27
I heard Henry’s evil laugh in my ears long after he left the room. What the hell was he talking about? How am I special?
Saraya had changed the sheets on the bed, so I didn’t hold out much hope that the book I’d filched from the library was still in its hiding place, but it was. Henry had called me naïve, so I hoped it was basic information I lacked. Leafing through the index for werewolves brought me to the chapter on werewolf-wizard relations.
Apparently there was a type of wizard or shaman called a vargamore, usually a female, who could also influence them. Legend had it that these were wizards with werewolf blood, or vice versa.
Giancarlo—even thinking his name brought his last moments to mind, and I had to close the book and take a deep breath to focus—had mentioned there were
