sable

The woman waves a hand at the two witch men, who dutifully walk away. Then she steps forward and puts a hand on Lawson’s shoulder. She doesn’t even cringe at the blood that soaks his shirt. “That’s a good dog. Now, I want to know all about the packs. But especially their protections. Tell me about those stolen sigils that mark the territory. Howl for me, wolf.”

Lawson begins to speak. Haltingly at first, as if he hurts too much to talk, but then the words come faster, more wild and desperate. He barely seems in his right mind anymore, and I wonder if she’s using more than just...