The room was all grey, stone and peeling paint clinging to concrete walls. He was thrown to my feet. His jacket, military in appearance, was hanging from one shoulder and smeared with blood. Not his. The smell was astounding, even in that little quantity, and his jugular was bared. He had been caught helping a werewolf over the borders, and The Leader was not impressed. He was beneath us, and now he was to die. The Leader snapped his neck first, stopping the incessant prayers. The sound reverberated around the room like a gunshot. He never stood a chance.
I stood, ducking past the whirling mess that was The Leaders dinner, and escaped the stuffy cave. We were forced into this cave to protect the humans. They were our servants, and were not privy to this ritual. I personally loathed his mind games and masocistic treatment of his prey. I fed as little as I could. Mostly from hospital blood banks and animals from the woods. I will not succumb to the brutal slaughter. Not even for my title. Not even for my race.