Omrum’s POV
My breath hitched in my throat, a ragged, choking sound that seemed entirely too loud in the dead silence of the woods.
I tried to pull myself backward, away from the scene, but my limbs felt like lead. My muscles locked up, protesting the sudden movement as the biting cold of the winter air settled deep into my bones.
But I couldn't tear my eyes away.
The three rogue wolves lay scattered across the clearing, illuminated by the cold, unfeeling silver of the moonlight. But they didn't look like standard prey. They didn't look like wolves that had been bested in a brutal, territorial fight.
There were no deep claw marks carving through their flesh. There were no missing chunks of meat, no jagged tears from sharp wolf teeth.
Instead, they looked completely drained. Deform
