Trista’s POVJohnson sat down beside me, beer in hand.“Well, to my first werewolf wedding,” he sighed, clinking his beer bottle with mine.I smiled weakly. “Was it everything you thought it would be?” I asked sarcastically. “And then some,” he confessed.We sat in silence for a moment, both of us uncertain of what to say.“You know, it really was beautiful, though,” he sighed. “I was a bit shocked at first, by the blood and knives. But once I got past that, there was something very meaningful about the rituals. Almost…transcendent.”I nodded. This was a very different Johsnon than the one who had fired off questions like a child during the wedding. This was the Johnson I knew – the mature, retrospective, intelligent Johnson.“Werewolves love their rituals,” I responded. “Some of our rituals date back centuries. We take them very seriously.”He took my hand then and squeezed it. “Were you afraid?”There was no sense beating around the bush. We needed to talk about what happened. I
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