The Lullaby of Wolfbane
Melody continues, “I traveled at night. I avoided pack roads. I avoided anyone I couldn’t read instantly, because I didn’t know who could be influenced. Gammas move through packs. They’re trusted. That trust is a weapon if you twist it.”
I swallow hard, the thought making me feel sick.
“On the third night,” Melody says, “I smelled wolfsbane on the wind.”
My pulse spikes.
“Not the diluted kind,” she adds, eyes narrowing. “The concentrated kind hunters use. It’s sharp, bitter, metallic. Once you’ve tasted it enough,” her jaw tightens, “you never forget it.”
I flinch.
Melody’s voice goes colder. “I followed the scent because it meant someone was about to die.”
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