A hot breath fanned her skin, the scent of old-spice cologne wafting through her nostrils.
The addictive scent made her mouth water, and her throat gasped and clenched for water. Her eyes grew wide, ice-blue irises staring straight ahead. A groan s...
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There were so many questions but too few answers.
The platinum-haired woman was slumped over a book.
She had nestled herself in a comfortable chair, numerous other books collected around her space. River had ordered some books from the community library, too afraid to go into a space where she could be recongized, and opened them up at home to read.
Though, her attempts at finding werewolf books were non-existent. It wasn't until Lucifer became her supsitute that she actually got anywhere. The government's ability to hide werewolf to the everyday human was staggering.
The woman sat at her desk in her bedroom. As she sorted through the books, the subtle snoring in the background was far from a bother.
Glancing over- she smiled at the shirtless lump known as Lucifer sprawled out on her bed.
He comfortably laid on his back, one arm laid on his forehead and the other on his lower-torso. His muscular chest slowly rose and fell with every relaxed breath- lips slightly parted in his slumber.
Despite his handsy nature, he was polite and gentle when they slept in the same bed together.
Lucifer asked for consent to touch her, hug her, or cuddle her. She never felt so safe in her life- comfortably slumbering next to a brick wall of a man.
Stealing her attention away from her unofficial roommate, she pulled an open book toward herself.
Research on The Tyrant was so few that it felt like a folktale gone rogue.
Books were published with the current research on the beast and maps of her suspected routes, but it was like picking a needle out of a haystack.
Most books retold the same facts.
She treads her finger along a line on a map in the book, where it twisted and turned through Oregon to Washington. The Tyrant was mysterious and dangerous. She ignored all pack laws in the werewolf world, went where she pleased, and murdered specific victims.
What was more fascinating is that it looked like she knew the entire pack territory.
She knew where it began and ended and stayed inside it. She didn't take specific hunting paths and always stayed elusively unpredictable.
The Tyrant hunted rogues; that they knew for certain. But they also knew that she didn't care who you were. If you were a threat to her, she would kill you.
Description of what rogues were sounded like unfinished research.
Primarily, the most understood definition was that they were werewolves without a pack. Seperately, though, there were another strand of rogues that behaved like zombies.
