Chapter Ten.

Zorien’s POV.

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“H-help me...”

For centuries, the Werewolves, the largest in population among the Were-beings, and us, Demons, have been in an antagonistic war. It’s been ongoing for so many years that I’ve come to forget the meaning of it over time. What had been the embers of such an irredeemable inferno? Hm, had it been because we couldn’t stand each other’s guts?

I watch the she-wolf breathe her last at my feet with repine. What is it about this feeble creature I had chosen to keep a keen watch over since the day she had been conceived in her mother’s womb? I don’t take a fondness for such uncouth and uncultured animals; especially ones who’re ever obnoxious enough to have kept baring their fangs at us for many centuries.

Yet, I can’t refute the force of nature that’s tied a red string of fate around my finger in attachment to hers. For a life spanning over a century, I’ve courted four mates in those times. All of which were of the same race as me. Then I had caught a str