Noah.
The air inside the subterranean cell was thick with the suffocating, metallic stench of damp stone and heavy wolfsbane.
I hung from the wall, my arms pulled taut above my head by thick iron shackles that bit mercilessly into my wrists. Every single breath felt like inhaling liquid fire.
The poison was sloshing through my veins, a dark, heavy sludge designed to paralyze my muscle fibers and completely starve my wolf of its natural strength.
Deep, glowing anti-werewolf runes were carved directly into the damp stone behind my back, pulsing with a faint, nauseating hum that kept my senses dulled and my vision flickering in and out of focus.
They thought I was finished— they thought throwing me into a hole, piping in wolfsbane fumes, and chaining me up like a rabid animal would break my spirit.
They were dead wrong.
