The Forsaken
I narrow my eyes, trying to understand.
"Well, there's that too. You had her as a child when most... all werewolves I know get a wolf after the age of fifteen." Well dont I feel special.
Atlas lets out a slow, weighted breath, his brows drawing together as he watches me. “You were never supposed to have her that young.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, the back of my neck prickling.
“Wolves… spirits… whatever you want to call them,” he says, glancing at Saf again, “they don’t awaken until the body is ready. Until the mind is ready. Fifteen, sixteen, sometimes later. Never before.”
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