Lycans and Legends

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Sitting in the sunny parlor of the Briarwood home, I watched the flurry of activity around me with equal amounts of excitement and heart-stopping paralysis. Jessica attempted to soothe the squalling baby lying in the cradle. Quinn, who was as pale as milk, spun in circles.

“A bowl of fresh water and a towel,” Jessica told Quinn patiently—for the third time.

“But she’s bleeding,” Quinn said, a tone of panic in his voice the likes of which I’d only ever heard when Fenton’s entire pack was chasing us down an alley.

“No need to worry, dear Quinlan. It’s just a little scratch. She needs her fingernails trimmed, that’s all,” Renee, Jessica’s cousin who’d come to help with the baby, told him.

Quinn quickly poured some water, shooting me a frantic glance as he did so. “Clem, do something.”

“Like what, Quinlan?”

In the bassinet, Baby Briarwood lay crying, a bleeding red scratch across her cheek. Poor, tiny thing. I knew well enough that a scratch on the face hurt like a bugger.

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