Rain slicked the streets by the time Charlie left the Laundromat, the pavement glowing with neon reflections — red from the butcher's sign, green from the pharmacy, violet from the tattoo shop whose owner never remembered her name but always waved like they were old friends. She kept her hood up, though the drizzle hardly mattered; water slid off her like she wasn't made of anything absorbent. Perks of the condition.The walk home should've been calming: the steady rhythm of her steps, the scent of wet asphalt, the hush of the city's quieter hours. But her instincts kept prickling, the way a tongue probes a sore tooth.Like someone was watching.She slowed. Looked over her shoulder. Nothing.Except—A figure crossed the street half a block back, head bowed, coat too long, stride too steady to be drunk or lost. Human? Maybe. But her senses insisted something was off in a way she couldn't name.Not werewolf, she told herself immediately. She would've smelled fur, earth, pack. This was s
Last Updated : 2025-12-20 Read more