters, sadists, and murders. They're Chasers. You ran, you started the chase, and it doesn't end until someone dies."

"So I have to kill them?" I asked. My mouth dried at the thought. Death was not something I was good with. My parents had passed when I was sixteen, my grandmother (the only living relative I had after my parents) when I was nineteen. At twenty-four, I had been to more funerals than most of my friends. Then again, I didn't have many friends to begin with.

I'd never been a violent person. If anything, the only thing I did know how to do was connect my knee with someone's crotch. It is pathetic, but true. I wasn't a fighter. I liked to believe I was more of a pacifist.

"Or they will kill you," Dylan said, eye boring into mine. I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands.

"You're seriously nuts."

"You're Rogue, you don't know what's good for you anymore," Dylan stated simply, grabbing my wrist and dragging me into his living room. I sat on the couch and for the entire day we watched old sitcoms and ate what little was in Dylan's fridge.

Why did I stay? Why didn't I try to run? I asked myself these questions when I went to bed, in Dylan's bedroom again. He was just outside the door, pillow and blanket in hand to sleep on his couch.

I stayed because I knew Dylan was right, and that there had always been something hiding in me. There had always been something in my family history that I didn't know. I was kept in the dark, and Dylan was the only light switch I had.