Eloise Pov
I winced as I tugged my shirt down, trying to hide the deep, jagged wound on my waist. It looked as if something or someone had savaged me, leaving a mark that resembled the bite of a wild beast. The wound was large and raw, a constant reminder of my tortured past.
Racheal, who had seen her share of wounds as a fellow werewolf, immediately understood what this meant. The shape, the severity, it wasn’t just a normal injury.
“You’re a werewolf?” Racheal asked, her voice filled with confusion and surprise. “Why can’t I sense it?”
I didn’t flinch at her question, my eyes distant, lost in a place darker than any of them could imagine. I had been bitten by a wolf, and while werewolves had incredible healing abilities, able to heal from broken bones or nearly any wound we were also
