The Wolf's Shadow
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“Amazing night, isn’t it?”
The voice shocked me, and I wheeled around. Leonard Bowman stood there, leaves stuck to his sweater and jeans.
“What are you doing here?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“It’s my grandfather’s house.”
No answer. The moon flickered in his dark eyes.
“It’s my house.” The words felt awkward on my tongue, and I became aware I stood there in my nightshirt and boxers in a flimsy robe on a cool night. I shivered.
“So do you always lurk in the bushes of your own house?” My cheeks burned with the flush that crept up my neck.
“Not always. Sometimes I lurk in the trees.”
“I’d be careful if I were you, then.” His lips curled into a smile, but his eyes remained serious.
“You never know what might be in the woods around here.”
Why was I putting up with this stupid questioning? I took a deep breath. Because he might know about the talking wolves.
“As long as it speaks, I can handle it.”
When he moved, the moon flashed in his eyes that looked more yellow than his previous dark brown, and the rumble of a snarl vibrated the air between us.