As I pulled into the parking spot that my car previously resided in before my "Get the hell out of dodge" moment about an hour and a half ago, I realized that I may or may not have thought this whole thing through. Just as I pulled the keys from the ignition and began to push my way through the tiny, constricting window that I could barely fit through, students began to file out of the building. There were Vamps with hoods pulled tightly over their faces, no skin available for the sun to char - either that or they were just the weirdoes of the school. Not that they were any worse than me. Cause that was a great thing to be proud of.

The whole ordeal would not have been much of a problem if I didn't currently have one of the most questionably popular kids in my back seat, his body hunched down so far that I was sure he would sink through the floorboard if he went any further.

"So, we have a problem," he began, his voice low as he risked a glance through the dirt-smudged window.

I rolled my eyes and leaned back through the window, pretending to look for something as I spoke. "Yeah, no shit Sherlock. If you haven't realized, I do have eyes."

"Don't be a prick," he hissed, much akin to a Vamp. Though I'd keep that thought to myself in an unwillingness to suffer through a bite wound.

"I'll keep that in mind for later use," I said dryly, hoping he realized he was a prick 24/7 without actually having a reason. I, on the other hand, felt like I should be allowed at least one dickish comment every once in a while.

"So, do you have any ideas?" That was new. Did I have any ideas? Normally I'd just keep them to myself. Maybe I could tell him to man up and get the fuck out of my car. It might work, but then again, his ego was a bit too precious to let that happen.

"No." It was a better answer, though equally as useless.

He sighed, his fingers thrumming thoughtlessly on the back seat as he tried to come up with something. He let out a huff of breath as he looked to me, "Holt."

My hands stopped moving, the game of charades they were playing halting. "What?"

"Mrs.Holt. My things are in Mrs.Holt's room." He said it as if it was the most obvious thing ever. As he spoke he leaned forward and poked his head through the spaced between the two front seats. "You could go and get my bag for me."

I scoffed and leaned back, my head almost smacking against the door frame, "Yeah right, so in other words you want me to be your little butler boy? I'd rather be a Zombie." He gave me a look. One of those looks that said, Do what I tell you or I swear to God. I got that look a lot from my Mom actually, I didn't like that he was giving it.

"Don't look at me like that," I said a little defensively, "I'll get your damn bag, just know you'll fucking owe me." His lips curled back in a defensive sneer and I found myself sneering right back. I didn't like the fact that I had to spend any more time with him than he did with me but I wasn't about to do any favors for this prick for free. He wasn't my friend and he never would be. I had absolutely no obligations.

We held each other's stares for a while longer, an invisible spark of tension cutting through the space between us until he finally sat back with his body low in the seat. "Fine. Just get my bag and hurry up."

"You got it, pup," I said with a smug smile as I retreated through the window, ignoring his growled curse at me. If there was one thing that Wulfs hated more than Half-bloods, it was nicknames like "Pup" or "Mutt".

Rounding the front of my car, I gently rapped my knuckles against the paint-chipped hood, ignoring the sad sound that came from it. Around me, students were leaning onto the hoods of their own cars, either chatting with others or getting ready to leave. Some simply walked off campus, not having a car nor a ride home. The end of the school day seemed to bring everyone together; Vamp, Wulf, Demon, and whatever the fuck, for the same shared joy - getting out of that school and going home.

Not that everyone was doing that right away. Some were sat on the hoods of their pretty cars, leaning into a group of people who stood idly around them, talking about god knows what. Some were loitering in front of the doors, on their phones waiting for rides or just staring off into space, none of them even bothering to glance at me as I pushed my way through the heavy double doors that led into the school.

As I entered, the first smell to greet me was rubber, and then the smell of human body odor after coming into contact with metal - a sharp smell that made me wrinkle my nose. I hated the smell of school. It was always too much for my nose and well, even after years of experience, it never got better.

Walking down the empty hallway didn't seem to make it get any better either, because as I made my way to the ever closer Mrs.Holt's room, I caught a whiff of wet dog - or well, wet Wulf - and chlorine from whatever five buck cleaning supply they use on the school floors. I still can't figure out what they use. Is it bleach? Maybe Zep? Hell, for all I know, they could be just using water and the chlorine smell was just my nose saying it had had enough of this shit.

Still though, as I pushed through the craft paper wrapped door that read "Mrs.Holt! Reading is EXTRA-ordinary" in big, red, cut-out construction paper letters, I shoved my disgust down into the pit of my stomach and instead plastered a timid smile on my face. Inside, the more pleasant smell of lemon and warm sugar scented candle wax seemed to waft through the air and a faint breeze from the open window on the far side of the room brought the pleasant feel of autumn. Behind a large oak desk that was crammed into a crowded corner of filing cabinets and tote bins filled with manila folders, sat Mrs.Holt, a middle-aged lady with shoulder-length brown hair and an olive complexion.

In the most polite voice I could muster, I approached her desk and said, "Good evening, a friend of mine left his bag in here. Have you seen it?"

She looked me over quickly, taking in my rumpled t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans with a smile that somehow screamed "customer service" even though she was an English teacher - if it wasn't painfully obvious by the shitty play on words, if you could call it that, that was taped to her classroom door. It was fake and forced but that didn't stop her from peering over her computer monitor and pointing to a desk at the back of the room. "You're here for Woodfield, right? His bag is in the back." With that, she went back to clacking at the keyboard in front of her, her attention no longer being wasted by me.

