s. l. mewse

Thiess stood in the centre of the hallway snarling like a demon let loose from the bowels of hell. His black eyes fixed onto Lucas’ and his lips peeled so far back from his teeth that his gums seeped blood. His broken, battered tail stood upright behind him, conveying his dominance as he moved slowly toward his next victim, pace by shaking pace. His fur bristled around him, dotted with drying blood and missing in clumps. He was the living embodiment of disease’s attack dog, like something out of a classical painting of the four horsemen on the hunt.

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After a tumultuous initiation into a pack of werewolves that he had no idea he had been living alongside, things are not getting any easier for Hunter Dalton. In the wake of so much tragedy, the pack structure begins to crumble and things become tense between the surviving pack members. With a leader who is slowly losing his mind, they are vulnerable when a very ancient evil crawls out of the night, and nothing is quite as it seems. For this pack, history refuses to stay in the past...