DOVE
I awoke to the bright, hot rays of the sun peeking through my parted window. The beautiful scenery, the melodious singing of birds—both a complete opposite of what I felt within.
I really did not want to wake up.
I groaned, smothering myself with my pillow at the agonizing pounding in my head, a headache most likely induced by stress.
And with the headache came a subtle but heavy feeling settling in my heart, urging me to do something—something I had no idea of. My body felt all wrong. I moved sluggishly, my reactions slower. And it was definitely not because I had just woken up.
I could go days without sleeping, and nothing would go wrong with my body’s system.
And there was no way I’d get sick. Werewolves don’t get sick. Not by a virus, not by bacteria, not by anything of the
