19
I followed the beckon of Gabe’s familiar scent. Two more steps along the aisle, a left slant of my head, and I spotted what my senses insisted had to be him—even if his physical appearance had diminished enough for me to question his identity.
Three cages down from the corner, the n***d werewolf possessed the small cube. His side-to-side pacing from bars to bars lent him the manic air of a trapped animal, as did the jerked pump of each fist at his hips.
I moved across to his enclosure, my head twisting with each of his turns as he marched side-to-side, like watching a pendulum driven by rocket fuel—one bulked by the power of a fully grown werewolf on a teenager.
Filth coated his body and mingled with sweat, adding staleness beyond pungency. Grease and blood matted his blond curls. N
