The elevator doors slid open, depositing the five of them into the hotel restaurant like a delivery of emotionally damaged cargo. The restaurant manager—a man who had clearly been trained to handle wealthy, intimidating guests—greeted them with a smile so practiced it could have been printed by a machine.
"Right this way, Gentlemen."
He led them through the main dining area, past tables of humans who had no idea they were sharing airspace with werewolf, and stopped in front of a private room with doors that looked heavy enough to withstand a small explosion.
The manager opened the door.
And there they were.
Two men sat at a large table that could have seated twelve.
