With cameras and bags stacked next to their tables, most looked like tourists. Still, when the breeze blew his way, he picked up the scent of several lycans. The smells of good food wafted over him, and his stomach rumbled. He handed another wad of bills to the cab driver through the window, then watched as the cab drove away. He hadn’t spoken much to the driver during their time together. Shaking his head, Valerii started toward the café. He took two steps and heard sobbing coming from the alley next to it. Whoever was in distress sounded so forlorn that Valerii couldn’t walk away. He strode over to the alley entrance and peered into the darkness. The narrow alley, lined with tall buildings, was dark, but he saw clearly with his lycan sight. A young woman was leaning against the wall of a building, her head on one arm, her long dark hair hiding her face. Her sweet, musky scent proclaimed her a lycan. He walked up to her. Her anguish kept her unaware of his approach. “What has happened that you cry out here alone, when your pack is only steps away and would offer you solace?”
What do You think about A Siberian Werewolf In Paris?
