Forget everything you think you know about werewolves.
The only truth to the tales is that it is a curse, but one disguised as a blessing.
Werewolves could not be created through the bite of another. It wasn’t passed down through generations, nor was it a fable told to children to keep them out of the woods at night.
We went by another name in popular lore. Hellhounds.
A soldier of God. A price to be paid to avoid an eternity in Hell.
A human who had not earned their place in the Silver City could be offered a chance for redemption—accept the curse of the werewolf and track down wayward souls, and our own soul would be spared from an eternity in Hell.
This is who I am, and will be for the remainder of my mortal days.
So, even when Paige begs me to be there for her, even when I'm the only connection she has to her lost sister, I can't give in to the temptation of her love.
