Next chapter update will be on Tuesday 8th April.
**********
"Ahhh! Get off me!"
Maggie's scream tore through the night, raw and panicked.
Her body twisted violently as she kicked out, her boot connecting with something cold—something wrong.
A shadowy figure clung to her hoodie cape, its shape shifting, writhing—a mass of darkness that seemed more absence than presence. It hissed, its form contorting like liquid smoke, fingers made of nothing and everything tightening around the fabric—
—until Maggie's heel struck hard, and with a shriek like tearing metal—
It let go.
The world seemed to bend.
The air cracked—reality folding—
And then—
With a whoosh and a gut-wrenching pull, a gaping black void yawned open beneath her.
There was no time to think—
No time to breathe—
Before it swallowed her whole.
The world returned in a violent rush.
Maggie hit the pavement hard, her shoulder slamming into the unforgiving asphalt. The air punched from her lungs in a sharp gasp as her body tumbled, momentum scraping her hands raw as she scrambled for purchase—
Her ears rang—
The screech of tires—
A horn—
"Get off the road, hooker!"
The driver's voice—angry, disgusted—lashed at her from behind a rolled-down window.
A hand—
A middle finger—
The car sped past, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes as she felt the heat of the engine so close it made her skin prickle.
Her chest heaved—
Her palms stung—
And her voice, breathless and ragged, broke the moment—
"Ugh…" Maggie groaned, dragging herself to her feet, her hoodie now torn and dust-streaked.
"I hate shadow travels."
She brushed the grit from her knees, muttering curses under her breath, and finally took in her surroundings.
Tall, weathered buildings stood like ancient sentinels, their facades cracked but proud. A sprawling marketplace bustled with life, the air thick with the scent of salt and spice. Street vendors shouted their wares, and somewhere, faintly, seagulls cried overhead.
She recognized it instantly.
"Yep," she muttered, her lips pressing into a thin line, "Definitely Remus Harbor. Oldest city in the world."
Her gaze lowered, and her eyes landed on the mark.
The sigil on her forearm.
The sword design—wings unfurled, fierce and commanding—glowed faintly, as if catching and holding the sunlight. A pulsing warmth radiated from it, steady, rhythmic—like a second heartbeat beneath her skin.
Her fingers brushed over the symbol, and her thoughts flickered back to the Goddess of Swords.
"You must find the Time Keeper."
The goddess's voice had been low and edged with power, each word heavy with meaning.
"Only he knows the way. Only he will tell you how."
The memory was sharp, vivid—every word etched into her bones.
"But I will support you," the goddess had continued, her golden eyes like twin suns.
Her voice had softened, but only slightly—
"It is time you bore a sigil of your own."
The goddess's hand, impossibly warm, had pressed against Maggie's forearm, and the pain—sudden and sharp—had stolen her breath. But beneath it had been something else—
A connection. A claim.
And then—
The goddess's final command—
"In return, find my other disciple… and bring her back. Alive."
Her voice had cooled then, growing tight—
"I lost all connections with her."
A pause—brief, but heavy.
The memory fractured—
The sound of the pedestrian crossing brought her back.
TING.
The chime—soft but insistent—signaled it was safe to cross.
Maggie's jaw tightened.
First things first—
"Gotta change these clothes."
Her eyes swept the bustling street—
"Blend in."
**********
Meanwhile
Melinda fought to keep control of Tod.
His body was changing faster than she could calm him.
She tried charming speaking, witch singing even the idea of the fact that there were little children on the bus but nothing was helping.
His breathing had turned ragged, each inhale a low, guttural rasp. His jawline shifted—
The bones contorting—
A snap—
Then—
Another—
Only for his features to reset, flickering between man and Wolf.
Melinda's fingers gripped his arm—tight—
Her voice, though strained, kept steady—
"Dude," she said through clenched teeth, her eyes flicking from his face to the passengers who were starting to notice that something was wrong.
"I would really appreciate it," she hissed, "if you didn't eat them, okay?"
Tod's teeth—elongating, then receding—clicked together with an audible snap.
But his eyes—
They didn't leave the passerby.
A woman—
Innocent—
Oblivious—
"Maggie…"
The name—
Slipped from his lips—
A whisper—
A growl—
A plea—
Melinda's heart slammed against her ribs.
