The Fangs

The fortress interior was a stark contrast to the desolate landscape outside. Flickering torches cast long, distorted shadows on the cold stone walls adorned with crude depictions of battles and gruesome rituals. The air hung heavy with the musky scent of werewolves and the acrid tang of Wolfsbane, a potent reminder of their precarious position.

Fang, his fur bristling with tension, remained close to Maya. Around them, Shadowfangs watched with veiled hostility, their red eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. Maya couldn't shake the feeling that they were being led into a trap, a plaything for the amusement of the Alpha.

They were escorted through corridors that felt like they belonged in a forgotten nightmare, before finally reaching a large, cavernous chamber. A massive stone table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by imposing figures – the Shadowfang elite.