Freya's POV
The Viking Werewolf
Our boots strike the ground as we walk, the thud of each step blending into the pounding bass from inside. We push open the doors, and the noise swallows us whole, with a deep, bass-heavy beat that fills the air, pulling us in. Flashing lights dance off the stone walls, casting everyone in a flickering glow. The room is packed, bodies swaying in time to the music. The scent of firewood mixes with the warmth of mead and people, giving this place a kind of wild, electric energy.
Walking in, I saw a grand bar, fully packed with expensive wines and mead. I head for the bar, nodding to the bartender as I order eight shots of mead, two each for our group. Leaning back, elbows on the sturdy wood, I scan the crowd, glancing up toward the VIP area above. I’m loo