She hated that he got like this.
"Well…" she muttered, voice dry despite the tension.
"Sorry to break the news, lover boy—"
Her fingers tightened—
"But Maggie isn't here."
Her voice dropped, the humor gone—
"So, if you could wolf-out real quick and get this over with—"
Tod's voice—low, guttural—
Cut her off.
"We need—"
His claws—
Pierced the seat—
The iron groaned—
"—to get off the bus."
Melinda froze.
Her eyes dropped—
To his hands.
The claws—
Long.
Sharp.
Growing.
The iron armrest bending.
His voice urgent but cracking—
With something primal—
Something not human.
"Really?" Melinda managed, her voice tight with disbelief.
"Right now?"
Her eyes met his.
His Eyes...
Were not his.
They burned Amber.
Melinda's heart pounded as she shot to her feet, her hand slamming the stop button above the bus window. The small red light flickered on with a soft ding, signaling the driver to pull over.
The bus began to slow, the hiss of air brakes filling the cabin. Melinda wasted no time, hooking her arm under Tod's and hauling him up. His weight sagged against her—heavy, hot, and trembling with restrained power.
"C'mon, big guy," she muttered, half-command, half-plea. "Stay with me."
His jaw clenched, and a low, guttural growl rumbled deep in his throat. His claws—fully extended now—scraped against the metal pole with a shrieeek that made her teeth ache.
Melinda's stomach twisted. She shot a quick glance at the other passengers. Some stared, wide-eyed and pale, but no one moved. Whether from fear or confusion, she didn't care. She just needed them to stay out of it.
The doors hissed open. Cold night air rushed in, carrying the salt-tinged scent of the city and the distant hum of traffic. She half-dragged, half-guided Tod down the steps, her muscles burning from his sheer bulk.
The doors sealed shut behind them. The bus roared off, red taillights shrinking into the distance.
They were alone.
The pavement felt rough beneath her boots as she stumbled forward, steering him toward the nearest alley. Shadows pooled between the buildings—deep, cold, and concealing.
She didn't like this.
In fact—
She hated this.
A werewolf. In a dark alley. On a full moon.
The definition of a terrible idea.
But they were in unfamiliar territory, hunted on both sides—by wolves and hunters alike. She had no choice. If Tod lost it here, in the open, with civilians around—
She shuddered.
The last thing she needed was witnesses—victims Or worse the SCM on their tail; coupled with the hunters and werewolves, that would be too much to handle.
As they crossed into the alley's embrace, Tod's body convulsed. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the cracked concrete, his claws scraping deep grooves into the pavement.
A strangled, inhuman sound tore from his throat—half-snarl, half-moan.
His back arched, his spine shifting under his skin in grotesque, rolling waves. The familiar sound of bone snapping and reforming filled the air—a sickening, wet series of cracks.
Melinda grimaced. She knew that sound too well. She has been hearing it in previous battles she has fought along side Tod and Maggie.
"T-Tod?" she ventured cautiously, her voice low, her every instinct screaming to run.
But she stayed.
His body jerked again, and suddenly—
His form Sank into the wall.
Melinda's breath hitched. She blinked, unsure if her eyes were playing tricks on her.
His body not melting but merging with the darkness itself.
Like some nightmare creature returning to its lair.
From the shadows, a chorus of low, guttural grunts reached her ears—animalistic and raw. A sound that made her pulse race.
Her fists clenched. She felt the faint hum of her own magic stir beneath her skin—a subtle, cold current, ready but restrained.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. "This is a bad, bad idea."
But—
They had no options.
Suddenly—
A sound—
Snorting.
Melinda's eyes snapped sideways.
Two large figures materialized from the darkness, their forms solidifying from the shadows at her command. Massive hogs—thick, muscular, with dark, bristling coats—stood at her side. Their breath puffed in the cold air, and their small, intelligent eyes glinted.
Her familiars.
She swallowed hard and stepped closer to the black maw where Tod had disappeared.
"T-Tod?" she called softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. The alley's walls threw her voice back at her, hollow and cold.
The low, feral grunts stilled.
"Toddy…?" she tried again, a little louder, her voice tight.
"If you're human," she added, forcing a weak smile into her voice, "say 'Hi.'"
Her pulse thudded.
