Raven
It was hard—hard in a way that settled deep into my bones and refused to leave, like something inside me had been torn apart and stitched back together wrong.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as I lay there on the cold ground, staring at the three werewolves who had just mercilessly slaughtered the humans.
The scent of blood hung thick in the air, heavy and metallic, clinging to every breath I took. It was suffocating, almost unbearable, and it coated everything—the earth beneath me, my skin, and most visibly, their white fur, now streaked with red. It should have looked unnatural, wrong even, but instead it made them look terrifyingly real. Like creatures that belonged to violence.
They were enormous.
Not just large—monstrous.
