The Guards Move In

Emory

“Well, what do we have here?”

The snarl from the squatty guard filling the majority of my doorway is enough to set my teeth on edge as my shifter body longs to call forth my wolf to defend myself.

Unfortunately, I’m not quite old enough for that yet and will have to rely upon my other fighting skills to protect myself.

As my eyes meet his, I can’t help but pull myself to standing, my hands fisted at my sides. He is short, a bit overweight, it appears, with dark hair, a beard, and those light eyes that look like they’re almost sightless. He can see me, though. I feel his eyes roaming all over me.

He’s not alone either. Two other guards flank him, one tall and the other with a medium build and a bit of muscle. They all wear the same gray uniforms I’ve seen on the other guards who work in this part of the castle. It fits the overall ambiance of a dismal, lifeless existence the prisoners here have come to know.

I can’t think about any of them right now, though. None of them are goin