"And if you're a wolf, you can, I dunno…" she hesitated—
Her voice faltering "…howl, or—"
SNAP.
He lunged.
A blur of teeth and fur.
Melinda's body moved on instinct.
Her hands shot up to shield her neck—
But—
Her hog moved first.
With a furious squeal, the creature surged forward and met Tod head-on.
The sound of rending flesh—
Of bone cracking filled the alley.
The hog was gone in a heartbeat.
Melinda's chest heaved, her pulse screaming in her ears.
The sudden silence was Deafening.
Then—
A howl.
Deep.
Raw.
Filled with something primal—
Something Ancient.
Her eyes, wide and unblinking, locked onto him.
His body, tall, monstrous and covered in metal plates in the moonlight.
His Head was thrown back—
Muzzle raised, Fangs bared, Howling to the full moon.
Her throat went dry.
She saw his eyes.
They Were Red.
The human part of Tod was Gone.
What remained Was instinct.
Carnage.
Death.
Melinda Froze.
Her body screamed for her to run.
Her magic Flared ready but her limbs wouldn't Move.
Because his creature's eyes. They were on Her.
But suddenly He bolted.
Not at her but Up.
With a burst of inhuman strength, Tod scaled the alley wall. Claws digging into brick and mortar.
His body—A blur of shadow and power leaping from Building to Building.
Melinda's heart Slammed back into Motion.
Her hand Shot to Her remaining hog.
"After him"
She snarled, vaulting onto its broad back.
The beast surged beneath her—Hooves pounding, Concrete cracking.
As they gave Chase.
But Tod Was Fast. A blur across rooftops, A shadow with fangs And claws. The hog Powerful but Slower.
Her stomach Twisted.
She Wouldn't Catch him like this.
And Then She felt it.
The her magic's pull.
The dark thread Of her own magic Humming Inside Her Skin.
A Wild Desperate Idea hit Her. It was reckless.
It was dangerous.
And it could Kill her.
But It was the Only Way.
Her hand shot out towards Tod.
The Air Shifted.
A pulse of Shadow and a Shape, Formless And Black started Solidifying from the Dark.
Melinda rose to her feet slowly as She Leaped from the Hog, onto the Dark mass forming in from of her.
Her Voice a Snarl "Run."
"Magic Law III—Dead Summoning," she intoned, her voice firm and resonant with power.
A chilling ripple of dark energy spread from her fingertips, and the air thickened with the scent of earth and decay.
From the swirling shadows, a massive wolf materialized. Its size matched Tod's, towering and menacing, but something about it was wrong. Its fur was patchy and dull, revealing rotting flesh beneath. Pale, lifeless eyes stared forward—empty, white voids with no soul behind them. Its body sagged in places where decomposition had taken hold, and yet—
The darkness knitted it back together.
Inky tendrils of Melinda's magic slithered through its form, reweaving muscle and bone, sealing gaps with shadowy sinew until the creature stood whole.
The pull on her magic was immediate and brutal.
A sharp drain, as if her blood and strength were siphoned into the wolf's body. She staggered slightly, her breath hitching.
Summoning the dead was no easy feat. It demanded far more from her than the fleeting, disposable ghouls she could conjure in droves during battle.
This wolf was different.
Permanent. Bound to her magic. A companion as long as her power held.
And it was one of them.
A trophy from her survival.
Her fingers unconsciously grazed the claw scar at her chest—the one that held its had left her a mark.
The memory burned, the chaos at the city's forest reserve that night. The howl that split the air. Its teeth Inches from her throat, as it held her down with it claws.
The near-death—
The scramble to survive—
But She had survived.
And now, She owned a piece of that nightmare. And through it—Control.
But at a cost. Her magic.
Her life-force.
The wolf's ears pricked—its lifeless gaze locked ahead.
It moved.
With a sudden burst of speed, it surged forward.
The hog beneath Melinda snorted, straining to keep pace, but the dead wolf was Faster.
It closed the distance between itself and Tod, paws pounding the concrete with dull, heavy thuds.
The wolf's massive shoulder slammed into Tod's side with bone-crunching force. The impact sent the werewolf skidding, claws screeching against asphalt as he lost his footing.
Melinda's lips curled in a sharp grin.
