Sacrifices

[Slate]

I woke up two hours later, surrounded by trees and the smell of freshly spilled blood. Lying at my feet is the head of a deer. It was ripped off, torn from the body of the large stag that was lying only a few feet away.

Dragging my body forward along a path, naked and covered in gore, I feel the call to return. Shifting easily, I run to my mistress, who looks impatient as she stands at the entrance to the Monrovia estate.

"Where have you been, Slate?" She demands, her voice as hard and cold as the ice-blue dress that drapes from her shoulders. There is something different about her, something new. And then I realize what it is.

She doesn't smell like a wolf anymore. Instead, the thin, acidic scent of witch burns my nostrils.

She comes forward. Placing a finger on my chest she draws a line. Bringing her blood-covered finger to her lips she closes her eyes, concentrating.

"Deer," she concludes, looking disappointed and disgusted. "You left the ball to find a snack? All you w