--sindy--
They say wolves were born of freedom, that their hearts were molded by the wild winds and the call of the moon. But I’ve always known better. I’ve always known the truth—wolves were once servants. And no matter how much they fought, how much they clawed and howled, that shadow of servitude never really left them.
I leaned against the rough bark of a pine tree, the dampness of the evening pressing against my skin as I gazed down the slope. The battered red Dodge Ram sat idling at the roadside, steam curling from its rusted exhaust, a fragile ghost in the last breath of twilight. Night was nearly upon us—the kind of night that fed creatures like me.
Beside me stood Straker, towering, silent, his hulking frame half-swallowed by the shadows of the tree line. He was all muscle and