"It even has intelligence. That's fucking amazing," she thought, a flicker of pride cutting through her exhaustion.
But there was no time to gloat.
The dead wolf pressed the attack—closing the gap again and crashing into Tod's ribs with a brutal second hit. The force hurled him skyward—
CRASH!
A rooftop Crumbling under their combined weight.
Tod Retaliated.
His jaws Clamped down With a wet, meaty CRUNCH.
Half the wolf's faceTorn away.
Flesh, bone—Gone.
And yet the shadows Stirred.
The dark tendrils Seeped into the wound, Creeping, Knitting the flesh—Reforming.
The wolf's one remaining eye—Unblinking.
It Shook its head. And kept Chasing.
Melinda's jaw clenched.
The plan was Simple.
Drive him. Push him. Corner him. To the deserted Industrial Area. Contain him. Until Morning.
Then—
Her debt to Maggie Would be Paid.
Just as the wolf closed in, something sliced through the air with terrifying precision.
A projectile—small, fast—whizzed past Melinda before slamming into Tod's thigh. His agonized roar echoed through the empty streets as his body collapsed, crashing violently into the undead wolf. Their combined weight broke through the weakened rooftop of a nearby building, sending both creatures plunging into the darkness below.
Melinda barely had time to react before she, too, was pulled downward, the collapsing structure giving way beneath her. She braced for impact, her injured arm twisting painfully as she hit the debris-strewn floor. A sickening pop reverberated through her bones as her dislocated shoulder snapped back into place on impact.
She cursed under her breath, blinking through the pain as she forced herself upright.
Tod was already recovering, shaking off the rubble, but his attention was no longer on her. His eyes had locked onto something else.
A family—huddled together in a corner.
A mother clutching her child. A father shielding them both, his face frozen in sheer terror. They had been in the building when it collapsed. And now, Tod was looking at them like prey.
Melinda's heart clenched.
"Shit," she hissed, her gaze darting around for her summoned wolf. It was buried beneath a pile of shattered tiles, momentarily incapacitated.
She had to act fast.
"Tod!" she yelled, but he didn't respond. His focus remained fixed on the family, his muscles tensing as he prepared to strike.
Melinda didn't hesitate. Desperate, she reached for the nearest object—a jagged piece of debris—and hurled it at him with all her strength. The rock struck his side with a dull thud.
Tod groaned, his head snapping in her direction. His pupils shrank, shifting from predator to something more... aware.
She swallowed hard, then forced a smirk onto her face.
"Hey!" she taunted, raising her arms in an open challenge. "Don't you want to taste witch's blood?"
Her voice was steady, but her pulse thundered in her ears. If he took the bait, she had a chance.
If he didn't—
She didn't finish the thought.
Tod let out a guttural snarl, his lips curling back to reveal large, gleaming canines. The tension in his muscles coiled tight like a spring before he lunged at her, his eyes filled with primal hunger.
"This was a stupid idea, Melinda," she muttered under her breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of her wand.
Just as she prepared to cast a spell, her hog burst through the gaping hole in the roof, hooves kicking up debris as it dove straight toward Tod. The impact was brutal. The beast slammed into him mid-air, knocking him off course before they both crashed against the crumbling wall.
The room trembled from the force of their struggle. Tod thrashed, his claws raking across the hog's thick hide as the two creatures locked into a violent frenzy. The hog retaliated, its tusks hooking under Tod's ribs, but the werewolf was relentless, his sheer strength keeping them evenly matched.
Melinda didn't waste time. She turned toward the dead wolf buried under the pile of shattered tiles. With a flick of her wrist, she unsummoned the beast, its decaying form vanishing in a swirl of dark energy. The moment it disappeared, she resummoned it beside her, feeling an immediate, brutal drain on her already weakened magic.
The pain of overuse hit her like a punch to the gut. Her vision swam, and she had to lean against the wolf's dark fur just to stay upright. The summoned creature stood firm beneath her, steady and unwavering, but even it couldn't mask the way her legs trembled.
"We have to get out of here," she rasped, her throat dry, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Now."
The wolf gave a slow, deliberate nod, understanding her words in the way only summoned creatures could.
"And we have to bring that dumb wolf with us," she added, jerking her chin toward Tod, who was still locked in a brutal battle with the hog.
