Book One in the Lycan Chronicles
Evander Rue had his entire life planned out even before he was born. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and parents who never had time for him. A family who barely called or cared for him left him to be rais...
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Evan woke up to a tall, dark stone ceiling he was unfamiliar with. Wherever he was, it was extremely spacious, which he was grateful for because the minute he turned his head and caught sight of the silver bars keeping him caged within the stone cellar made him lose his mind. Curling his lips back, he snarled lowly, his yellow eyes darting around the cellar for any crevice he could use to escape the insulting silver a few feet away, humming tauntingly with magic. Evan crawled back away from the bars, his body shivering but not because he was cold. The retention of Midnight aiming a gun at him and then his vision fading into darkness told him everything he needed to know. The ex-hunter had tranquilized him and then dragged him down to the dungeon, locked him in a cellar, and left him there. An uncharacteristic maddening ferocity took control of him, and he didn't bother stopping it. Barrelling towards the silver bars at full speed, Evan slammed his fist against the lock, trembling the entire cabin; small clouds of dust and pebbles rained down from the ceiling. The magic that reinforced the lock knocked Evan against the opposite wall resulting in only further enraging the werewolf. Throwing his head back, he released an ear-splitting roar that reverberated throughout the dungeon traveling upstairs to the cabin. He felt a throbbing tingle on his hand, and he looked down with a frown and saw that the skin that had come into contact with the silver lock had disintegrated down to the bone. He hissed in distress as the wound took its time in knitting itself back together after a few seconds when the skin had stopped sizzling. The stench and sight of his own dissolved tissue made him both nauseous and resentful.
A few seconds later, he heard two sets of footsteps make their way to the entrance of the dungeon. Sniffing the air, he identified one of the scents as Midnight's. His usual smell of trees and earth was accompanied by the aroma of spices indicating he had been in the kitchen cooking. When the goth came into view, Evan snarled at him, snapping his teeth loudly. Midnight raised a brow at him, but other than that, he didn't react. Next to the tall goth was a young woman who barely came up to the male's chest. She stunk of fire and magic, similar to the kind that was laced on the bars. Her long dark hair was a half-up mess on her head, but it seemed to fit her unintentional aesthetic.
"Midnight, he's glaring at me."
"He's pissed off, he's going to glare at everyone, and if you get close enough, he'll try to rip your throat out."
