The soldier bowed, going onto his knees, asking for forgiveness. James, the leader and the greatest power among their pack, let out a ferocious growl and lashed out, and the soldier before him was no more. James was brutal—the pieces of the soldier lay spread around them on the ground as if he’d never been alive. “I wanted that witch. What part of that statement did you mongrels not understand?” His voice carried along the ranks of his army, an army of both men and women, pure-bred wolves and mongrels—mongrels had originally been humans, who had been made into wolves by a ferocious bite from a pure-bred wolf—strong and weak. The thing with mongrels was, they were stronger than humans but weaker than any pure immortal. One of them dared to raise a hand. James moved, his speed and presence obviously scaring the young man who would dare to interrupt while he was speaking. “What could you possibly have to say to me right this second? You failed me. You failed me and you failed in your mission.”
