Between Wolves

They take. They devour. They discard.

"Do you know what this collar means?"

"I…" My voice caught on his hand, on the leather, on the weight of the onyx at my throat. "I think I know."

When the leather finally closed, it drew snug around my throat, not tight enough to choke, only close enough that I felt every swallow and every lift of pulse beneath it.

His mouth curved, though there was nothing kind in the shape.

"You will be what they make you."