Ravage (Thistle and Fang #1)

Ravage (Thistle and Fang #1)

By Risa Cruise

Prologue

CAS

Run.

Three letters. One word.

Blindly, on four white paws. In the black of night through the narrow streets that I barely see or take in. I know them well, or once did. It seems longer than mere months since I last saw them.

Something familiar catches my eye, blurry but unmistakable, and I skid to a halt, narrowly avoiding a collision with a rubbish bin.

The corner pub—with its murmur of voices drifting from within—is one I’ve been to before.

The old-fashioned wooden sign hanging above the door is cracked down the middle, its chains rusted.

Character, my a-dad once called it. Run-down, my o-father scoffed in response.

They’d taken me there for my first pint when I turned eighteen. That night, like tonight, had been a new moon, the misty stars bright in the darkness.

Gone, all the things I once had. The people I loved. Everything is gone.

But I’m still here. My heart’s still beating-beating-beating as I start to run again, panting as harsh in my ears as the wind.

My mouth tastes of metallic rot and I am bleeding everywhere—my white fur running red, the agony excruciating, every footfall on pavement sending a jolt through me like a cattle prod.

But I am alive.

The pain is how I can tell.

The filth staining my paws.

My body aching, my belly worst of all.

The human residents of Inverness aren’t unaccustomed to the sight of a wolf.

Still, I try where possible to keep to the shadows.

White fur—no matter how dirtied—doesn’t make it easy to hide, however.

Yelps of surprise follow me, and a few drunken shouts here and there.

Mostly, though, I make it north of the small city without causing alarm, and then further, as far as I can go.

In the coming days, people will probably tell tales of spotting a rare white shifter sprinting past them as though their life depended on it. If only they knew how accurate their presumptions would be.

I don’t dwell on it, though. Worrying about being tracked won’t stop it from happening. Like any panicked animal who’s gnawed their leg free of a trap, there is only one prevailing thought in my mind.

Run.

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