Luca's POV
I stand before Margaret's shop, hands on my hips, wearing a deep scowl. The shop is eerily deserted; the witch is nowhere to be found. Shock replaces anger, and even passersby observe me with quizzical brows as I gaze hopelessly through the glass door. Sniffing the air for the witch's scent, I hope to detect a trace of her warmth, only to be frustrated by the overwhelming mix of human scents assaulting my nostrils.
Anger courses through my veins, my wolf struggling to break free and tear heads apart to quell my anger. It requires minutes of meditation and considerable effort to keep my eyes closed. My sickness is worsening, yet I do not ponder how dire my predicament must be with Margaret's decision to vanish, I do not think of who would make me potions or heal me for the time
