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Prince's Gamble

Clara

A crying child standing alone in front of a hall of werewolves. Rumors of betrayal. The yellow eyes of our Alpha as he sat in a highchair, listening to his advisers. Their urgent whispers. “Kill her too. Kill her before she grows old and takes her revenge. The seeds of treachery must not be allowed to take root.”

“Am I that weak to need to kill a mewling child?” The matter was settled. The Elites and advisers all spoke at once in consternation and shock.

An ambitious red-haired werewolf with a goatee put himself forward. His tones were flattering. “Let me take her as a ward, then, my Alpha. I shall house her until you decide what to do with her.”

“I have already decided, Lord Dover. But do as you wish.” The tall werewolf then stood up and stared down at me. I saw his claws. They dripped with blood.

The scent of blood in nostrils. Sharp and bitter. Pungent. Spicy?

Why did it smell like spice?

Oh gods, why did it smell like burning mushrooms?

**

I groaned and tried t
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