Wolfblood
I didn’t even bother thanking her or saying goodbye, relieved that I’d never have to smell the disgusting mix of old lady perfume and cigarettes, or hear her raspy smoker’s voice, again.
A few days later, on a warm Thursday in mid-August, Hugo drove me to his pack. We stopped at the entrance and exited the car, then we were brought to a small room. The werewolves who escorted us there wrinkled their noses at the sight of me, and I realized it must be my rogue smell. I let out a deep sigh. When we were waiting alone, I asked Hugo, “Is the smell really that bad?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and said, “No, they’re exaggerating. It’s just a little unpleasant.”
Bab Populer