He Is Mine
Food did not taste like anything anymore, sleep would not come no matter how exhausted I was, and when it did, I’d wake up gasping, searching for him in the darkness.
Something was breaking inside me. No, that’s not right. Something was already broken.
I shoved the library door open and stepped inside, desperate. I had been here every night, pouring over books, old texts, even folklore sections I would have laughed at months ago.
But now? I’m not laughing. I’m tearing through pages, flipping between stories about werewolves, packs, bonds, rituals, anything that could explain what was happening to me.
And the more I read, the more horrifyingly clear it became.
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