Marigold POV
Of course, the gods just had to ruin the one decent night of sleep I’ve had in weeks. I’d finally gotten comfortable—wrapped in Gregor’s ridiculously large shirt that smelled way too good for my peace of mind—when the damn growling, howling, blood-splattering show started at dawn.
I shot upright so fast I nearly toppled into the fire. Nonna was already clutching her spoon like it was a holy relic, muttering prayers and curses in the same breath. And me? I was pressed into the corner with her, staring wide-eyed at the scene unfolding.
Gregor—well, his wolf—was tearing through intruders like they were warm bread rolls. Blood, fur, weapons, snapping bones—it was a nightmare ballet, and he was the star performer. And let me tell you, the front row seat was not as glamorous as i
