After the rogue is so badly damaged that it’s barely breathing, the werewolves shift back to their human form, including Rita.
She helps me up as the others stand around the bloodied body of our attacker, their mouths and hands smeared with blood.
A couple of them approach to check on me. I don’t know who they are; I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before—but they knew me. One of them, the one with a long beard and haunted eyes, stares at me.
It’s unsettling. It reminds me of the way Alex’s mom stares at me. Like he’s looking for something in my face, or rather sees something hidden within it.
“My name is Charles,” the one with the beard says, “and these are Oorna, Abner, and Meor. Abner and Meor were on guard tonight, out in the forest. They could smell the intruder and tracked him he
