Chapter 71

Of course. If he could have smacked his forehead, he would have. Werewolves.

Now the voices, feet and paws on the gravel, were all around him.

“Dory, Vernon, take the bag off his head, untie him. Get him on his feet. Now y’all give us some space,” a dark voice growled.

Rough hands, one pair clawed, jerked him off the ground. Unbending almost made him cry out. He stood still as whoever was behind him, muttering and grumbling, untied the ropes from his hands and feet while clawed hands yanked the bag from his head.

Feeling a little shaky and sore, he saw he was standing in a small clearing surrounded by woods, thick and dark, interrupted by a narrow path that led, he guessed, to the river. A few feet away, he saw a small fire in a shallow pit, surrounded by a circle of grey and white stones. He wished he could stand right by the fire, no matter how quickly his body’s temperature adjusted, he was still cold.