Jason couldn't believe the hand he had been dealt. One day he was living a normal life, and now he was standing in a creepy old werewolf's hut, surrounded by dried body parts, watching a half-dead elf get stitched up by someone who clearly had zero moral compass.
But he was glad his intuition had been on point. The elder werewolf knew with utmost certainty that Jason would attack her if she tried anything funny. He could see it in the way her metallic fangs gleamed when she smiled, the way her old hands moved just a little too carefully around Thalion's unconscious body. She was testing him, and she had already figured out he wasn't the type to back down easily.
Jason watched her observe Thalion's body with glee. She had a disgusting grin on her face, her cloudy eyes trailing over his muscles, his stance. It made his skin crawl.
But then Jason noticed her face change. Even for a second.
