“I am watching,” said the Wolf.
The low rumble of a growl can never be mistaken for a purr, but the sound of a content wolf and a hungry one can be too close for comfort.
Your heat is a sinful garden, filled with dark scents from a blood winter. I want to harvest you, reap the dew of a long hibernation from your fevered skin.
It is Spring and you rise on unsteady legs. You ache from being in one place for too long.
Abstinence has left you empty of everything but cruel memories.
Your limbs tremble with the need to run.
It is too early for a hunt.
But dawn is not so far away.