It had been about a week since the fiasco that nearly levelled the main wing of the estate. Seraphina had been asleep since she collapsed in my arms, her body retreating into a protective coma. While she slept, I was left to clean up the wreckage—both the physical debris and the psychological scars.

The "intruder" had been identified. That blob of mangled flesh in the backyard was a werewolf—or he had been, before Seraphina... no, before that thing inside her had torn him apart.

I ...