Clara I stared wild-eyed into the calm, pretty face of Hazel. She wore a crimson silk gown that accentuated her shining black hair. Red was after all the color of luck for us werewolves; it is the color of blood after a fresh, clean kill. The other color of luck was the deep dark blue hue that I clothed myself in. It was the inky indigo sky that the moon swims through. “Hazel, goddess above, I’m so sorry,” I said in embarrassment. Hazel smiled sadly at me. There was no blame in her pretty features, and a surge of guilt and sisterly affection rose like a rock in my throat. She turned me around, and I could feel her cool hands caressing my torn shoulder where Lord Dover had dug in his claws. “Was this the work of Lord Dover?” she asked in a low voice. “Who else?” I growled. “Come,” she said. “This won’t do. You can’t be battered and bruised tonight.” “Hazel—” I said, but she pulled me through the swath of werewolves. “You don’t need to watch,” Hazel said. She knew of the love
Last Updated : 2023-06-13 Read more