He raises his muzzle to the ceiling and howls, a ferocious bellow of power and command. Submit. Every packmate bends lower. The reek of piss and terror assails my nose. My wolf kind of checks out what’s going on behind her, and then she sits, careful of her bad back leg. She doesn’t cower or run. The happy idiot plops down on her rump and begins to lick herself. I like her. We’re gonna die, but she does not care. She’s not gonna let Killian’s wolf see her sweat.