Without hesitation, I scrambled for the back of the room and grabbed Oliver's black and red book bag before slinging it over my shoulder and hurrying for the classroom door. Honestly, feeling the weight of the bookbag - or the lack of it - made me wonder why I even bothered. There was probably a spiral notebook with two filled out pages saying something like, "I want a bone" or "I miss my chew toy, woof" and nothing else in it so why go through the trouble?

"Oh, sir, when you see Oliver, tell him that I want an explanation on his absence today," Mrs.Holt called after me as I hurried out the door, her sing-song voice fading as I got further away. I hated talking to teachers. What I hated more was talking to full-blooded Wulfs with a knack for getting on my damn nerves. My goal was to just get out of this school as fast as possible and get the sweat-covered nuisance of a Wulf out of my backseat before he messed anything else up. Just the thought of my shredded seat made me wince. That was going to cost way too much to get fixed so thankfully the beautiful thing called duct tape existed.

As I scurried back down the hallway in the direction I came, I felt my stomach drop and the hair on my arms stand on end. A new smell seemed to mingle with the lingering scent of artificial lemons - sweat, copious amounts of axe body spray, and children's tears. It was a smell I knew all too well.

Predators.

In all rights, I was a predator too. I had sharp teeth and fists and brute strength but what I didn't have was the benefits of being a full-blooded Wulf - or Demon for that matter. When it came to being any type of creature, it was always best to have a clean lineage. No history of cross-species breeding, no blood in your veins that's from anything else. Without that, you might want to kiss some of those special powers goodbye. Like shifting for Wulfs, dark magic for Demons - though even most full-blooded demons weren't given this gift - and the near invincibility of Vamps.

In other words, it was all just the extra middle-finger on the fuck you sandwich that half-bloods were served. I was seriously beginning to think that the world had it out for me or something.

I had more pressing matters than the world's personal agenda against me at the moment though - I currently could smell the danger literally coming from around the corner - and by the smell of sweat and wet dog, that danger was a pack of genetically incompetent Wulfs.

Well, I say "by the smell" like I couldn't see them rounding the corner, their broad shoulders and malicious evident by just one glance at them. As soon as they saw me, I could practically see the confusion and then the clicking of puzzle pieces by the expressions on their faces. I had to admit, I did take some pride in being able to confuse the fuck out of people from a glance. Too bad as soon as people got close, they realize I wasn't just "some Demon", and unfortunately for me, these Wulves were currently very close.

Let me explain. Wulfs? They were a touchy bunch. A very touchy bunch. I don't know if it was some second nature, species based habit but in any instance the called for physical touch, you could basically see their metaphorical tail wagging behind them at an alarming speed. Many people had theories about it, names for it even. The man's best friend response. Of course many Wulves completely denied this but it was hard to ignore how close they got.

Like now. When I was pressed against the locker with two beefy arms blocking all paths of approach. Too bad this was not an act of affection like the name implied, that was very obvious by the hostile sneer that was being thrown my way by a very familiar face.

"Uh, hi, Karter." The words came out stiff and not at all in the way they should when dealing with a bully. I know you're supposed to cower in fear and all of that stuff but when he was standing as if he were about to whoo me like the main romance interest in a romance film meant for teenage girls with high horny levels, I couldn't quite take him seriously. And his name was Karter. With a K. Who the fuck does that?

"Half-blood," he snarled, showing canines.

"Can I, uh, go? I've really got places to be and I'd really like to throw a ball for you but I'm busy." Probably not the best thing to say. Briefly cursing my lack of verbal filter, I clenched my teeth, already expecting the fist to the stomach that I - probably rightly - deserved. The downside of being an asshole by accident I suppose. Or maybe it was on purpose, at this point I couldn't tell.

When I doubled over, hands clutching at my stomach as I let out a pained groan, I felt a hand curl into my hair and yank upwards and sending my head snapping back. A rather throaty growl involuntarily ripped through my throat at the shock of pain that was sent across my scalp. Hair pulling was such a bitch - no pun intended - move.

"Listen, half-blood," he growled into my ear, his breath warm against my neck, "You can leave when I say you can." I suppose he had a point, I definitely wasn't going anywhere until he let go of my hair.

"Yessir," I huffed out, wishing that this whole ordeal would go on a bit faster.

"Good," he hissed, venom dripping from his lame-ass response. "Because no one would blink twice if they found a half-blood beat to death on the side of the road." As emphasis he tightened his fist, making me wince and draw in a sharp intake of breath, my eyes squeezing shut in an attempt not to snarl like my instincts were telling me to. This, what he was doing, was an act of challenge. My instincts were screaming at me to lash out, bite him, gouge out his eyes, maybe throw a punch and break that perfect honey-colored face of his. Lucky for me though, I didn't need to resort to any blood drawing violence because Karter let me go - not without first aggressively pushing my face into the dirty ground and then giving my leg a small-but-not-so-gentle kick.

With that, in typical bully fashion, they turned and made their way down the hallway, jeering loudly and being assholes. Not that I expected anything less of them.

Groaning, I rolled myself onto my back, ignoring the dull pain in my abdomen. Huffing, I stared up at the fragile plaster panel ceiling tiles and glared, as if that would somehow convey just how angry I was.

"Fucking assholes," I grumbled as I hefted myself upwards, a groan escaping my lips as I stumbled to my feet. "I swear one day I'm going to do something about that," I said to no one in particular, knowing the words had no real merit. Now, all I was worried about, was getting back to my goddamn car without being murdered.

I really don't know how much more I can take of this.