TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING
Then a grin breaks across her face, slow and incredulous and so deeply QUEENIE that my chest aches with how much I’ve missed it.
“On three?” she asks.
“On three. One. Two—”
We scream.
It’s such an ugly noise. Pure, ugly, primal, cathartic NOISE, pouring out of both of us through open windows into the vast indifferent Alaskan landscape that absorbs it without judgment.
I scream until my throat burns and my lungs empty, and Queenie is screaming beside me with her whole body, leaning out the window, her hair whipping in the cold wind, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls back like he’s answering us.