D O M I N I C
The air in the main hall was thick enough to chew. Two men and a woman, all dressed in severe, expensive suits, stood with an unnerving stillness. They didn't belong here, on my land, in my home. Their scents were a sterile mix of dry cleaning chemicals and old paper, a direct opposite to the rich, earthy smells of my pack.
Humans.
I recognized the woman immediately. Elder Beatrice. The head of the human faction of the Council. Her face was a network of severe lines, her grey hair pulled back so tightly it seemed to stretch the skin on her temples. Her eyes were a pale, washed out blue, and they were fixed on me with a predatory intensity. She smelled of old money and judgment.
She had always had a deep seated prejudice against werewolves. She saw us as ticking time bombs
