Hunters: A person who hunts the things that go bump at night.
Werewolves: Neither fully human nor fully wolf, these beings live in 'packs' in towns across the continent.
Esmeray is a werewolf who has been raised and trained to use her supernatural a...
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Collapsing on the bed, my legs and arms ache from the run back. The moon shines through the glass on the small window in my room, and the stars twinkle like fireflies. I wonder if I'll ever be able to run free under those stars and howl at the moon without worrying about waking anyone or giving away my location to the wolf I'm hunting.
Sitting up, I look at my hands and body; I'm covered in dirt and chilled to the bone, although werewolves run at hotter temperatures than humans. It's the beginning of spring, and the freezing winter air hasn't released its hold at night yet. The rain didn't help either.
Dragging myself off the mattress and going to the bathroom to turn the water on, I pull a towel out and place it in the sink with a pair of shorts and a loose shirt. The steam from the water filled the room and fogged the oval mirror.
Stepping in the water burns my chilled skin, sending a refreshing sting everywhere it hits, and I can feel my muscles relax. The water washes away the dirt and the last few days. When the water starts to cool down, I scrub away the rest of the dirt and bits of blood I didn't realize were in my hair.
Wrapping the towel around my hair, I grab my bag and dump its contents on the floor. The phone, my clothes, and boots fell out, along with a scrap of paper, the silver knife, and other silver things I carry. I pack the phone back in the bag's inside pocket, zip it shut, fold the clothes, and stack the boots against the wall next to the door.
Sitting back on the floor, crossing my legs, I gently picked up the tattered paper, unfolding it to see the distorted Polaroid inside. The edges were damaged, bleeding into the film, making the features of the two people on the sides almost unrecognizable. In the middle was a baby with a stuffed sheep, smiling.
I don't know where I got this picture or if I'm even the baby in it, but maybe I've been holding on to it for so long in hopes that, at some point, someone did love me. It's a reminder of something I forgot; it's been so long I don't remember why I still keep it; it's become a habit to carry it around wherever I go. Wrapping the Polaroid back up and gently putting it in a smaller pocket.
Exchanging the towel around my head for the polish and rag in the desk drawers, I clean the silver tools. Over the decades and hundreds of tests, I've become accustomed to the burning sensation of silver, and now it feels like a days-old sunburn, uncomfortable but bearable.
A knock at the door pulled me from my mindless routine. Alex walked in without waiting for an okay and tossed the file he brought onto the desk near the door. Placing the knives, I was polishing on the ground with the rag, I stood and unwrapped the string, binding it closed.
"How many?" The bright red letters on the report's first page are startling. Alex leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms without saying anything. I continue flipping through the pages of the report. The next page I flip to is full of faces, ten to be exact, and at the top reads Civilian Casualties.
The following page has two faces staring at me, one of which I recognize. I think her name was Melony. I don't remember the man; the following few pages are reports about the incident with redaction marks and some photos attached. The last page contains the mission details with two images attached, the first of a man in a white shirt and sunglasses guarded by three other men and the second of him without glasses.
"One target, multiple guards." Alex pulled the incident report from the file in my hand and spread the pictures out.
"The man in the picture went crazy at a nightclub, and most details are hidden. A hunter happened to be working at the club when it happened, along with the two that were killed." The mission report was marked with another 'NTK: LV RED' in bright red. Under the stamp, read 'Northern Territory.' They were sending us after a pack member.
The HA and most supernatural species have a long-standing, fragile truce. Unless all circumstances are met, we don't go after packs or their members. This guy must have done more than this to be on our hit list.
When we were training, I and every young hunter were taught that we do not hunt those who have not harmed children, we do not attack without reason, and we are not supposed to hunt alone. The requirements to get a target on your back are like a child's Christmas list—so many things that no one remembers, but we aren't the ones who decide that; we hunt them.
"So, is this a suicide mission? Or does the Council think we can take on someone from a pack and not get killed?" This will be the most challenging job we've ever been assigned. I feel him staring at me as I flip through the papers one last time; he always watches me when giving me a new target; for the previous five years, he's personally brought me the files or photos and a debrief. "How did the pheromone blockers work?" He asks.
"They seemed to work well," I said, taking the photo and stashing it in my bag. I closed the file and returned it to Alex, who tucked it under his arm. "When I tracked him down, he didn't seem to smell me, but I don't know the duration. I think one pill a day is pushing it." I shrugged and sat on the end of my bed.
"But if a wolf came across the capture site, they probably wouldn't assume I was a part of it." He tilts his head to the side with his brows knit together, I sighed and continued. "The lab rats said it would, in simple terms, 'get rid of my scent altogether.' But it doesn't, and God forbid I tell them that again, or they'll want to stab me with more needles," He chuckles at that, knowing it's most likely what they would do. "The pills make my scent weaker, making it seem like I was there a long time ago or almost unnoticeable."
His brows still scrunched, he stares at the wall for a bit, then asks, "So it's like week-old tracks?" Thinking about it, he's right, so I nod. He mulls it over a bit more, then straightens.
"There's steak in the fridge if you're hungry since you got back so late." He closes the door behind him as he leaves, and I'm alone again with my thoughts and the silence.
After packing more clothes and necessities in a duffle bag for the trip north, I could lay down to get some sleep. Wrapped in the itchy, worn sheets, I roll over to face the window and stare at the moon.
