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#13 Smoldering Embers

Avalea

Aldrich stepped out after ordering me to get out of my bloody clothes. The man’s moods are unpredictable. One minute he's so kind, so warm, and the next minute, he’s gruff. I want to think it’s because of the beast inside him, but I know that’s not the reason. After spending merely a few hours with Aldrich, I know with an unshakable certainty that Werewolves are not the wild, dangerous monsters we’ve believed them to be.

What is more surprising is I do not fear him, or his beast. In fact, I find both his forms utterly fascinating. Just this morning when I saw the beast’s nail pop out to cut away the bit of my gown stuck to my thigh wound, I was afraid. I now know that I was afraid because I didn't know any better.

What I now feel for him is… desire.

My cheeks heat up as I hobble toward the sack and retrieve some clothes.

Knowing what I now know, I feel a lot more sympathetic towards the witch who gave herself to that Werewolf. There’s something almost magnetic about the raw po
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