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“Enid, off,” Wednesday sternly said. The moment the words slipped from her lips, Enid scrambled off. She turned around, witnessing a mess of a werewolf. Enid’s canines had grown out, sharper and glinting in the moonlight. Her hair, swaying past her shoulders, was wild. Blue eyes widened in fear but also need. The three scars on her face seem to flush into a deeper shade of red. Droplets of sweat cascaded down her cheeks as she breathed heavily, erratic.
“Wednesday,” Enid pleaded. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Silence,” Wednesday says, leaning in close to observe those fangs. When Enid tried to squirm away, she demanded, “Sit down.”
The werewolf complied immediately.
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