The Night Children

Prologue

Disclaimer:

THIS IS NOT A CLICHE WEREWOLF BOOK. 

There is no rape, abuse, Luna's, mating rituals or mate bonds, wolf links, fall in love within an instant cliche or anything in relation to this.

There is a book with character development, (hopefully) an interesting plot line, twists, likeable characters, romance, and a believable story.

Fantasy is evident in this, there are new terms that are associated that you will come to understand as a reader. Relationships are not built in an instant, there is development and a growing connectedness between characters. 

As a reader I grew frustrated with the popular werewolf books literally all having the same plot and abusive content. I wanted to change this, thus I wrote The Night Children (Book 1 of The Forsaken Series). Book Two, The Hunted Children has now been published (visit my profile to find it :)). 

However, I am still supportive of writers who have written werewolf books that fit into this cliche. My way of thinking is different to others, and I will not drag other writers down about their way of writing. 

I am currently editing The Night Children chapter by chapter whilst also updating The Hunted Children. 

Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

Edited

If I knew the boy who kissed me would kiss death shortly after, I would've never said those three words.

But that's the beauty of life isn't it? Death is hungry, constantly on the prowl. For an easy kill, the weak are often stolen first, but sometimes, when He feels the need, He takes those undeserving of it.

I knew Death well. He often visited me in my dreams, reminding me that I could be His victim. He regularly stalked my mother and I often fended Him off. We had that type of relationship.

Sometimes He wouldn't appear for twenty-four hours. Those days were good days, but rare.

Occasionally, when darkness settled around my mind, I begged Death to claim me. He would saunter over, with the promise of silence in His slender fingers, but never does He listen. He told me He would decide the engravings in my headstone. He told me to wait. He told me it wasn't my choice.

He was wrong. It would always be my choice.

Death. So inexorable for some, but so forgiving for others. My family was among those who Death preferred to pursue.

When Death was hidden, clinging to the shadows, I took life for granted. I asked myself if I had a purpose. I felt like there was something more to humanity. I felt like I was caught up in a façade of reality.

Over the years, I always thought about Death, or more towards how I would die.

But it wasn't until I no longer wished upon Death, when He decided to grip my sanity with thorned nails and pierce my heart with a cackle. He had told me then, with His whispering breath against my ear that His choice was always inevitable.

Maybe if I knew I was going to die this year, I would've valued the life I was granted.

Death had previously taken His toll on my family when I was too young to understand what His intentions were. He gave my mother trust issues, ensuring she never attempted to love any one again. I grew up with the same mindset, focusing more on getting through each day than interesting myself with boys. I tried to mend my mother's broken mentality before I could mend my own – but it wasn't long before that all changed.