The Rejected True Heiress
The rest of the world could have burned down, and in here, it would still smell like old paper and ink.
Perfect.
I’d pulled three entire stacks of books around me, a fortress of leather bindings and worn pages: histories of werewolves, dense texts on Lycans, thin, brittle pamphlets about old bloodlines, even obscure case studies of wolfless wolves and the rare, desperate stories of those who’d somehow triggered their first shift late in life.
None of it helped.