The Rejected Cursed Wolf
When my gaze settled on Josh’s beige wolf, vomit burned my throat.
The enemy clawed into his stomach, splitting it open. Blood poured out.
No wolf could survive that without a witch.
His eyes widened, and he stumbled, and I glanced elsewhere, only to find Fred’s charcoal wolf cornered by three of our enemies.
Without a thought, I raced toward him, sick over not even trying to help Josh. But Josh was as good as gone. Fred wasn’t.
I snarled, and two of the wolves turned their attention to me. Their eyes focused on my chest, where I’d learned that, even in wolf form, my tattoo was visible.
Bab Populer