Slave to the Wolf King
This was a man who only responded to strength.
“Let’s start again,” he said jovially, striding forward offering his hand, his wet and graying hair falling almost into his eyes. “I’m Garret Wilson. The Chief of Police for this fine city.” He was tall and strong, clean shaven but with a face becoming rugged. He looked fit, yet his belly had rounded slightly, and it was clear what muscle he had was built through intentional effort, not actual work.
When he stopped in front of me I stared at that extended hand for a moment, then looked him right in the eye. “I don’t touch humans,” I said through my teeth.
Bab Populer