Angela had healed the beast. The wolf that tried to take her life, its fangs bared and fur bristling with fury, now lay tranquil and whole. The beast that Zayden had slashed with—she couldn't quite recall what, though his hands had gleamed red with blood.
She had done it with her bare hands.
Angela slowly lifted them to her face, trembling. There wasn't even a drop of blood left on her skin. The wolf's wounds were gone, its fur sleek and unblemished as if the attack had never happened. Fear gripped her harder than when the creature had chased her through the forest. She turned to look at Zayden, who stared back, his eyes mirroring her shock and confusion.
"What's going on?"
White Witch. White Witch. White Witch.
