The massive direwolves snarled with their hackles raised, and their golden eyes locked on the towering angel. Lupin, the largest, took a step forward, his lips peeling back from the razor fangs.
Sylvan and Grimm flanked the eldest, their low growls rumbling in their chests like thunder.
"Easy, my brave ones," Artis said firmly, her voice silencing their growls like a whip. She stepped forward despite her weakness, spreading out her remaining arm. "Stand down. Now."
The wolves hesitated, their ears twitching toward their mother. Lupin's snarl softened into a whine questioningly. Angels like these crippled their mother only a while back. Why was she asking them to retreat?
"This angel is different," Artis continued, her golden-green eyes fixed on Celine.
Even one-armed and bruised, she was breathtaking, her long green hair tousled wildly around her sharp, beautiful features. The missing arm only added a tragic allure, like a wounded goddess.
