Wyn (Monstrous, #3.5)

by Lily Mayne

apprehension.

churned

contorted

hoarse

twitched,

morphed

supplicating

croaked,

sprawled

“Fuck them,” I replied, huffing with amusement when Danny smacked my shoulder blade from behind me on the stairs. “They’ll hear you,” he hissed. “They don’t understand English,” I told him, but that was a good point, so I said a similarly vile insult in the usho’s language, loud enough for it to travel back to the bar.