Miatta

“You're late,” I announced, hearing his footsteps coming closer. I had been there for more than three minutes and I hated being kept waiting. Oddly, he didn't say a word and I was beginning to doubt that it was he behind me but I knew his scent. Lycans had a distinct scent but his was different; I could tell it from the rest. It reminded me of fresh wood and pine cones, a nostalgia of home.

“You came. I didn't think you would,” he opined, coming to stand beside me. He was at least two and a half heads taller than me, an edge over me it appeared. He...