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the seventh son of a seventh son

SHE HAD MADE ANOTHER LYCANTHROPE, IT seemed. I sighed when I came upon it, devouring a poor lifeless horse by the edge of the forest. It was with others, as well. Not all of the lycanthropes. Just the new one, the alpha, and the beta.

The new wolf was nothing like the others. She was an unusual but beautiful shade of gold. I watched her from behind a tree. She had seemed like the others at first, but then she saw something, a red cloak that looked a bit familiar to me. It must’ve struck something within her as well, because she backed away from the horse and the cloak, her mouth coated in dark red blood.

Her eyes were large and remarkable. They looked like the ocean, and she looked scared and almost...sad. But then she turned back and feasted once more.

And I knew that she would be the last one to be killed. There was something just too familiar about her that made me sick to my stomach. Too human. As if she knew what was going on, like she knew what she was.

But she was still a lycanthrope. And it was my job to kill every last one of them.

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