Chapter 46

Cold, directionless winds breathed upon her like the draft from a primordial abyss of darkness that had never seen the daylight. At the touch of it, her heart seemed to lurch, and then hammer shockingly. 

Her intelligence was screaming at her instinct to turn around and then run. It was yelling at her to disappear from its sight, saying that she wouldn't survive and that not even her banshee power or the pack could save her. No one has dared to stand against Bête du Gévaudan and live to tell the tale, not even Jean Chastel.

However, she knew better. She was aware of the speed of the beast ahead of her; she knew almost everything about it. Ariel knew that if she ran, even if she made it a half-mile dash through the twisted vines and Gleditsia that surrounded her adopted father's house near Mount Ararat or all the way to the ice-locked drifts of the buried meadows of the pack house, it would be futile. 

Ever since the attack from the pink killer and her men