The 'Druid's Tower' gloomed in darkness, save for the flickering torches that barely lit it. And housed at the center of a rotunda in the Druid's Tower, was a very large wooden grey table known as 'The Council' (with the alphas of the different packs in Michigan seated about it). 
For generations, serious matters had been brought and settled before The Council. But was it the case of this present matter? 
A mischievous werewolf had killed not one, not two but three alpha werewolves, leaving the council wondering what he might decide to do with the amount of power he has gained.

Werewolves Of Bloomfield Hills

The men still watched, horrified at how it took only a couple of hours to turn a place that used to look like heaven on earth, into hell on earth. No audible words were exchanged but seeing the Druid’s Tower in shambles and in flames was all it took to remind them that they were not ready for a war between humans and their kind — It would do none of them good. It was horrifying to imagine that what they saw before them would likely be the state of the world if a full-blown war did start between them. What even surprised them was how none of the soldiers in the long line of armored tankers they drove past bothered to stop them. It was as if they were invisible to them. They were rather preoccupied with wanting to tear down the Druid’s Tower to the ground entirely. At least that’s what it looked like to them. 


Chapter 47