Wolf Rachael
But I didn't run.
I squeezed through the collapsed entrance, my skin burning from residual silver in the air. The interior was chaos—walls crumbling, fires burning, and everywhere that silver light pulsing.
And standing in the center, surrounded by broken bodies and shattered restraints, was something I barely recognized.
Racheal had transformed, but not into any wolf I'd ever seen. This was from legends. The Ghost Wolf. An actual embodiment of primal werewolf power in its purest, most terrifying form.
Her eyes met mine across the destruction, and I saw no recognition in them. Only rage, power, and the promise of violence.
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