Violet stood under the shower, letting the water stream over her head as she chanted four names over and over, as though reciting some dark mantra:
"Asher Nightshade."
"Roman Draven."
"Griffin Hale."
"Alaric Storm."
It had been over an hour since she stepped into the showers, and though the stench of wolf urine was gone, her skin still crawled with the memory of it.
Wolf urine.
That was what they had branded her with, Roman Draven, in particular. Yet the others, Asher, Griffin, and Alaric, had stood by. Maybe they hadn't explicitly agreed to it, but their silent approval had been damning enough.
