NOLA REYNOLDS

The brown werewolf’s iron claws slapped into the forest floor noisily behind me as we pounded through the dark cluster of trees, dodging the vines and forking bony branches that jutted out into the narrow dirt path.

I gritted my canines, the tears swirling underneath my eyes managing to leak over my sparsely furred face before I felt the force of a whimper push past the calcium barricade and into the night.

It was almost as though a flood had been let loose, the insistent pounding of my heart and the echo of crickets and night owls and bats surrounding us dying away in the memory of what...