91. Broke

Callista.

This time I see a wolf. He’s in the corner of the room, and his ebony black coat shines all imperious under electric lights. His red eyes stare at me as he shows me his teeth, snarling. I never knew a wolf could look so angry, and vengeful; I don’t know why it’s directed at me.

But if there is one thing I do know, is that the wolf is familiar. I know that I know him from somewhere. But I can’t remember his name.

“Hello, Callista,” Suddenly the wolf talks, his voice distorted and resonating, and it’s bizarre to hear words come out of his snout. “We meet again.”

“That isn’t possible, I don’t know you,” I tell the wolf, stepping back. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Oh, you have,” The wolf grins and it’s a scary thing to behold. Pristine fangs glitter like they are blades. “You just don’t remember me.”

“I’m sorry for that,” I try to sound sincere, because I really, really hope that I can remember him.

“I doubt you are.” The wolf snarls. “You might tell people that you’re sorry,