Izzy’s hands are shaking as she watches the young rogue werewolf fall to the ground, his body writhing in pain, the fire consuming him. She could smell the burning flesh and the rotten scent that comes with rogue werewolves.
“Come on, Izzy,” her ex-mate grins at her as he watches the helpless werewolf. “This is what we’re meant to do. We’re hunters.”
But Izzy can’t bring herself to feel excited or proud as he does. She can only feel guilt and fear coursing through her veins. She knows that this werewolf was just a kid, barely older than she is. And now he’s dying because of them, because of her.
“You don’t have to feel guilty about killing him,” he continues, sensing her hesitation. “He’s a rogue, Izzy. He would’ve killed innocent people if we hadn’t stopped him.”
“But I didn’t kill him,” Izzy whispers, feeling sick to her stomach.
“Yes, you did,” he insists, moving closer to her. “Do you want me to describe the events to you? On how you managed to kill the child?”
“No, but...” Izzy t
