Lowell’s footsteps crunch against the dry leaves, every sound amplified by the oppressive silence of the woods. He moves carefully, his ears straining for any hint of pursuit. Marco’s men aren’t far—he can hear the faint voices and the occasional bark of orders. He doesn’t dare stop.
Nana’s last words echo in his head like a haunting melody: “Run, Lowell. Don’t look back. Find peace.”
Peace? He thinks bitterly. There’s no peace for a man like him. Not now, not when everything feels so f*****g wrong, well he’s life has been a mess since the betrayal of his uncle.
The clothes Nana gave him scratch against his skin. They don’t fit right—too loose in some places, too tight in others—but he’s grateful for them. They’re the only thing keeping him from being recognized outright. His Lycan form
