The moment all six of them stepped into the council room, Luna was immediately assaulted by a suffocating wall of scent.
It clung to her senses—the overpowering stench of blood, sweat, and musk. The reek of power, of hierarchy, of hunger. Werewolves of all strengths filled the room, and each of them left behind a scent trail like territorial marks in the air. Some scents were sharp and metallic, others heavy and sour, muddled by something Luna couldn't even name.
It was overwhelming.
'Is this what it's like to breathe among predators?' she wondered, trying not to wrinkle her nose.
At the far end of the massive hall, seated upon a raised platform adorned with furs and carved stone, sat the Chief—Tyrnhael.
Beside him, like statues carved from time itself, stood the three elders, their eyes keen and unmoving. Their presence was heavy, commanding. But what caught Luna's attention most was the subtle shift in their expressions the moment they laid eyes on her.
They were pleased.
