Originally from this prompt.

Angela crouched behind her front door, watching the mail slot with unblinking eyes. Every day, the invader came. She tensed up she heard feet on her steps, preparing in case this was the day she had to defend her territory. The steps stopped, and after a nerve-racking pause, letters came through the slot. Would he come through the door this time?

With great effort, Angela suppressed a victorious growl as the man turned and left. She dared raise her head to peek out a window, and collapsed in relief when she saw him get completely off her property. The mailman was middle-aged, short, and slightly overweight, but her new instincts screamed warnings every time he so confidently strolled on to her lawn. Why was he so confident, her werewolf side worried? Why did he not fear to tread in her territory?

It was an especially vexing problem considering she wasn't afraid of anyone else. Even the other werewolf who had broken in and bitten her last month had at least shown fear when she attacked him and driven him off. Angela knew she had things to do, but spent a few minutes recovering from the stress of the mailman. She revelled in the new feeling of security in her home, her lair, as her new instincts thought of it. But it was 2 pm, when most people were working, and she had to shop before the crowds grew.

The first few trips outside had been nearly disastrous. But now she was better prepared. A hoodie, to block her peripheral vision. Headphones to keep the noise down. A perfume she'd carefully picked to be not too offensive to her nose, to muffle more disgusting odours. Gloves shoved in her purse, just in case she lost control of her claws again.

She exited her house carefully, checking the lock five times, reassuring her lupine side that no one was going to break in again even if she left her territory undefended. She kept her head down as she followed the sidewalk to the grocery store, twitching with the desire to pursue every time a car whipped by like fleeing prey. The hoodie helped block most of them, at least. The store was nearly empty, but she gave the few shoppers in it a wide berth. One kid was screaming his head off, and she was annoyed to find out that her werewolf side interpreted the human word "waaah" as "eat me, I'm helpless." At least her revulsion made that easy to ignore. On the way back in, she saw a package the mailman had left by her door, which had finally arrived. The last security measure to really make her house a well-defended lair.

She felt pent-up stress fade when she got back to her house. Safety. She locked the door behind her and took a minute to steady herself again. The worst part of being a werewolf was the constant feeling that she should attack something, intruders, cars, the weak, the strong, and of course, that freaking mailman! She entered her kitchen and froze. There was a werewolf in human form at her kitchen table. Again. Like usual, he had piercing black eyes and jet black hair. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and he was jacked. His muscles glistened in the fading sunlight filtering through the blinds, and he rose smoothly as she entered.

"Angela," he said in a low, rumbling voice that vibrated her to her core, like the last three, "I am the alpha of the local pa-"

She did the only logical thing, and beaned the intruder in the head with an apple. That seemed to stun him, so she tackled him, one of few legitimate targets for her aggression since she'd scared off the one who bit her. Her werewolf half wanted to use claws and fangs, but seemed on board with her human half's plan of slamming his head repeatedly onto the corner of the table. That didn't kill him, of course, but when he shifted forms and slipped out of her grip, she got in a good kick to the groin, which he definitely felt. A few minutes later, and he was running out the back door, yelping as he fled with a distinct limp.

Of course, now her house was covered in wolf hair from the fight, so once she put her groceries away, she had to spend hours getting rid of the worst of it. But her defences were finally here, a box of brochures. She set one pamphlet on a table near each door, easily visible to anyone entering, and on each window sill. She ran her fingers across the glossy paper, and smiled. Real security at last.

And indeed, she never had another self-proclaimed 'alpha' break in, frightened away by the bright colours of the SPCA's pamphlet, "Spaying and Neutering: a Guide for Dog Owners".