werewolves
“All teams—Bind broadcast confirmed. Helmets sealed. Mau, cut public address—no tones, no music, nothing she can ride.”
“On it,” Mau said, killing the speakers. The camp fell to raw noises—boots, breath, the distant restless river.
Sara sighed, small and theatrical. “Such stubborn men.”
Her eyes went gold.
Cross-Currents
At the Bushmaster, two soldiers had Jane by the elbows—gentle, practiced. One flinched, blinked hard, steadied. The other winced like at a migraine, then gritted her teeth and held on.
“It’s okay,” she told Jane again, breath fogging. “We’ve got you.”
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