The Freak Is The Mate Of The Lycan
The moon.
It was full. A perfect, brilliant, merciless white circle, flooding the world in silver and shadow.
And the sound. It wasn't just chanting. It was a roar. A celebration.
We weren't in the main courtyard. We were… above.
The "Den," as Wendy had called it, was a massive, sunken quarry, a natural amphitheater of grey stone that sprawled out from the base of the mountain keep.
And it was full.
Thousands.
Thousands of wolves, packed shoulder to shoulder, their faces turned up to the moon. Torches, hundreds of them, burned in sconces carved into the stone, casting a frantic, flickering, orange light.