The underground arena was a cathedral of concrete and cruelty. High above the floor, the air was filtered, chilled, and scented with the expensive tobacco of the elite.
I sat in the corner of my enclosure, my fingers curled around the iron, watching the silhouettes move behind the bulletproof glass of the VIP gallery.
Silas stepped to the edge of the balcony, a spotlight catching the sharp, arrogant lines of his face. He tapped a microphone, and his voice boomed through the arena.
"Gentlemen, Ladies, and honored guests," Silas began, his voice smooth as silk.
"What you see before you in the pit are the 'Standard' models. The Blood-Hounds. These subjects have only taken the Thorne Base Serum. It has successfully rewritten their DNA, granting them the form of the wolf, but as you can se
