The underground rooms smelled a lot like wet stones and rusty metal, and the air in the room was heavy, filled with the awful damp smell of blood. Damien stood there, hidden in the shadows of the room, while his bright blue eyes focused on the wolves that were tied up and kneeling in front of him. They were the assassins who were captured after the attack at midnight; they were the wolves who had dared to use their claws against his partner.
His jaw tightened as he walked closer to them, with his boots making noise against the cold floor. The guards behind him shifted nervously; they were uncomfortable because of the anger that came off their leader like a storm.
"Who told you to do it?" Damien's voice came off steady but edgy. He knelt in front of the closest captured wolves, a scarred wolf with dried blood on his face. "Talk, and maybe I'll give you a quick death."
