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The Lonely Wolf

To phase the first time: disorienting. Horrible. Terrifying. Painful. To become a monster: sickening. Strange. Agonizing. Estranging. This we know from Jacob. Must it not have been so much worse to be Sam? He did it all... and he did it all alone. A story in the perspective of the first of our beloved werewolves, Sam Uley. From shortly before the time of his first phase to his marriage to Emily Young.

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6. Chapter 6

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Yeah, there’s no such thing as happiness. I know this the minute I see Old Quil knocking on my door. “Sam Uley, let me in!”

It is an almost ritualistic entreaty. I groan at the old man’s ridiculous phrases- not the words themselves, but the tone in which he says, no, pronounces them.

However, I run to the door. “Hello, Mr. Ateara.”
No young person calls Old Quil that to his face. He demands, and of course receives, respect. He’s an elder, not just old but venerable, worthy of awe. He holds the secrets of the tribe and all that superstitious balderdash.

His wrinkled face curves into a smile when he sees me. “My, you’ve gotten big.”

I roll my eyes. “Is that all anyone can ever say to me?”

“Well, young man, it’s true. You grow like a weed, child.”

A weed. That’s me, a pestilential blight upon civilization. Get out the chemicals and spray the rosebushes so I don’t strangle them. “What brings you here?”

“I need to speak with you. Sam Uley, you are not alone.”

“Clearly not. You’re standing right in front of me.”

“That is not what I meant.”

I know that. But I pretend ignorance. “What do you mean, then?”

“You know the legends.”


“Of our people, Sam Uley. The wolves. The men who become them. The spirit wolves. Taha Aki. I’ve told you the stories.”

“Yes, you have.”

“And you know now that they are true.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He knows. I am not alone… he knows the truth.

“Sam Uley, be calm. You cannot afford to kill me.”

Kill you?” I am not predisposed to violence. Surely he knows that. Obviously, I was mistaken in my assumption that he had discovered the truth to my secret. He is simply projecting some delusion of his senility onto me.

I turn into a wolf, not a killer.

“Ah. So you haven’t discovered it. You phase when you are angry, Sam Uley. And when you do so, your rage is likely to overwhelm. You can’t afford to forget that. You can’t afford to get angry, not until you are so much older, so much better controlled. Or you will hurt someone.”

“Oh. How do you know?” Was he like me?

“Because I saw my grandfather’s form. I have never forgotten the majesty of it. And I know the legends. You are huge, and your skin is always aflame. It is obvious what has happened.”


“So I am sent to tell you some important things. You already know the stories are real- but you have to know all the stories are real. The cold ones, for instance. The killers. Have you ever met the Cullens?”

An incongruous question. “Yes.”

“What do you remember about them?”

“The… the smell. It was Rosalie Hale, I think. She had on this horrible perfume.”

“That was no perfume. You are of the original blood, Sam Uley, and you can smell that she is a vampire.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“And you’re a werewolf.”

I shrink away from the word. “Prove it.”