NOLA

The Lycan and the witch had been talking about me.

I was almost certain that was what their rendezvous at the forest clearing had been about, huddled like they were, and with the man spotting me off the bat, it had been hard to listen in on their conversation.

“Forget it, Nola,” I chided myself after I’d struck my foot on an unruly branch on my way to the line of wagons that had started to slowly move forward, the brown horses heading the maiden’s stations shuffling forward as the carriage master-a short beach all of a werewolf nodded his head to me and I managed an unconscious wave....