Mag-log inA pitiful past makes for a wicked witch. In this dark omegaverse reverse harem paranormal romance, Blanchette Red isn't the sweet little witch with the red cloak that she's fooled everyone into thinking she is. The wolf looks tame compared to her vengeance and she's out to make them all pay. Together with her three mates, she crosses the first name off her list, good ol' granny. There's nothing quite like homemade poisoned cookies to wish her a fast recovery straight to Hell. This Little Red Riding Hood isn't playing games, she's out for blood and no amount of magic will get in her way. An omega on the war path isn't one to cross, but throw in her lovers? They'll beg for death.
view moreA pitiful past makes for a wicked witch.In this dark omegaverse reverse harem paranormal romance, Blanchette Red isn't the sweet little witch with the red cloak that she’s fooled everyone into thinking she is. The wolf looks tame compared to her vengeance and she’s out to make them all pay.
Wolf**A Few Days Later**I’m sprinting through the woods, dodging fallen logs and large rocks. My tongue rolls out of my mouth as exhilaration flows through me like a drug. There’s nothing like running on all fours, twisting and turning, and smelling that exhilarating scent of pine. The burbling sound of the river greets my ears, sending a jolt of excitement through me at the thought of a bath. My fur coat is covered in blood and the taste of blood has long since soured in my mouth.
WolfI head off into the woods behind the city hall, before circling around to scope out the target. Thankfully, with a small town, it’s so much easier to study its residents. It’s the first thing I do when I arrive in a new city, get acquainted with those that live here. It’s always important to study possible clients and victims, and sometimes, the fun part is guessing who will be what in a town this small. Which lucky son of a bitch gets to live another day and what unfortunate bastard gets their life cut short. In fact,
WolfI close the front door quietly behind me, not wanting to alert the still sleeping women of my departure. I’ve never been one for that infamous ‘morning after’ shit that everyone who loves someone squawks incessantly about. Cracking my neck side to side, I need to feel that stress relieving pop that sometimes has me thinking I just broke my neck when it’s so intense. The satisfying pop that follows brings a smirk to my lips for no other reason than I enjoy it. See, I’m not usually a smiling bastard, at least





