Onyx

I stared at him insistently, waiting for some kind of explanation. Some kind of reassurance. Noah pushed a hand through his messy hair and sighed. He put his hands on the table, and I glanced at the unease in them.

I could feel coldness seeping through the windows behind Noah's back. The weather had grown so sour and dark the last few hours. Most of these hours he had spent outside, fighting. My throat ran dry, stinging with anxiety.

“The turned have surrounded our pack and are not moving from there. They are waiting for something, and no matter how many times we chase them away, they keep returning.”...