CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Garrou’s entire world had devolved into nothing but a universe of pain, his haughty confidence of a moment earlier now as ruined as his face.
He’d been warned long ago of the dangers of holy water, but in all his years as the Wolf, he’d never been concerned about it. Garrou knew from experience he was more likely to be confronted by guns, but since most people didn’t arm themselves with vials of holy water – not even the occasional priest he took special delight in shredding – this had never been something he had to think about.
Now, with his face and neck feeling as if they were on fire, Garrou understood the danger of this sacred weapon as a nauseating dread crushed down upon him. The brilliant light still shone from Angie and Peter’s bodies, obscuring his vision, a
