It wasn't too wonderful. From a litter of eleven only my sister and I survived. All I really remember is that as time passed the warmth around me faded, until it was only Sigrid's heat by my side. By my side. By my side she lived. By my side she died.
Death was the only thing that could separate me from her for eternity . No squabble, no act, could separate us forever.
She was my person. She was my anchor, my confidant, my partner in crime.
We are not mongrel werewolves. We are an endangered breed of Ulfamenni.
Ulfamenni are often mistaken for werewolves. But a werewolf's first form is human. An Ulfamenni's first form is the wolf. If we really wanted to we could become human but we prefer to remain wolves. I've only shifted once when I was thirteen. All Ulfamenni shift at thirteen. We choose our own mates. They are not chosen by some deluded moon goddess.
It is because of the monster known as man that my species is threatened, we are hunted for our beautiful coats and magnificently enormous sizes. We are hunted to satisfy the greed of man.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of War
FantasyAfter a massacre Bjorn's pack has 15 standing members, his luck worsens when he becomes a pet. Then someone unexpected saves him, worsening his luck.
