TRADING MY CHEATING HUSBAND FOR THE LYCAN KING
It comes from off-camera first, a sound that doesn’t belong in a ballroom, and then the image lurches as people begin to react, heads turning, glasses dropping, and in the far corner of the frame, a shape moves through the crowd that is not human and not fully wolf and not anything that has a name in any language I know.
It’s fast and wrong, and the sounds it makes are worse than the screams because the sounds are coming from ME, from whatever I was that night.
They are guttural and wet, and I can hear the difference between the sound of claws hitting fabric and the sound of claws hitting flesh and—
Ember slams the laptop shut.
The silence in the storage unit is absolute. My ears are ringing