Shirley
The morning light poured into my kitchen, filtering through the cracked blinds like it had the right to pretend everything was normal. It wasn’t.
I stood by the sink, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee I hadn’t touched. My head throbbed from everything that had happened. The fight between Dante and Asher still rang in my ears—growls and fists, accusations and vague truths. I’d screamed for them to stop, but they hadn’t heard me. Not really.
They were too busy fighting over me like I was something to be claimed.
I didn’t want to be claimed. I wanted clarity.
I took a sip, grimacing at the now-lukewarm coffee. Outside, the town buzzed with its usual sleepy rhythm, unaware of the storm building under its skin. No one knew that werewolves and wolf hunters walked t
