_ ~It was a hunt for blood, but the hunt instead ended with love~ _ Every two hundred years comes a beast in the form of a man. Its mission is one of destruction, no love, no peace, no matter how much he tries to restrain. You see, there's a side of him, a deadly side, a beast. It travels with wings like that of the devil, its eyes are as black as night, and on two feet it walks, but on four it runs when it's time to hunt. It's a werewolf the myths say, but how can a werewolf be born with wings as sharp as shards, wings that can slice through its prey and feet with nails longer than the city's tallest building? Surely not an ordinary one, right? Then what to call it? The mythical, wing having beast of death? Perhaps so, but no matter how scary its name became, Verya was determined she'd kill it in this century. She was born with the blood of her father; the blood of an alpha, and though many did not, and still don't believe in her, she'd prove that she's worthy of her alpha
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