But the second man was different. He moved with the fluid grace of a trained fighter, his strikes precise and calculated.
Despite my werewolf strength and training, I was no match for his skill. He anticipated my moves, countering each attempt to escape with brutal efficiency.
The fight was over quickly. Pain shot through my body as he overpowered me, his superior training evident in every movement.
"You're tougher than expected," he said, breathing only slightly harder. "But not tough enough."
He produced silver-laced restraints from his jacket, the metal gleaming ominously in the streetlight. The silver burned against my skin as he bound my hands and feet.
My werewolf strength immediately began to weaken. The silver was designed specifically to subdue our kind, making resistance nea
