Daemon
Seymour arrived without making a fuss. Only the cautious crunch of footsteps on wet earth gave away his presence. His sharp, far-too-attentive gaze swept over the wrecked car before settling on me.
“Could’ve been worse,” he muttered, taking in the scene before him.
A simple statement of fact.
To a human, what had happened would have looked like a full-blown disaster. To a lycan, it was little more than an unfortunate mishap. But Seymour clearly wasn’t talking about the accident. He kept his eyes on me as though trying to determine just how badly I’d managed to damage my own head along with the car.
“I’ll never do it again, mum,” I said with a strained smile, brushing the rain-soaked hair away from my forehead.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he exhaled, slipping his hands
