Rhapsody for a Wolf
They never speak, never laugh, never even make a sound of effort, but I remember how they smell. Every kick, every punch, every chunk of hair ripped from my scalp, every broken tooth and rib and collarbone and finger, each one I match to a smell, and remember. They will pay. After a few minutes of the fledgelings’ assault, I stop feeling the injuries. I am a single ball of pain being flung about the vampires’ playing-field. Frost claws me from within, frothing mad and desperate to deal his own punishment here and now, but they mustn’t know. They can’t know my strengths, not until it’s too late for them.
Bab Populer