It had been years since wolfsbane grew on the bayou, yet everyone who lived in Ducros Parish, Louisiana, knew that someday it would appear again. With its pretty yellow flowers and lovely green leaves, wolfsbane was as beautiful as it was deadly. And when the townspeople saw the ancient root once again spring from the earth, they knew it wouldn’t be long before they heard the terrifying howls in the night . . .
There were those who called the tales of wolfsbane superstition, the stuff of childhood legend. But others knew that when the flower blossomed again, so would the spilling of human blood—and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide . . .