Esmond's POV
When I confronted her, my pine-needle pheromones surged with Alpha dominance, and the joints in my little finger cracked in preparation for shifting.
She yanked her hand away, her expression cold. "This has nothing to do with you."
Camellia's wolf let out a threatening growl, the moonlight slicing her pupils into vertical slits of golden amber.
I quickly stepped in front of her, catching the scent of another werewolf.
Just as I was about to speak, I noticed her shirt was half-dry and soaked through.
The fur on the back of my neck bristled, and my fangs pierced my lower lip in rage. "Whose stink is on your shirt?"
Camellia let out a cold laugh. "You should ask Priscilla that question."
I froze, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Go ask her and you'll find out."
With that,
