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One tail twitched.

Then another.

Footsteps approached.

A woman's voice floated through the trees. “What’s that mangy, hurt creature on the ground? A big. . .wolf? He’s huge.”

American.

Then, I stiffened.

Wait a minute. Is she talking about me? A wolf? How dare she? Mangy? I don’t look. . .that bad. . .

So exhausted, I set my head back down on the ground.

“What is wrong with him?” Her scent became stronger.

There’s no way she is talking about me. She shouldn’t be able to see me.

Then, the woman appeared beyond the shrine’s weathered gate and looked to be heading directly towards. . .me.

No.

Shock filled me, yet there was also curiosity. She was enchanting, even though I didn’t want to admit it. She had this rich, dark brown skin. It was so breathtaking against the muted greens and grays of the shrine.

Long twisted locs spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Beads decorated many of them.

Her eyes were this brilliant light brown.

Her lips were full.

Her body curved beneath her clothing.

She was undeniably gorgeous, but I had lived eight hundred years.

I had seen many beautiful women and fucked them too. I had watched beauty become old, become dust, and disappear beneath the earth.

Beauty alone had never impressed me.

Yet, what stopped me was the heart on her flesh.

Black.

Perfect.

Centered on her chest.

My magic surged.

No. . .that’s not a tattoo.

My cracked claws dug into the soil.

She has a curse too, written on her skin just like mine.

Energy threaded beneath her brown skin. Shadowy currents spread from the heart, weaving through her body, then curling back toward it.

Very old magic. Blood magic. Generational.