Biased
That night, those memories that only the lamb and the wolf knew — not even the Tarsa tribe had heard of — came back to me as if it only happened yesterday. I cried my heart out. In the guise of a traumatic incident, I cried and cried and cried without shame.
I should've known.
The wolf would never change. Or rather, his wickedness that was already deep into his bones would always be there. He might've loved and valued me, but he had a different take on that affection.
I hugged my knees, sitting on the bed in the middle of the night. Recalling a lost memory brought the pain of those sharp canines sinking into my flesh. I shuddered. I could vividly hear his growls and the sound of his chewing.