“I can't tell how long I have been asleep but then, something triggered me and I do not know where I am and how far I have journeyed in my wooden tomb but civilization kicks in and I am famished and gravely thirsty for blood”. Fenrir Fangs thought within himself.
In the middle of nowhere, poised by a different way of life, well trimmed gently with strong jawlines, his very own kind, yet weaker than he was. He is Fenrir, the first of his kind, a dominant werewolf with a lycanthrope strength, he was the beta of a Lycan werewolf, and all his head could process at that moment was the urge to satisfy his hunger for blood.
Down from the villa, an ancient long temple for werewolves that has long been abandoned, Fenrir fangs broke free.
He pounced on the deer as he let his fangs go deep inside