The undead wolf's glowing white eyes blinked once, acknowledging the command. Then, without hesitation, it lowered itself so Melinda could climb on. The moment she settled against its back, the beast surged forward, crashing through the crumbling wall with a force that sent splinters flying in every direction.
As they bolted into the night, she threw one last glance over her shoulder at the wreckage behind her.
"I'm so sorry for the damages," she called out, though she doubted anyone inside was in a position to hear her.
The door exploded outward in a cacophony of splintering wood and shrieking hinges. Fragments rained down like shattered glass, the force of the impact rattling the walls as Melinda and the others surged from the room, their breaths ragged with urgency.
Even amidst the chaos, the scene before her was stark, brutal—something out of a nightmare.
Tod stood at the center of it all, his massive frame a living storm of muscle and fury. He had already subdued the monstrous hogs, their grotesque forms twitching beneath him. The largest of them, still writhing in futile defiance, let out a guttural, panicked squeal. But its struggle was meaningless.
Tod's jaws clamped down on one of its forelegs with a sickening crunch. With a violent jerk, he tore the limb free, the wet, meaty rip of flesh and tendon echoing through the night. Blood spattered across his fur, hot and dark, steaming in the cool air. He threw his head back, his throat vibrating with a deep, primal howl—a declaration of savage victory.
The sound sent a chill crawling down Melinda's spine.
But before the echoes of his triumph could fully fade, her wolf slammed into him with the force of a battering ram.
The impact sent both beasts tumbling across the rough ground in a blur of snarling fury. Claws scraped against dirt and gravel, limbs twisted, muscles bunched beneath thick coats of fur. Snapping jaws clashed, fangs flashing under the moonlight. The violence was pure, raw—instinct taking over.
Tod, momentarily disoriented, rolled onto his side. But he was powerful, too powerful, and in a blink, he was back on his feet. His ears flattened against his skull as he let out a low, guttural snarl. The ground trembled slightly beneath his weight as he lunged again, ready to tear Melinda's wolf apart.
Then—
Sharp, whistling cracks split the air.
Silver bullets.
They cut through the night like falling stars, their metallic gleam momentarily catching in the moonlight before slamming into Melinda's wolf.
The creature yelped—a sound so high-pitched and agonized it barely sounded animal. Its body twisted mid-air, limbs flailing, before it crashed hard onto the dirt. A choked whimper left its throat as it convulsed, its movements growing sluggish, erratic.
A sickening weakness washed over Melinda, her knees buckling. It was like drowning, like something inside her was unraveling thread by thread. The psychic bond between her and the wolf was fraying, the connection dimming with every passing second.
No. No, no, no.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as she forced herself to turn, searching through the blur of shadows and gunfire.
Tod was still standing.
But he wasn't just standing—he was fighting.
A hunter had engaged him, a lean figure cloaked in dark clothing, moving with lethal precision. The man fired his weapon repeatedly, but Tod—despite his size—was fast. Too fast. He dodged and weaved with terrifying efficiency, closing the distance between them like a predator closing in on prey.
The hunter barely had time to react.
Tod lunged.
A sickening crunch filled the air.
His jaws closed around the hunter's torso, sinking into flesh, into bone. There was a heartbeat of silence. Then, with one violent twist, Tod ripped him apart.
The sound of rending flesh, of snapping ribs and tearing sinew, was wet, grotesque, final.
Melinda's stomach lurched.
"TOD!"
Her voice cracked as she screamed his name, her throat raw with fear and urgency. She turned wildly, her eyes darting between the surviving hunters—men who had come here to kill them, men who had just seen their companion torn in half like a ragdoll.
"You have to get out of here!" she shouted, her voice trembling with desperation. "He's out of control!"
She had seen Tod's strength before. Had witnessed what he was capable of.
But this—this was different.
The taste of human blood had done something to him.
His muscles seemed larger, his frame swelling with raw, unrestrained power. His chest heaved with erratic, animalistic breaths. His eyes—once sharp and focused—burned with something else now. Something darker.
Melinda's pulse thundered.
She didn't know what he would do next.
But she knew, with chilling certainty, that it wouldn't be good.
He was cornered. And a cornered wolf—especially one like him—was a force of utter destruction.
Then—
A voice, smooth and laced with amusement, cut through the tension.
