As I sat on the cursed wheelchair six days later, I couldn't stop replaying that special night like a reel, over and over again. As I had done for the past six days, just for the fun of it.
Know what was funny? It was how the entire pack was blaming it all on a non-existent witch. I mean, there was a witch around, but he didn't even live in the pack.
I bet Rosa was laughing at them all along with me. Because we both knew that this… this wasn't the work of a witch.
Rosa hadn't said anything, of course. She knew better than to poke at the hornet's nest, especially when the hornets were paranoid alphas with too much testosterone and not enough sense. But I caught her eye once, across the courtyard, when one of them declared we were cursed by the moon, and I swear to God, her smirk almost healed my imaginary broken legs.
Still, every time I closed my eyes, I was right back in that night. Savoring the kill, the juice of the fear, and the unending pool of blood.
Life was good.
.
