Vivian's POV

Something's not right.

I'm hiding in the bedroom, pacing around with my arms crossed, like an ant trapped in a hot pot with no way out.

Ever since I encountered that mysterious man in the garden – no, I should now call him Albert – my mind has been in turmoil.

He's definitely not a messenger for the rogues, or more accurately, not a werewolf at all. I bit my lip, recalling his appearance and that peculiar scent. It was a chilling, somewhat sweet smell, mixed with the stale stench of old blood. It didn't have the warmth and vitality that werewolves possess.

It's... I clutch the hem...