Bewitched
They were relentless.
I kept to my chamber longer than usual, clutching the necklace to my chest and forcing myself to wear the imitation instead. Flynn vanished for hours, muttering about finding food, about his quick hands and quicker feet. I told him not to, but hunger argued harder than caution. He returned with a stolen sack of bread and meat, and though guilt twisted in me, I accepted his offering. My body needed what my pride refused.
Halfway through our meager feast, a sound split the night. A low, guttural wail, nothing like the usual cries of beasts from the forest. Flynn stiffened, head tilted. “Did you hear that?”
Bab Populer