Henry sat on the uneven stone floor of a dark, windowless room alongside dozens of others. The air was damp, and the silence was broken only by the shuffling of restless feet and the occasional muffled cry from somewhere beyond the walls.
At irregular intervals, the heavy wooden door would creak open.
A man carrying a candle would step inside.
His golden eyes gleamed in the darkness as he scanned the room before seizing one of the captives by the arm and dragging them out without a word. The door would slam shut behind them, leaving everyone else to wonder what awaited beyond it.
No one ever returned.
The cycle repeated until the candlelight fell on Henry.
The man grabbed him roughly and pulled him to his feet.
Henry offered no resistance. There was little point in fighting when he had no idea where he was or how many enemies surrounded him.
As he was led down the corridor, he studied the man more closely.
His eyes were unmistakably golden.
A werewolf.
