Luna Lyra
That reminded me of Denise and that man.
I remember how they stood close, fingers entwined. She leaned into him like she’d known him for years, and he gazed at her like she was the moon itself. He had the stature of a warrior, tall, sharp-featured, and familiar in a way that made my blood turn cold.
“That reminds me. I saw Denise earlier chatting with a man. Who is he?” I asked.
“Who is who? I don’t understand,” she replied looking around.
“The man with Denise. They were chatting earlier on. He is tall, with broad shoulders, …not from our pack.”