Pruitt
“Haven, run!” shouted as the damaged light stand came hurtling toward them.
“I’m sorry, Mondamin,” Haven said as he tackled the other werewolf to the ground. “She’s controlling me.”
“What!? I— no! ”
Despite his long-held belief that he was the only immortal werewolf, felt his life flash before his eyes as he remained helpless to move. The flames of the fire consumed his shirt and pants as flashes of Theodulf, of Uriah, and of Griff ran through his head. His mind raced to Haven, who pushed him against the ground with all his might.
“No!” shouted, driving his fist into Haven’s jaw, sending him into the air and out of the way. The light post came crashing down on him, a mess of glass and electrical explosions landing on his head.
The pain was excruciating, but then there was darkness.
The last sound he heard was Haven’s voice quietly reciting the prophecy in a sing-song manner: “… And hellfire for the first werewolf to ever bite .”