Sixten crossed his arms over his bare chest, staring down from his beachside deck. “We’ll all go back to what we were doing as if nothing happened. Fair enough? In fact, I think that’s more than generous on my part.” “Release her.” Bane stepped forward in mid-transformation – much larger, more dangerous; a voice filled with gravel, and mouth exposing strong canines. Werewolves didn’t grow fur and four legs as depicted by legends of long ago, or overactive human imaginations. They stood upright, walking as men. When in mid-transformation, they moved with otherworldly power. A mystic no one could follow. They were their human façade – though not human at all - only inherently charged and very, very lethal. Bigger and stronger than thousands of human males combined, and most were magically blessed with various powers through certain bloodlines. While in full-transformation, they walked the razor blade of sick nightmares. And Sixten was staring down five of them.
