Tears streamed down my cheeks. I had always known I was guilty, but when it was spoken out loud—straight to my face, and with such hatred—it hurt unbearably.
Heavy footsteps echoed somewhere in the distance. Someone was approaching. Stas didn’t move, which meant it was his accomplice. From the same direction came a strange growl, and I stared into the darkness in terror. A tall, middle-aged man stepped out of the shadows, holding two dogs on leashes—bull terriers, I think. My insides twisted in horror. Stas noticed the fear in my eyes and laughed so hard it became frightening.
“Are you scared, Vera?” he sneered. “Do you remember how Artyom died?”
He paused, watching me closely.
“Of course you remember. You were standing right there when another werewolf tore him apart. By the way, this
