Russell Wilson Lets Ride Gif Mga Nobela at Kwento

Recently. Wolf. Jaxon tensed immediately. “We’re not alone.” Riley nodded and stepped inside. On the far side of the train car, tucked beneath the metal bench, was a rolled-up canvas. Riley pulled it out. It was a painting. Rough. Charcoal and oil. It showed a wolf standing in a firelight. Alone. With a mark carved across its chest. Jaxon crouched next to her. “That’s your mark.” She flipped it over. On the back was a single phrase:

Heart lurching into my throat, I was almost sick. Russell stood at the door, a few fading scratch marks on his neck and bare chest and a shirt tied around his waist. His skin was pale, and he was clutching his side. Between that and the fact I didn’t see any other wolves with him, my every limb shook, and I thought I might crumple under the pressure. My wolf surged forward, keeping me standing. Even though she couldn’t speak, the message was clear—we would not look weak.