Book One in the Lycan Chronicles
Evander Rue had his entire life planned out even before he was born. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and parents who never had time for him. A family who barely called or cared for him left him to be rais...
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"Tell me, son of Leidolf!" The man bellowed, pointing his sword at the Northman. "How many more will have to die for your ambition?"
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Blood.
That was all he could understand at the moment.
The taste, smell, and texture of it.
For a second, he thought he was still in his werewolf state until the wind blew against his skin instead of his fur. Vague memories of what he had done while in his beast form forced his awareness forward, and he opened his eyes. The metallic tang of blood clung to his tongue as a condemning reminder that he had not spent the entire duration of the full moon in his cellar. The gray sky welcomed him with shapeless clouds waving by unhurriedly as he gradually started to gain comprehension of where he was. Frowning, Evan sat up, looking down at his aching body that was covered with healing scars and drying blood that was not only his. The nebulous distinction of getting into a fight made him clench his red hands. The only memory that he vividly had was killing a brown-furred blue-eyed she-wolf he knew to be Celastria. A feeling of diabolical satisfaction that he had accumulated his revenge, he knew he should have been more remorseful for what he had done, but the she-wolf induced one of the greatest pains he'd ever experienced. It was in the nature of the wolf to seek retaliation.
A soft groan caught his attention to his left, where Andraste was moderately coming to consciousness. The redhead was as naked as the day she was born, and much like Evan, she was covered in blood and healing wounds. When she opened her eyes, they were violet at first before fading back to green. Andraste looked over at Evan in confusion, evidently perplexed as to why they were outside instead of their cellars.
