The Lycan’s Tribute: Claimed By My Foster Brothers
"What in the hell…"
The water was dark. Moving too slow, thick at the edges, with that smell underneath it, the sweet rotting smell that I had unfortunately memorised. Three rabbits lay stiff near the water's edge, their fur matted with black residue, their small bodies already being absorbed by it at the edges.
My wolf made a low, flat sound inside my chest.
"Yeah," I said. "I see it."
I stood, stepped back from the bank, and ran.
"Rabbits," I said, coming through the kitchen door. "Three of them, dead, by the stream. Black residue, the same as everything else. And the water is wrong, it's dark, it's slow, it smells like the den."
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