C65 Mark of the Beast

Werewolves. Werewolves. ~Werewolves.~ The word repeated in my head over and over again.

“For fuck’s sake,” Robert said, directing his curse toward the ceiling.

Mitchell never took his eyes off me. “Yes, Dorothy, I said werewolves. As in the pack of werewolves you’ve lived with for practically your whole life. The fucking monsters who stole you from me.”

He gripped my knee harder