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Sixty-One
Tristan Grayson I stood there, my chest heaving, surrounded by the aftermath of the brutal fight. The world seemed hazy, a surreal backdrop to the chaos that had just unfolded. Four dead werewolves lay at my feet, their fur matted with blood. The scent of the battle still hung in the air, metallic and primal. But it was Stella's gaze that cut through the chaos. Stella. Her hair framed her face like a torrent of flames, and her emerald eyes held a nameless horror. I had never wanted her to see me like this, as a creature of violence and bloodlust. I had killed to protect her, to keep her safe from harm. But the way I had done it, the savage ferocity with which I had torn through them, it filled me with shame. As she looked at me, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no
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