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It is not in the nature of every wolf to imprint. But for those destined to that fate, it is inevitable. After all, it is just that; fate.


:D jasper said is at it again! xD I haven't forgotten Heat, but I just couldn't ignore this idea either. Please enjoy this little twisted gem... it's worth it.

1. Prologue

Rating 0/5   Word Count 778   Review this Chapter

Eight thirty in the morning, and my day was already in shambles. I opened the studio late, a big no-no for me. I knew I was in trouble when I got there, and I already have seven students waiting on me at the door, angry mommies holding sticky hands. I had struggled, juggling my laptop, a small cardboard box of new music, keys and coffee, I let them in. My students ran on slippered feet past me, mothers filing in behind them stiffly. I dropped my box, sliding it against the wall with my foot. I put my keys on the corner of the my desk, my laptop in the middle and took a swig of coffee.

"This time isn't coming out of the lesson, is it?" one of the mothers asked me with pursed lips.

I smiled graciously, "No, ma'am. Of course not." I took another sip of my coffee.

"Good," she said firmly, pulling out her checkbook and filling it out. All around the lobby area of the studio, moms were either helping their daughters straighten skirts and fix elephant stockings or filling out checks and counting cash to pay for that months' lessons. I scooted around my desk, sitting down at the swiveling computer chair and opening my laptop. I connected to the building's wireless and pulled up the internet, checking up on the girls costumes I'd ordered that weekend for their recital, which were in the process of being shipped from a company in Atlanta. I checked email next, still sipping on coffee.

Someone placed a check on my desk and I looked up. "Recital time's a bitch, isn't it?"

I smiled in spite myself at his comment. David was the only ballet dad I had at the studio, and he dutifully brought his four year old daughter to lessons once a week, along with his gruff attitude that was just enough to keep things bearable. "You know it, Dave," I joked, picking up the check and recording it in my receipt book. I ripped his receipt of the perforated line, keeping the carbon copy. "Now watch your mouth around my girls."

"Sure, Issy, sure," David said, showing up his hands with a laugh. "I gotta go now. Tip, though, watch Sophie today. She's been flicking boogers at people lately."

I snorted. "Thanks for the warning, I'll keep it in mind."

One boy one the parents filed out, my sole employee, a college aged girl named Amanda, filing in. Amanda was a slight thing, very petite, and came to LA to be an actress. We met by chance and she told me about her dancing, and I hired her to help me coach my little dancers. She herself is one of my Pointe girls in recital, making her invaluable in more than one way.

"Hey Amanda," I said warmly. She looked a little flustered but managed a cheery ‘Hello' in return before taking her eager class into the long, mirrored studio for stretches, bar work and rehearsal. The little ones were always the opening dance of the recital, followed by a steady ascension of age and talent up to my Pointe dancers and finale dance.

I wiggled my toes inside my shoes, a strange habit of mine. I sipped my coffee again. My life was hectic these days, but I could handle it. My routine was in place, my life was smooth. I had things under control. It wasn't like my whole life had been disrupted because of one late start, right? Besides, I had a perfectly logical reason to be off schedule today. I had a sick baby, a little boy at a cold who I'd had to leave teary eyed and wet nosed at his daycare this morning. It'd almost broken my heart to watch those fat tears wash down his little face under his mop of dark hair, but those are the kinds of thing I've had to get used to as a single mother. And if I'd stayed home with him for every cold and sniffle in the last three years, where would be now? We wouldn't be in the flat we were in now, that's for sure.

I opened up my locking drawer and pulled out the bank bag to slip the last check inside. I almost smiled as I caught sight of my name in David's messy scrawl. Issy Black. My brief amusement was quickly replaced with a feeling of profound sadness as I reread my name a second, third, fourth time. Black, Black, Black. What a reminder that my life was not as unhinged as it could be. As it had been.