Pente

The forest is an orchestra of trees, playing one enchanting symphony after another. They were rising upward, the canopy above is distant, like clouds of green. The rustle of stale leaves soothed the two young werewolves who raced through the tranquil forest towards the mansion of Throckmorton. However it was only a small relief, for their hearts were heavy with their mission. They were counting on aid to avenge the murderers of the wolf pack of Birdwell, and they couldn afford to leave without any.

Paul and Edgar, the only remainders of Birdwells, rushed through the forest as anger simmered within them. The urge for revenge was what drove them, the lethally sweet desire to wreak havoc and misery upon those who sinned against them. The two brothers were still shocked and devastated from what they witnessed after returning home from their boarding school in London.

Theyd come back to spend the summer vacation with their family, only to find them dead, all of them, with their pale corpses drained of blood. The murderers were obvious, for there was only one race whod dare to commit such an atrocity.

The blood-drinkers.

Nestled in the woodlands as humble as an old English gentleman, was a mansion. The two wolves howled their arrival to the Throckmortons as they raced towards the main entrance of the old mansion. Their heartbroken echoes rang through the quaint land in which the mansion was situated in.

The enormous gates of guard opened to reveal the splendid interior of the mansion, standing with the pride of ancient werewolves of Throckmorton, who were stronger than the blazing sun, faster than the swift wind, an braver than the knights of old.

Lady Throckmorton was the quickest among all of the Throckmortons to reach the two