Mabel.
The message on the wall glared at me, "Come home, little wolf."
I stared at it, shaking, the words burrowing into my skull. My breathing was ragged. Too loud. The silence in the cabin pressed in from every direction, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
I stumbled to my feet, ignoring the pain threading through my side. The place looked like a war zone broken furniture, claw marks pierced into the walls, the air still thick with the foul scent of the creatures that had come through.
I moved to the door, scanning the edge of the forest for signs of struggle. The path was stained with blood, his blood and drag marks led into the trees. My knees buckled at the sight.
He fought. He fought so hard. And I hadn’t been enough. No.
No more running.
No more hiding.
I
