Book 2 -6-

[The Prisoner]

SEBASTIAN

“Ugh!” I groaned as the sun kissed my back, arms, and legs. It felt hot and painful everywhere. My head throbbed like someone had a sledgehammer whacking at it for hours. I suppose that was my fault, though. Had I not drunk as much as I did, this wouldn’t have happened. Not to mention, I could barely move my limbs.

Try as I might, I couldn’t move. My body ached, my mouth was impossibly dry like I ate sand, and my limbs felt like jelly—all wobbly and uncoordinated. I forgot to add that I couldn’t open my eyes at all, and it wasn’t just because of my heavy eyelids, but also because of my sensitivity to the glaring sunlight.

Mind you, werewolves didn’t get hangovers. It was almost impossible, especially with human alcohol. Our bodies healed too quickly for the booze to settle. Yet somehow, the amount I consumed last night was enough to knock out an elephant for a month. Perhaps longer.

I tried moving again, this time pushing up on my arms and knees. Even get