Rolf
Wolves can see with their eyes closed. In the dark, the scents reached out to me until I could find my way blind to the heart of the abbey. I led the warriors through the garden full of pungent herbs and baited rabbit traps, past a stinking midden, all the way to the great building of cold stone. Inside, a sweet scent pulsed like a bright star—soft flesh, freshly scrubbed clean, faintly floral. The scent of innocence, of sweet fruit ripe for plucking. Ripe for the taking.
Our mate. The wolf raised its head as my wild nature—the beast—whined.
Steady, Thorbjorn told me. We will take her soon. He waited outside the wall, watching the road. I shared my impression of the abbey with him.
I scent her as well as you do: our mate. Our true mate. The one who would rid us of the curse foreve
