Valerian Cross 15    

The Lycan's final, agonized howl echoed through the battlefield as his flesh crumbled away, his entire form dissolving into a dark, steaming pool of blood.

The remaining werewolves froze.

Then panic struck.

They howled and whimpered, their bodies shaking as terror gripped them. Their leader was gone. Just like that. Without another second's hesitation, they turned tail and retreated into the shadows, their once-fearsome snarls reduced to pathetic whimpers of defeat.

Silence fell.

The soldiers, still gripping their weapons, stood frozen in place, their expressions shifting from relief to something far more unsettling—

Fear.

Not of the werewolves.

But of Evelyn.

No normal witch should have potions that potent.