9

Andrea’s POV

A heartless, cold, evil beast.

That’s the definition that comes to mind to describe this monster gazing down at me with what could only be described as hunger for his next prey.

Werewolves could grow to be more than hundred years old and you cannot really guess it by looks. Our physical appearances don’t reflect our true age as soon as we hit thirty. But he looked quite old. I’d go ahead and bet he crossed the age of sixty.

Greyish, light brown hair that was only covering the middle of his head in a French braid while the sides of his head were completely shaved off gave him what I perceived as the look of a beast.

Add the light, cold green eyes and you get the perfect terrifying beast you see in horror movies but know it in your heart that he doesn’t actually exist.

Except this one does.

And he has his hungry teeth set on my flesh.

I cowered in my place on the ground in immense fear. An ordinary master was one thing, but judging by his thirst for my blood, it was pretty