It was clear that Voren's ruthlessness was not just from Bloodfang. His father was something else entirely, a man who had carved his legacy in blood and iron.
"Cass, please forgive me. I will be a better husband." Dean cried from the cold concrete floor he lay on, his voice reduced to a pathetic whimper.
With all the glamour of the Grimroot pack, one would expect its dungeons to also be attractive. But to Voren, a dungeon should not give any comfort. It should be a place of reckoning, of consequence, of suffering earned and delivered without mercy.
The blood around Dean had begun to change color, darkening from crimson to something almost black, and his clothes were all bloody, torn and clinging to his battered body.
