NOLA REYNOLDS

The Lycan’s earth-shattering howl still rang freshly in between my ears as I watched the man heave underneath me.

“No Kalden, not you too!” I whispered in a hushed tone, putting my paws on his chest and attempting to shove the fallen werewolf to his feet before snatching my paws away when he spasmed erratically, inhaling a sharp, pained breath.

Shit, shit, shit!

It was worse than I wanted to believe it was, the once ruddy plains of his face were now ashen, cast in a deathly-white pallor with his lips now a sickly blue tint, the color of the dead witch’s poisoned spear.

The warrior twitched once...