Back in his room, Dale sat on his bed, his hands covering his face, fingernails digging into his scalp as the reality of his situation crashed over him like a tidal wave of ice water.
What the fuck?
The taste of bile rose in his throat as Kirk's words echoed in his mind. His chest tightened with each ragged breath, and his skin crawled, knowing what lurked beneath it. The wolf. His wolf. The mere thought sent tremors through his hands.
He knew Kirk wouldn't lie. The truth of it sat like lead in his gut—he would change into some loathsome snarling creature, his features twisted and distorted into something as ugly as fuck. Like the one he saw in his nightmare, all razor fangs and wild eyes. The image burned behind his eyelids, refusing to fade.
"Why me?" The words came out as a broken whisper. "Why did I always get the shit end of the stick?" His tears fell hot and fast, and he didn't try to stop them. The salt stung his lips as they dripped down his face.
This was fucked up.
His stoma
