Third Person's POV
The clearing, a temporary spot for many werewolves, held a wooden hut from which screams echoed.
Ulrik, hearing the screams, rushed forward like a mad beast.
His cedar pheromones exploded as he kicked the door in, his Alpha aura shaking the hut's beams.
His claws, hardened into blades, tore the curtain aside. His pupils, over-wolfed, turned blood-moon-shaped.
The hut was pitch-black. He urgently called for torch-bearers.
As soldiers stepped forward, the firelight revealed nineteen people inside.
Ulrik's face drained of color, shock and terror filling his eyes.
His fangs elongated instinctively.
The scenes were horrifying: everyone was n***d, covered in wounds and scars, their glands brutally gouged out.
The air reeked of filth; they'd been doused in dirty water
