{ Music Recommendation: Shots Fired – Le Castle Vania }
Before Esme knew what she was doing, her body was rippling and shifted, rebreaking her bones and transforming back into her wolf form, hopping and sliding down the steep hill. There was a strange sense of protectiveness vibrating through her being at the sight of the white wolf being chased by humans.
The white wolf. It was the only one of their kind, the last white wolf in existence, a 'Cross'. The only other royal werewolf besides the Steels'. It had to be Aila Cross, the werewolf Gabriel had been keeping tabs on in Silver Thorn. Esme was not really one to try and protect the crown; in fact, Camilla brought her up to despise the system the royals had set in place. But Esme couldn't watch and do nothing.