"Oh, darling," someone drawled. "I think this will be the perfect opportunity to take him out."
Melinda's stomach dropped.
Slowly, she turned.
A figure stood on the rooftop of a nearby building, silhouetted against the cold glow of the moon. She was poised with casual confidence, one hip jutting out slightly, her arms relaxed—but Melinda wasn't fooled.
This woman was a predator.
Long, dark hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, a stark contrast to the worn black jean jacket that clung to her frame. Her jeans were ripped at the knees, her boots scuffed but sturdy—practical. Efficient.
And she was armed.
In one hand, she held a shotgun, its polished barrel glinting menacingly. In the other, a long, slender sword rested at her side, the blade so sharp it seemed to hum in the night air.
A slow, cruel smile played at her lips.
And behind her, stepping from the shadows, more hunters emerged.
Their weapons caught the dim light, a silent promise of violence.
Melinda exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching at her sides.
"Great," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with bitter irony. "Now we have an audience."
**********
Maggie stepped out of the thrift store, adjusting the strap of her new bag as she took in the evening air. The city was still alive with activity, the streets bustling with pedestrians, the neon lights of shop signs flickering overhead.
Her new outfit was simple yet functional. She wore a sleek black short-sleeve top, its snug fit allowing for unrestricted movement. Paired with oversized, utilitarian cargo pants in deep black, the ensemble struck a balance between practicality and urban style. The heavy pockets were perfect for storing small essentials, but more importantly, they allowed her to blend into the crowd without drawing too much attention.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and crossed the street, weaving through the sea of bodies until she arrived at a small, unassuming café tucked between two larger buildings.
The sign above the entrance read *Butter Betty.*
"I could really use a drink," she muttered to herself, stepping through the door. "Saving the world can wait."
Inside, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her. The café was cozy, with wooden counters, dim lighting, and the soft hum of an old radio playing in the background. A handful of customers sat at tables, engaged in quiet conversations, their voices blending into the ambient noise of the shop.
Maggie walked up to the counter and gave the barista a polite nod.
"One black espresso, please. Two cubes of sugar."
The barista, a young man with dark hair and tired eyes, nodded and turned to prepare her drink. Within moments, he slid a white plastic cup with a black label across the counter. She took a cautious sip, savoring the bitterness balanced by just the right amount of sweetness.
"That's one good coffee," she said, allowing herself a small smile.
"We only make the best," the barista replied, returning her smile. There was something off about it, though—something that made the back of her neck prickle. It was too wide, too precise, as if practiced rather than genuine.
Maggie frowned slightly but pushed the thought aside.
"Sorry to disturb you," she said, placing the cup down. "But I really need to find the Red Tower. Can you direct me there?"
The barista's smile didn't waver. If anything, it stretched just a little wider.
"The Red Tower?" he echoed, his tone too casual. "And why exactly should I direct you there?"
Maggie narrowed her eyes. "That's none of your business. But if you refuse to help, that's fine. I'll find my own way."
She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, his hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist with surprising strength.
"Did I say anything about letting you leave?"
Maggie barely hesitated. In one fluid motion, she grabbed his arm and yanked him forward, flipping him over the counter with ease. He hit the floor hard, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as the impact knocked the air from his lungs.
For a moment, his brown eyes glazed over, his pupils shifting behind a strange, fog-like film. Then, just as quickly, the haze vanished, and he blinked, dazed.
"Charmspeak," Maggie muttered under her breath. "And not just any charmspeak. That was strong. Long-term use."
She withdrew her hand, stepping away from the counter. But before she could make it to the door, she realized the café had gone eerily silent.
Slowly, she turned.
Every waiter. Every customer. Every single person inside the shop was staring directly at her. Their expressions were identical—unnervingly still, their smiles frozen and unnatural.
"You're not going anywhere, Marget Brown," they said in perfect unison.
Her blood ran cold.
"Our master welcomes you to Remus Harbor."
Maggie exhaled sharply, her fingers flexing at her sides.
"Great," she thought. "Just what I needed."
She took a cautious step back, her mind racing through possible escape routes. But before she could act, she felt something clamp around her ankle.
She looked down.
Someone—no, something—was grabbing her leg.
**********
Note: April for weddings.
**********