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In homid form, gazing out through the shadows, she watches the enemy from her position in the brush. He cannot sense her, but her nostrils are full of his pungent, putrid scent. His hands still bear the coppery hint of her packmate's blood...
He will not live to see tomorrow -- will not even set down the mug in his hand.
He doesn't stand a chance.
Lesson to be learned: NEVER, EVER harm a werewolf's mate.
(*Personal note: Wonderful addition to the catalogue, FM!)
Rating:  [5 of 5 Flaming Jalapenos!] |
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