Pure anger.

Damon eyed the sign that stated the forest was a part of a preserve with disgust. The idea of werewolves using their influence to practically co-opt a portion of the city as their territory drove him mad to no end.

“Spread out,” he ordered in a rough voice.

The men began to do so as he commanded and he kept his eyes open as he walked forward. He stealthily moved through the forest, his eyes glowing in the dark as he listened for sounds of any presence. The air was ripe with the scents of werewolves which filled him with indescribable hatred, fueled by the Virax in his system.

“Sir, we’ve found something!” One of the men called out.

Damon smirked and walked to the source of the sound and found a trail, his man pointing at it.

“Good,” he was entirely satisfied. “Begin.”

As soon as he gave the signal, the men began spilling gasoline all over the trees and bushes. The scent of it was intoxicating to him but he didn’t care. It was exhilarating to know he would be the cause of this forests