Angelina felt gloriously calm.
Monster. Murderer. Liar. Traitor.
Blood on your hands, people said to her. As if it stopped there, as if she wasn't dripping in it, raw flesh caught in her nails, gore left behind from her footsteps. As if it didn't plague her whole existence. As if the first drop hadn't swallowed her whole.
She looked down at her childhood friend, at the well of anger and hate in his eyes.
"You keep saying I'm your culprit," She asked, but her voice felt odd, as if she was hearing it from somewhere other than her own mouth "Well? What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to rip your throat out." The beta growled savagely
"Do it, then." Angelina challenged, looked him dead in the eye "If you can."
'What am I doing?'
"Hold it," Vincent stepped between the two "I don't really get what's going on, but nobody is about to kill nobody."
